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wyvernest · 9 days

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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

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kaidabakugou · 1 year

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PAIRING: FOREST GOD VIDAR! BAKUGOU X ELF! READER

WORD COUNT: 7.4K

A/N: proud to finally be able to share with you guys my submission for Touch of Divine Rush Collab by @dark-mnjiro, i love Norse Mythology and had lots of fun writing this one so i hope you enjoy my little knowledge dump plus my interpretation of what Vidar’s journey would look like after Ragnarök

i also made a GLOSSARY to help you understand some of the terms and old Nordic language used without the need of researching it yourselves, please enjoy and tysm for reading!

The air felt thick as ash rained down upon the battle grounds, the remnants of the wrath from the towering flames of the fire giant evident all around as the silent god took in his surroundings. His foot still perched atop Fenrir’s fiery jaw as he looked down at the mangled wolf, a sharp pain making itself known on his palm when adrenaline started to subside from his body. Noticing one of Fenrir’s fangs pierced into his right hand where he held the beast’s jaw open seizing it before bracing his lower foot, adorned with his magical leather shoe, against its lower jaw and tearing it apart as the prophecy intended. Successfully avenging his father, Odin, after his journey ended being devoured by the foul monster.

Bakugou could barely see a few feet around him, the sky burned black as the flames reached all the way up to the stars, consuming them as not even the cosmos could evade their fate of being swallowed by the sea. Ragnarök, the final battle, had finally progressed to its final phase. And as the world burns in flames, Bakugou couldn't help but to inhale the stinging smoke around him, feeling it stain his lungs as he closed his eyes towards the black sky.

Clearing his head from the chaos that surrounds him, beginning to feel the icy touch of Helheim against his scorching skin as he calls upon the forces of nature whom he trusted the most to guide him through this new journey.

Silence.

A small smile adorned the god’s features as he accepted his fate, although destined to survive the destruction, he found it hard to believe in prophecies when the rumbling of the ocean’s hunger was making the ground beneath his feet tremble as it started to sink into the depths of the unknown. But the silence in his ears reassured him that he will once again rule over a regenerated earth.

Silence had been Bakugou’s strongest companion, known as the silent god for he desired nothing more than to be left alone to rule the forests who were bound by close ties to him where nothing but solitude and deep silence reigned. And his desires would soon be answered as droplets of water began to slowly quench his stained skin, the god’s deep vermilion irises fluttering open as the skies poured down on him. The flames around him began to die down as the sea rumbled again and Bakugou mentally kicked himself for doubting the Norn’s prophecy as their words echoed in his head.

“Early begun.”

“Further spun.”

“One day done.”

“With joy once more won.”

Ragnarök wasn't the complete end of the world. Out of the sea, the earth started to rise again, new and filled with all shades of green where fields of grains soon began to grow without the hand of any god, human or elf to aid it. A new sun shined down upon the fresh world, and soon a new moon would follow suit as they both traveled the same path as their ancestors and returned to their old lawful regularity to keep earth from seeing the darkness of Ragnarök ever again.

The surviving gods met at Ithavoll, once again a safe place for the gods to regather themselves as they built a new city and joined forces to bring earth back to its original splendor. But after a while, once the tasks at hand were complete and life on earth was once again restored, Bakugou left Ithavoll to take his throne in Landvidi, the wide lands.

Where his glorious palace eagerly waits for his return, decorated with large green boughs and only the most delicate of flowers in the midst of an impenetrable primeval forest where he could peacefully reign among the silence of the trees. Where anyone who dared disturb his silence, will receive no mercy and awaken the same mighty god that tore Fenrir’s devilish jaws with his bare hands. Soon, everyone across the realm knew better than to enter the forests uninvited, for all who entered were never to be seen again.

All except one.

Ever since you were a child, your mother would warn you to never go near the woods just off the threshold of Alfheim, the land of the elves. Hearing stories and tales of how those who had crossed were turned into corpses and left to rot by the border as a warning or were never to be heard from again.

Tales of giant man-eating beasts that would starve themselves and wait patiently for whatever ignorant soul dared set foot into their territory. Some would even say that the surviving dragons resided deep within the monstrous shadows of the tall trees, that reached so far up into the sky that no daylight could seep through. Blood-thirsty bees and spiders that would drain their victims of their blood to the very last drop, leaving them nothing but a mess of bones and dried flesh for the forest soil to consume.

And those who managed to avoid such terrible fate and considered themselves lucky enough to reach deep within the forest to find the triumphant god’s palace in search of hidden treasures that only the remaining son of Odin could possess, would only be left wishing they would have died at the claws of the forests beasts, for they imagine their death would've been quicker compared to the merciless torture the retired god would greet them with before watering his rare carnivorous plants with their blood and feeding them their remains to keep them hungry for more.

But you would argue the opposite.

The forest has always been kind to you, ever since you first stepped foot inside of it, back when you were just a small elf beginning to learn the elven ways of magic and strayed a little too far off the border in search of kalonji, a white-petaled flower that only grew near the thresholds of the forest and was a necessary component for brewing medicine due to the healing properties of its seeds.

But by the time you finished collecting the rare flowers, you had already entered the forest and had no idea on how to return home. The warnings of your mother started to echo inside your head as panic began to settle in the more you looked around and the vast forest seemed to appear the same no matter which direction you faced. Sinking to your knees as tears started to cascade down your cheeks, dropping the basket of flowers beside you as you buried your face in your hands waiting for whatever horrid fate that would end your sorrows.

Your choked sobs and sniffles were certain to attract one of the many beasts your mother had told you about, but when you started to hear the ruffling of leaves in steady steps getting closer, you never imagined coming face to face with one of the most beautiful creatures you had ever laid eyes on.

A white stag with the most piercing red eyes stared down at you warily. Large, majestic antlers adorned the sides of his head, resembling the leafless branches of the winter trees, as he cautiously smelled around you, taking in your scent while your cries died down in your throat as you stared up in awe at the towering giant. His large hooves were the size of your head, and his long legs were taller than you as you took in their size while he circled around you before settling on your opposite side.

Taking one last whiff of you before turning his snout towards your basket, inhaling the rich aroma of the kalonji before gently stealing one. Raising his head to stand tall in all his glory as he looks around whilst he eats it. You reached over and grabbed a flower as well, bringing it up to your nose to take in its bitter notes within its subtle floral fragrance before presenting it to the stag. To which he happily accepted as he lowered his neck towards you once again, taking your offering before beginning to walk past you and into the trees, stopping momentarily to look back at you only to find you already at his side as you two made your way through the extensive forest.

You were unsure of where the stag was leading you, but you figured that sticking by his side would be better than waiting alone for the icy souls of Hel to take you. Taking in the vibrant colors of the forest as you found it hard to believe that so much beauty could hold such terrors, but you weren't going to remain present long enough to see it for yourself.

Along the way you encountered small white wood aster and yellow trout lilies that also possessed many medicinal benefits, taking some and putting them inside your basket for later while your started to carefully weave their small branches together, although your inexperienced hands were still clumsy, you still managed to keep all the flowers secure until finally closing it into a circlet. You've been so distracted with the flower crown in your hand that you hadn't noticed the stag had led you back to the threshold of the forest, being aware of your location once he stopped a few feet away from the treeline where you could see the busy city of Alfheim just past the bushes.

Excited that you were going to be able to return home safely, you thank the stag as he looks down at you, giving you what felt like a nod before turning his body to leave. But stopping in his tracks when you ask him to wait as he gives you a confused look, watching as you walk up to him and offer him the crown you'd been building the whole path back. Those piercing vermilion eyes softening as he stares back down into your eager ones before lowering himself to your height, presenting you the top of his head while being careful not to hurt you with his antlers as you gently place the flower crown between them.

The different shades of yellow and green contrasting from his unique white fur beautifully as you feel his cold nose poke the side of your cheek before leaving a long wet lick on it, making you giggle before waving him off as you make your way down the hill and back to the city whilst he disappears back into the deep forest.

And ever since, each time you've gone to collect more kalonji, you'd find small and rather odd gifts near the flowers. Sometimes it would be random objects like polished stones and crystals, pretty feathers of all colors and sizes, and even sharp teeth that you could only imagine belonged to a creature far larger than those of these lands.

But mostly, you'd find only the rarest of flowers placed neatly upon the grass, looking so out of scenery as they wait for your arrival against the green fields. Flowers that you couldn't even begin to name since you'd never seen any others quite like them. Some would possess the most vibrant colors your eyes had ever seen, and others would have the most fragrant aromas to carry them despite their subdued appearance. Whatever the case, you'd always look forward to the little presents that awaited you on each journey to the border, and back then you were always so curious as to who could be leaving them for you to find at such opportune times.

But now, nearly a vicennial of winters later, you still look forward to the same little surprises, only now you are well aware of who is responsible for leaving such treasures.

Making your way past the same threshold, you walk through the dense trees you've grown so accustomed to. Ever since that eventful day, the forest has always been kind and welcoming to you. Presenting you with an abundance of the same exotic flowers you would find when you were little, showing you paths filled with the same rare and delicate crystals you'd receive on occasions, and even the few animals you've had the fortune of meeting on your different journeys have grown a liking to you.

But your reason to return to this forest always remained the same.

Landvidi possessed only the most beautiful of landscapes, filled with the highest trees and tallest branches in the realm, lush vegetation and fresh flowers. Past the high grasslands, in the heart of the forest known as The Hall of Landvidi, is where the silent god’s palace is located. Surrounded by an even greater portion of earth’s natural beauty that paints a picture of solitude, for no being other than the retired warrior god could reach.

And as the protector of these lands, filled with ambition and strength, he is determined to ensure it remains that way. He has seen what destruction is like, lived it himself during the great battle of the destruction of the cosmos and all that lived within them, and will stop at nothing to keep the peace.

Bakugou is the strongest of the gods, following Thor, and after fulfilling his fate as an avenger and brave warrior, his rebirth after Ragnarök symbolizes sustainability and regrowth. Being the only god known to be tied with nature, as most gods were connected to the sea through Heimdall, the watchman of the gods, Bakugou had always felt his soul to be more at peace within the wide lands. And even though he swore to never allow any trespassers into his territory, ever since he heard your cries all those winters ago, something within him told him you'd be the exception.

As you descend down the stoned path towards the small tunnel under the large oak trees, you take in a deep breath when the soft breeze hits your skin, the tunnel is formed by the widened crowns of the trees that spread and reached the branches of the oak trees on the opposite side, creating a beautiful passage towards the hidden waterfall ahead.

From the oak branches, bellflowers of all colors hanged down decorating the path with a mesmerizing view. You reached up and collected some of the violet-blue flowers, making sure to grab several of their leaves as well. Although their petals had a mild taste, the leaves can be quite refreshing, and you knew the one you seeked would enjoy them.

Securing them inside your basket next to the fresh apples you'd collected from your orchard, you resumed your way down the oak passage as the sound of the waterfall filled your ears. The Querencia Waterfall is the most beautiful of all the waterfalls in Landvidi, located just at the entrance of The Hall a few miles from the palace. It's the only waterfall in the land that’s so high, when the sun is at its peak some of its rays seep through the tall crowns of the oak trees, forming rainbows that look like they're cascading down along with the stream when they capture the water.

Surrounded by ancient willow trees, the lake where it pools contains powerful waters filled with passion and love from the root of the weeping willows that are believed to provide a nourishing embrace of fertility and healing. These were the only willow trees in all of Landvidi, after Ragnarök they became quite rare to find throughout the realms, so you were astonished when the white stag brought you here on one of your visits. Welcoming you into the water to bathe while he feasted on some of the exotic flowers that floated around different areas of the lake.

You smiled to yourself as you think back on that day, remembering how nurturing the water felt around your body for the first time as its magic began to absorb into your skin. Your heart swelling when you recall feeling something being placed atop your head, only to find the stag adorning your hair with the water hyacinths he collected, rounding them on your head by tangling them with strands of your hair to the best of his abilities until it formed a circlet as his own way of thanking you for the crown you gave him on your first encounter.

You've been coming to Querencia ever since to meet with the stag, bringing him only the freshest fruits from your orchard and collecting flowers from the forest on your journeys to make more crowns for him as a thank you for all the treasures he leaves on the threshold for you. Sometimes he'd wait for your arrival near the berry bushes just off the edge of the forest and escort you through the wide lands filled with birch trees where many wildflowers favor growing near their roots so you can collect them. Other times, you venture into the forest at first daylight and wait for him in the water.

Today was one of those days as you reach the willow trees closest to the waterfall, settling your basket down near its roots as you begin to strip your garbs, folding them by the basket before entering the water.

Submerging yourself deeper as the warm water sinks into your skin, the soft current wraps you in a state of tranquility whilst you absorb its properties before soon enough you spot the majestic antlers of the white stag. Smiling when you meet his gaze, noticing how his doe eyes seem to light up when he meets yours before entering the water with you, gracefully making his way towards you as water splashes around him from the force of his hooves. Giggling when he presses his wet nose against yours before lowering his soft furred forehead to your damped one. Something that had become a habit when greeting each other.

“God morgon, you came rather quickly today!”, you whisper against him as you greet him in the old language.

Although the old tongue was not commonly used anymore after the great destruction, you noticed you get a reaction from the stag when using some of the old words, almost as if he understood them better than the modern tongue.

“I brought you something!”, you eagerly tell him, causing his ears to perk up at your announcement as you lift yourself from the water and start walking back towards the willow roots where you left your basket, the stag sauntering alongside you.

Watching as you open your basket to reveal the shiniest of apples, his tongue dragging against his snout at the sight as he leans forward to eat one when you offer it to him, knowing your orchard produced some of the juiciest and most delicious ones in the realm after you watered them with the water you'd collected from the Querencia river. Offering him the bellflower leaves next as he accepted them and eating one yourself before diving back into the water.

Fully submerging yourself as the stag followed suit, his smooth white fur now a light gray as it clung to him, droplets of water dripping from his antlers and falling against your skin when he circled closer for you to hold on to him as you swam together.

This was your usual routine on the days you'd meet on the waterfall, bathing together and feeding each other different fruit and flowers you'd bring to one another until the sun would start to disappear behind the mountains, indicating it was time to return home before nightfall. Currently seated on his back while he paraded you around the lake while eating some of the fruits on the bushes near the waterfall, sighing as you wished the stag could communicate with you further, even though you already communicated in your own unique way, exchanging gazes and gifts, and sharing intimate moments such as these that many would thought impossible to be as close to a rare white stag as you are with this one, you still wished he could speak sometimes and be able to tell you stories from the forest he knew so well.

“I wished you could speak to me”, you express as you rest your head against his neck, feeling the patches of hair beginning to fluff up from the breeze hitting his back where you laid. Ceasing his chewing at the sound of your voice as his ears flick at your words, turning his head to the side to look at you before softly snorting while rattling his antlers to signal you to alight and join him in the water again, to which you comply as you sink back in and circle him until you're facing him again.

Smiling when he presses his cold wet nose against your stomach, snuffling up the center of your chest while leaving gentle licks on your skin before reaching your neck to nuzzle his jaw there as your hands pet along his broad shoulders and trailing them up his slender neck. He gives your side another lick before stepping back a few steps further from you as you stare back at him confused. Unsure of his behavior since he has never done this before when bathing together.

But just as you begin to approach him again, you stop when the water around him changes its movements, once a steady stream now rapidly swirling with such force you could feel it pull you in closer. Trying your best to steady yourself in the water to swim away but as quickly as it came it dissipated, the water returned to its peaceful flow as if nothing had changed. Except now the white stag was no longer there, and in his place stood a man you'd never seen before.

A tall blonde with a strong physique of that of a warrior, adorned with battle scars and tattoos of old nordic runes on his chest traveling all the way down his abdomen and disappearing below his waist submerged in the water that you couldn't quite make out from your position. Rows of different stone necklaces, identical to the ones you gifted the stag a few winters back embellished his neck and a circlet of flowers sat atop his ash locks, the same crown of flowers you had placed on the stag not so long ago when you were riding him.

You stood there frozen in place, still confused as to what had happened to the stag that was just standing before your eyes mere moments ago. Snapping out of your daze when the man started to come closer to you, water rippling around him with each step, similar to when the stag enters the water and it splashes from the might of his hooves. The man stopped in front of you as you peered up at him, the sun seeping through the trees hitting his chiseled face to reveal his piercing vermilion eyes.

The same pools of red that you'd recognize anywhere, the eyes staring back at you were the ones of the stag, eyes you'd look forward to seeing everyday when you woke up, a deep crimson you'd come to find in all things that reminded you of the stag, in the ripe apples of your orchard that he loved so much, in the rare red lilies that only bloomed during the early times of spring in the valley near the waterfall, in the polished pyropes stones he’d bring you every late winter and now in the body of a man whose presence felt familiar the more you took in the energy around him.

He smiled when he noticed everything beginning to make sense to you when your widened eyes began to soften.

“Elskan mín”, his voice low but eager as he wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up to spin you around in the air, causing you to secure your arms around his neck while laughing before holding you close to him. Wet skin pressed against each other while strong arms keep you close as your legs instinctively wrap around his center.

Lowering your face towards him to nudge your nose against his before pressing your foreheads together, just like you would with the stag only now his nose is warm and the dampness of his forehead matches yours.

“How come you hadn’t done this earlier?”, your eyes searching his as you notice him peering at your lips while you speak before meeting your curious gaze again.

“Didn’t want to scare you away”, he answers simply whilst pressing kisses along your jaw sporadically.

“Why now then?”, you push while allowing your digits to travel up and down his nape, tangling with his hair.

“It just felt right”, he whispers while fondling one of your braids with the charms of your mother, she had removed them from her locks and secured them in yours before passing so you could have a piece of her with you when she could no longer be present in body but carry on in soul and spirit.

His hand traveled down to your shoulder where old nordic runes adorned your skin as well, only yours possessed sacred sigils of the old elven folklore, while his runes were of a time before Ragnarök. Which made you wonder if this was the retired god of vengeance everyone was so wary of, he evidently possessed the powers of one and if anyone was to allow the welcoming treatment the forest has presented you with all these years, it was him.

You reach for the hand still tracing the runes on your skin to cradle it in yours as you turn it so his palm could be facing you, whilst he watched as you inspected his hand. Smiling again when you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, almost able to see the ripples of electricity in your head as you put all the details together, a habit of yours that he loved to observe throughout the years since meeting each other.

To Bakugou, out of all the creatures that had stepped foot inside his forest seeking his aid, you were the most beautiful he had ever seen, no flower from his garden could compare to you, and since the day he met you he swore that one day you would become his goddess, and he has remained by your side since, waiting for this exact moment that he'd be able to finally show himself to you and solidify your love.

He watched as you traced the scar on his palm, a reminder of the path he once walked guided by the burdens of fate. Your eyes meet his again when you finally put all the clues together, noticing how he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, and to him you were, for you had become his purpose after no longer having interest in matters of war and retiring to spend eternity within the silence of the wide lands.

“You're him… the silent one”, only receiving a nod in return as more answers arise in your head, but settling on the one that dominated your thoughts the most.

“Why me?”

“It's always been you, elskan mín… and now we are able to seal our love for one another.”

All your questions are melted away when he pulls you towards him and captures your lips in a kiss so fervent that causes your insides to stir with emotion. Only pulling away when the need for air becomes inescapable as you pant against each other's lips.

“I’ve waited so long to do that”, he exhales while making his way towards the shore with you still secured in his arms.

The fresh spring breeze hitting your skin when you leave the comfort of the water makes you shiver, a small hint of winter still present in the air as the forest was still transitioning from the stabbing cold into the warm energetic glow that this season brought along with it.

Your nipples pebbling at the loss of heat from the god’s body when he sets you down on the soft clearing of moss and wildflowers under the tallest willow tree. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by him as he peers down at you, now able to openly devour you with his eyes whilst you lay under him, strong tatted arms caging you between them as he lowers himself to capture your lips once again.

All the tales of the remaining son of the once All-Father were of his brash and merciless demeanour, ones that were bound to inflict fear upon anyone that heard them, but all those stories drifted into distant whispers of the wind the more you got lost in him. His touch was firm yet delicate, something that would seem impossible for his physique with such imposing structure, but it was possible. His touch was filled with love and spoke the words his voice failed to express. And only now that his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, is that it becomes evident to you the extent of said love as you look back on all the years you've spent together.

Courting the other in the shape of flowers, stones and apples, in a dance of mighty passion that led to this exact moment as he settled himself between your legs, positioning your thighs above his broad shoulders whilst his fingers traced informal shapes on them. His eyes fixated on the tuft of hair above your cunt as he sinks down to bury his nose in it, inhaling your scent as you watch his eyes darken from finally being able to delve in the thing he craved the most after so long.

Maroon eyes meeting yours while his lips follow the trail of hair down towards your sensitive lips, the feel of his hot breath alone making you clench around nothing as you watch him hover above your cunt, puckering his lips so a long strip of spit falls from them and lands on your clit. Watching as it slides through your folds before pressing his tongue flat on your entrance and licking all the way up to your clit, repeating the action as he falls into rhythm. Feeling yourself get increasingly wetter with each swipe of his tongue while your chest starts to rise and fall unevenly.

Getting lost in the pleasure as your hips begin to buck when his tongue focuses on your clit, circling it before rapidly flicking against it causing something to ripple inside of you. He wraps his lips around the sensitive bud while his eyes look up in awe at the way you arch into him, your cries unleashing the might in him that had been forgotten for centuries as he sucks on your clit with more vehemence, needing to hear you sing for him louder.

Increasing his movements as he begins to suck on your folds, the feeling of his lips messily fondling with yours sends chills across your skin as you slowly rock your hips along with him. Your hands reach for his where they rest on your hip bones as he easily opens them for you to tangle your fingers with his whilst he continues to increasingly devour your cunt. The wet smacking sounds of his lips clashing with the ones of the waterfall as you feel yourself get closer and closer to your release.

The sweet taste of your fluids on his tongue drove Bakugou into a frenzy, lapping and eating your cunt while whined grunts resonated from deep in his chest, the vibrations pushing you over the edge. Arching deeper into his touch as wanton moans escape your lips, white spots clouding your vision when he buries his face further into your cunt, nose rubbing on your clit while he drinks every last drop of your release, not stopping until he gets his fill.

Parting from your cunt once your whines die down into heavy breaths, face stained with your fluids that he pays no mind to as he dives back in to place a tender kiss against your clit before trailing up to the tuft of hair, savoring your scent as he buries his nose in them again and runs his lips against them. Pulling your hairs between them, the slight tug making you peer down at him as you meet his eyes, filled with love and adoration mixed with something else, something more sinister and hungrier that hasn't been sated completely.

Watching as he presses a kiss to your hairs as well before continuing to trail them up your abdomen, never breaking eye contact as he reaches the valley of your breast. His hands untangle from yours as they glide against your sides to cup your boobs, shaking them in his grasp before capturing one of your pert nipples in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it while he sucks them harder and slowly pulls back until it flicks out of his mouth with a wet slurp, to then switch and give the other nipple the same treatment. Alternating between both breasts as your whines encouraged him on, not stopping his ministrations until your chest was swollen and overstimulated, almost making you reach your climax once again but pulling away to edge you on as he continued to lay kisses against your chest before moving towards your neck.

Shifting from tender to ravenous when he starts to mark your skin with his teeth, nipping across your throat until settling where your neck meets your shoulder. Feeling his tongue drag against your skin followed by a sloppy kiss before his teeth scrape your delicate skin, your cunt clenching in anticipation as you wait for him to finally give in to his desires.

Bakugou could hear his heart beat loudly inside his ears as he began to sink his teeth in you, pressing down until the skin gave away against his force, the rush of blood drowning his taste buds making the loud beating cease into silence as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

The mighty god had left the path of war behind a long time ago, but one's nature can’t be so easily avoided as the craving for disaster and vengeance haunted him at times from a period where the blood of his enemies would quench his skin, finding its way to his lips, reminding him what victory tastes like.

So as the savory metallic taste pours down his throat, he can't contain the groan that escapes him as a chill runs down his spine making him grind against you whilst your sweet cries pull him from his silence. Withdrawing from your skin to lap up the remaining rush of blood before cradling your face in his hand, holding your jaw firmly as he presses his lips to yours. Kissing you with such might you feel he could almost devour you through the kiss as the taste of your own blood mixing with each other's spit sends you both in a trance as you continue savoring it.

Bucking your hips to grind against his cock as his hips follow suit, beads of precum mixing with your arousal as he rubs his length between your folds whilst his tongue tangles with yours. Too engrossed in the kiss to pull away, you sneak your hand between your bodies and guide his cock to align with you as he slowly begins to sink into your cunt. The stretch of his cock sends a hot wave of pleasure down your back as your cunt sucks him in further, inch by inch as your fingers curl around ash blonde strands.

Your breaths become labored as you part from each other, lips swollen and red as he fully sinks into your warmth. The grip from your silken walls forces him to brace himself as he places his arms next to your head to keep himself from collapsing when he feels his thighs twitch. Pressing his forehead to yours when his hips start to rock into you, slow and steady at first before gradually increasing his thrusts into a brutal pace that drives both of you into a babbling mess.

Your wetness gushing messily, soaking the untamed strands of ash hair on his pelvis as they bounce against your own, before dribbling onto your skin causing it to spread in sticky strands every time his hips part from yours to snap against them again. Strangled moans mixing with the sloppy sounds of your bodies as the sensations become overwhelmingly good.

Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you look up at him, trying your best to answer him when he asks you to tell him how good it feels between the curses in old tongue and heavy grunts that escape him. Responding to what feels like incoherent babbles as your mind melts away the more he pounds into your sloppy pussy.

Bakugou could feel his balls twitch as he neared his release, but he needed you to come undone with him and make an even greater mess on his cock for him. Shifting his weight on one arm while the other gives your breast a quick tug before reaching between your bodies as he starts drawing quick circles against your clit with his thumb. Sending an electric shock of pleasure through your body as your breath gets stuck in your throat before you start coming apart.

Squeezing around him hard as a flow of arousal gushes between your bodies as it stains both of you and leaks down into the soil beneath you. Your walls clenching around him mixed with the obscene sounds coming from your pussy sending him over the edge as well as he buries his cock to the hilt, filling you up as the hand on the side of your head tangles with your hair when yours tug harder at the one on his nape.

The tears finally spilling from your eyes as hot - impossibly hot - globs of creamy cum spill against your sultry cunt, searing your insides as you find yourself never wanting this moment to end, wishing to always be plugged full of the vengeful gods mighty cum. Feeling the final pulses of his cock inside you as his head falls down against your shoulder, smiling to yourself between heavy breaths at the wet feel of his ecstasy filled tears smearing against your skin but choosing not to say anything as he fully allows his weight on top of your whilst your arms wrap around him.

Giggling at the soft lips pressing feather-light kisses on the side of your neck as they slowly trail up towards your lips, capturing them in a gentle kiss while his fingers caress your scalp where he previously had a grip on your hair.

A cold breeze pulls you both from your trance as the rustling of the willow tree above you fills your ears, once again reminding of the remnants from the harsh winter as goosebumps erupt from your skin. You notice how the waterfall no longer has a rainbow flowing through it, indicating that the sun has already begun to set, and you need to return home quickly.

You've never stayed in the forest long enough to see nightfall, and the stag would always make sure to escort you back to the treeline safely before sunset, but today time had slipped from your hands and you began to worry. Bakugou is quick to notice your concern as he wraps his arms around your center to hold you close, burying his head in the crook of your neck again and taking a deep breath as he inhales your warm scent.

“I have to leave”, you remind him but still reciprocate his actions by wrapping your arms around him again as you also hated the idea of having to depart from this moment.

“Stay”, he whispers against your skin followed by a swipe of his tongue against the dried blood around the punctures on your neck.

“There is nowhere for us to st-”, you began to dissent, but the forest god silenced you by quickly pulling you into a kiss once more. Grin on his features that you couldn't help but smile in return despite your disapproving eyes.

“I want to show you something”, he guides your legs to wrap around his waist before rising from the ground with you secured in his arms as he carries you through a path of the forest you hadn't explored before. The sun was already halfway past the mountains, making it hard to see, but just as you were about to express your concerns to him, a light in the corner of your eye caught your attention. A small blinking light followed by another until an entire cloud of dancing lights was illuminating your path.

After Ragnarök, it was rare to catch a glimpse of certain insects, fireflies being one of them, so seeing so many in one place had your jaw slack as you watched how they gracefully danced under the upcoming moonlight whilst they guided you through the forest.

Bakugou kept walking through the field of thinning willow trees that started to morph into magnificent maple trees that even with only the dim light of the fireflies, you could vividly see their vibrant colors. These acer trees had also become a rarity after the great destruction, and the analgesic in their bark was of high command to aid as a remedy for some illnesses, which made you wonder why he hadn't shown you this part of the forest before. The stag had always granted you access to all the rare medicinal flora found in these lands so you found it odd that he kept this area hidden from you.

Your confusion only grew more as you made your way deeper into the darker trails of the maples, where the path seemed to end by a sealed corridor blocked off with an impenetrable wall of large roots and maple leaves.

“Blómi”, you hear Bakugou whisper as the sound of creaking wood follows, watching as the roots begin to untangle from each other and the leaves falls to the ground revealing a path of lit stones descending into a large garden with a great abundance of flowers, leading towards a large structure.

Your jaw fell slack again, as you wouldn't have imagined that this is where the silent god kept his palace, nor that such a vibrant area filled with such sublime greatness of nature could be hidden amid the sacred gloom of the maples. Bakugou couldn't help but smile as he carried you through his garden whilst you stared in complete enchantment, filled with joy that he could finally share his greatest treasures with you.

The inside of the palace was equally as marvelous as the outside and had a beautiful golden fountain at the very center with small creeks that led to other corridors of the palace, ones you couldn't wait to explore once daylight came again. As for now, the mighty god was still carrying you towards what you could only imagine were his chambers as he ascended the grand staircase near the main entryway. Revealing an archway adorned with flowy white curtains that led inside his bedchamber where he set you down on the spacious bed at the center of the room. The bedding was soft and cozy as you sink deeper into the comfort of them, noticing how the moon sat perfectly above the palace where you had a clear view through the sunroof above the bed.

“Hí, elska”, you heard Bakugou whisper next to you, offering you a coconut shell filled with water.

“Takk!”, you smile while grabbing the shell and drinking from it, finishing its contents before settling back down on the bed as a yawn escapes you, sleep finally catching up to you after such a fulfilling day. Settling against his chest whilst Bakugou worked his fingers through some of the tangles bathing earlier might have caused.

“God natt, ásynja mín”, he boasts, a grin spreading at your widened eyes looking up at him.

“Ásynja?”, you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly to which he only nods in return as you match his smile.

“Yes, ásynja mín, for everything I own is now yours as well”, he adds while nodding towards the room, confirming that he meant the palace and everything within his forest was now yours to rule alongside him for eternity.

And you couldn't be happier as you drift off to sleep against the god’s chest, neither could him as he placed a gentle kiss against your forehead before peering up at the moon. Asking his father if he was watching as he finally found the one with whom his soul delights in after many years of hard battles, he has completed the prophecy he set for himself all those winters ago when he met you, now with a content smile as he buried his nose in your head, excited for what the future awaits as the rulers of Landvidi.

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syndrossi · 3 days

Text

And now for a continuation of what I'm calling the Rescue AU aka "what if Ser Thoren successfully extracted the boys from the Gates of the Moon?" Part 1 and premise can be found here. It ended pretty abruptly, and so we pick up pretty abruptly! This one has a more proper "end" to it, though it's not finished.

x~x~x

“May we go to the market on River Row?” Rhaegar asked. He seemed to pick up on Daemon’s surprise at the request, adding, “Laenor mentioned it before. He said they have all manner of wares from within the realm, and even from across the Narrow Sea.”

“We may,” Daemon said, warmed by the pleased smile he received in response. “Do you seek anything in particular?”

He had presented them with gifts for three of their name days thus far, but that still left five. And some of his other planned gifts would not be ready for months. Any insight into what his children enjoyed was sorely welcome. They spent so little time at play, too serious about their studies.

“Princess Rhaenyra said that your name day is in less than three moons,” Rhaegar said, smile turning stern. “So you must not look if we choose something for you.”

Daemon had not celebrated his name day in nearly a decade, other than alone with Caraxes and one of the few barrels of good wine that made it on occasion to the Stepstones by way of Driftmark. His last true celebration had been a pleasant supper with Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra, followed by a drunken night of debauchery in Flea Bottom that had earned his brother’s disapproval in the morning upon hearing of it.

It had been only two moons after Viserys had quietly taken him aside and “suggested” that he take Lord Beesbury as an advisor in his yet-new position of master of coin. Daemon had known the true source of the suggestion: Otto Hightower. Daemon had been only three moons in the office and still learning its scope; bringing in the former master of coin to all but do his job for him had been clearly intended to undermine him by implying he could not manage on his own.

That was the one office Daemon had resigned from before his brother could directly dismiss him, as he made a habit of. That had been before he’d realized just how short his leash would be for any office while Otto Hightower whispered in his ear simultaneously of Daemon’s immaturity and ambition.

A hand squeezed his, jolting him from his thoughts. “Father?” It was Rhaegar’s voice, gentle with concern, rather than stilted as it could sometimes be when addressing him.

Daemon smoothed wisps of light hair from his son’s forehead, then rested his hands on either cheek, heart a jumbled mess between the sentiment and the barest trace of wariness that lurked in his eyes whenever Daemon behaved in a way he did not expect. He kissed his brow, vowing that one day Rhaegar would come to expect only love at the hands of family, rather than the cold indifference—or worse—he had suffered under the Royce household.

“You can give me no greater gift than your company that day,” he said, transferring a hand to Jon’s cheek as well.

Jon gave a solemn nod. “But if I wrap Rhaegar to leave outside your door, who will wrap me?”

Daemon nearly choked on his laugh, the humor entirely unexpected. His eldest was quite sneaky in that regard, though both had a similarly clever wit. He feared for whoever might earn their wrath once they reached adolescence.

“Would you like a small purse apiece for the market, then?” he asked. “So that you are spared solving such a riddle?”

“There is no need,” Rhaegar said, revealing a bulging purse beneath his jacket. “Uncle Viserys gave us an allowance for it.”

“That was very generous of him,” Daemon said, smiling to mask a sudden flood of resentment at the reminder that nothing that he had to offer them was his own. It was all through Viserys and the royal treasury. He had no holding of his own to build an income, nor would he.

Curious stares followed them through the streets, news of the strange circumstances of his sons’ birth having traveled beyond the court. Laenor had informed him with great enthusiasm that a troupe of mummers were at work on a new play with a working title of “The Hidden Princes and the Witch of Runestone.”

If his sons were uneasy with the attention, they did not show it, more fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city. I should have taken them out sooner, Daemon thought fondly. There was a minstrel at one corner, playing the lute outside of a tavern to lure travelers in, and Rhaegar’s head tilted a moment, listening, before his eyes brightened. He hurried over, Daemon and Jon a few steps behind, and joined the minstrel in his song, his higher pitch shifting into an effortless harmony.

The minstrel looked startled by the sudden accompaniment, and even perhaps dismayed to find himself outperformed by a small child, but his eyes took in Daemon as he approached, and the princely attire his sons were wearing—as well as the growing crowd, drawn by the unusual spectacle as well as the sweetness of the song—and the man seemed to then accept the situation as one of good fortune.

Daemon smiled as he watched Rhaegar, enjoying his son’s obvious joy at an excuse to sing. The song was familiar to him, one of a wandering hedge knight in search of a maiden he had spied bathing in the moonlight and fallen in love with, but rendered nearly haunting with the addition of Rhaegar’s voice, which made it into a duet of man and maiden.

At the final verse, the minstrel made as though to bow, only for Rhaegar to continue on alone for another four, and the tale went from one of happy reunion to bittersweet loss as the maiden revealed the true reason she had evaded the hedge knight’s pursuit: the waters had told her that when she found love at last, they would have but a year before death claimed them.

There were very few dry eyes in the crowd at the song’s conclusion, and there was a light ache in his own throat, but the ending seemed to upset Jon in particular, so Daemon wrapped him up in his arms. “It is only a song.”

“If he had not gone after her, they both would have lived,” Jon said into his abdomen.

“Perhaps so,” Daemon murmured, stroking fingers through his hair as he pondered why the song had touched him so. Elys and Corwyn had died two years after the twins’ birth, and his sons had thought them their parents most of their lives. Rhea’s death was still fresh for them as well, he supposed. “But the life of a hedge knight is not without peril. Perhaps he would have found death another way.”

Jon frowned, not liking that response, and Daemon sighed, releasing him. “Come, let us collect your brother from his admirers.”

The minstrel was splitting his attention between collecting the shower of coin that had fallen at the song’s conclusion and interrogating his son on where he had heard the additional verses.

“From a harpist who wandered through the Gates of the Moon,” Rhaegar said, beginning to look uncomfortable.

Daemon quickly moved into the man’s view, fixing him with a look that halted further questioning.

“My prince,” the minstrel said, bowing with a flourish. “What an honor to have the privilege of sharing a song with your son.”

“Indeed,” Daemon said, beckoning Rhaegar back to his side. “I suggest you content yourself with your good fortune.”

“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said once they were away from the gathered crowd, flicking anxious glances in Daemon’s direction. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Daemon said firmly. “You may sing whenever you like. You upstaged that minstrel and he knew it.”

Rhaegar moved to walk at Jon’s side, whispering something quiet to him—another apology, perhaps? Jon shrugged, the motion stiff, but he summoned a small smile in response. Fortunately, the distraction of River Row seemed to take their minds off the matter. The street stank of fish, and was awash in colorful stalls loudly peddling their goods.

They were not even at the market square yet, and he had to corral them back within reach several times with stern warnings of pickpockets and unsavory characters who grew in number as Aegon’s Hill grew more distant.

The chaos was nigh unmanageable by the time they reached the market. They still drew glances, Daemon’s hair and attire—and Dark Sister at his side—making his identity plain. But the people in the market were here for one of two purposes: to sell or be sold to. They kept their gawking to sideways glances for the most part, aside from one very bold hand that curiously reached for his hair before being swatted aside.

The strong scent of cooked meat and vegetables from the side of the market that served tempting dishes that could be held in one’s hand to eat while walking covered up the worst of the encroaching smell of raw fish and nearby sewage. There were sweeter fares as well, including a stall that spun sugar into elaborate shapes to cool and be sold.

The peddlers’ calls grew particularly loud whenever they were noticed, to the point where Jon was beginning to look overwhelmed. Daemon was not without his own tension. Every voice that carried an accent from the Free Cities, and especially the occasional spoken Valyrian, transported him back to the crush and throng of the Stepstones.

They eventually reached a portion of the market that was less frantic, where he was no longer touching four different bodies at once, and Daemon slowly relaxed. The boys went from stall to stall with Daemon looking on a few steps back, moving with them. Occasionally they would lean in for hushed discussion, dark hair against light, then turn to him in unison with appraising eyes before resuming their conversation.

Daemon had no idea what they would decide upon for gifts, but he was greatly looking forward to finding out what they had deemed worthy. They had found something at the present stall, which seemed to be an assortment of leather goods ranging from cow’s hide to more exotic sources.

Jon looked back toward him. “Turn around,” he ordered. “She has to finish making it and then wrapping it.”

Daemon gamely turned away. “Tell me when it is safe to look.”

He contented himself with scanning the rest of the current extension of the market, occasionally meeting the quickly averted gaze of an onlooker startled to be caught. That was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to when walking about openly, though years ago in Flea Bottom, the denizens had come to view his frequent presence among them as something to be expected. When he truly wished to walk about without fuss, he went cloaked and hooded.

A startled cry rang out back toward the portion of the market they had just left, and Daemon glanced that way to see that one of the food stalls had caught flame. He could make out the shouts for water, and a few nearby peddlers flapped with cloth at the fire, seeking to smother it. It seemed to only inflame it somehow, the fire almost dancing from one stall to another, which then caught.

Daemon recognized in the louder murmurs of the crowd the sound of unease yielding to panic, his own alarm growing with it. Panic was unpredictable, and the crowd would seek whatever outlet they thought offered safety, willing to trample whoever got in their way.

He turned back to the stall, ready to sweep his children up and leave before the chaos reached them, only to find the stall empty and his sons nowhere in view. His mind blanked with incomprehension for a moment, breath catching in his throat, and he closed the distance to the stall in an instant, looking around wildly. His sons were nowhere to be seen, but there was a woman’s body in rapidly pooling blood slumped at the other side of the stall.

No. Daemon’s hand closed around Dark Sister’s hilt, an icy fear flooding his veins. He took a deep breath to call for them, only to freeze at the sudden prick of something sharp and metal against his back.

“Quiet,” a voice said behind him, soft and unaccented. “Do you wish to see your sons?”

“Where are they?” Daemon asked, holding perfectly still. He might be quick enough to move before the man behind him sunk his blade in, but he did not know if there were more. There must be, to have taken his sons away. “What do you want?”

“If you do as I say, I shall take you to them. Fight, and you will never see them again.” The man waited, as though to see if he intended to put up a struggle. “Remove your hand from your blade.”

Daemon stared forward, paralyzed by indecision. He could mean to kill me anyway. This may be intended to buy time so that they may take the boys further out of reach.

But what could he—or they—even want? If it was ransom they sought, then the more captives, the better. If it was revenge, they would have killed his sons, and Daemon after.

“That dragon blood of yours is worth a great deal,” the voice said with a hint of impatience. “But only balanced against the trouble you might cause. Remove your hand.”

Ransom, then. Daemon clutched that hope to his chest and released his grip on Dark Sister. His hand was grabbed and twisted behind his back, firmly but not painfully so, and he was guided between stalls, out of view. Then, something smooth and rounded was pressed into his hand.

“Drink this.”

The shouts in the market square had grown louder, and the wind was beginning to blow smoke in their direction. Daemon had spotted the occasional gold cloak earlier, but there were none to be seen now, the men likely moving to seek control of the fire or the crowd. There were far more pressing things for the people milling about the market to pay attention to than a prince tucked just out of view, a blade to his back.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, though he could guess. If it was not poison, then it was something intended to dull the senses and render him easy to move without struggle.

“Drink,” the man repeated. “Or I spill that royal blood onto the cobblestone, which would be a shameful waste.”

Daemon brought the bottle into view, its milky glass obscuring its contents save for a faintly darker line where the liquid within sloshed. A tiny cork served as a stopper.

I cannot see them again if I am sliced open in River Row.

Ransom could be paid. Daemon knew that Viserys would not hesitate on his behalf or his sons’, whatever objections Otto might raise.

He brought the cork to his teeth, and pulled it loose, then tipped the liquid back. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, debating whether he could feign swallowing, but a hand closed over his lips and pinched his nostrils shut until he swallowed, at which point it moved to grip his right arm again. The man made no move to lead him anywhere, seeming content to wait for the potion to take its effect.

“You have not hurt them?” Daemon asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“They are not harmed,” the man said with a hint of amusement. “Though I cannot say the same for some of the others. I did warn them about Jon.”

A dizziness rolled over Daemon, followed by a heaviness that came in waves that settled deeper each time. At last he was prodded forward, and it took all his concentration to put one foot ahead of the other. Then another. Then—

#resonant 'verse rescue au #resonant concept writing #aka writing 2.5K of concept stuff instead of resonant like i should be

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months

Text

ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴀ ꜱɪʀᴇɴ'ꜱ ᴄᴀʟʟ

pairing: siren!choi jongho x fisher!reader

AU: fantasy au

word count: 4.6k

masterlist

Whatever you do, do not follow a Siren’s call. Its sweet voice may entice you, its looks may blind you. But to follow its heed, is to open your arms to the Angel of Death and say “Let me be your devotee.” To follow its call is to be marked by the Siren, forever.

The hypnotic beam of the ocean called for her in the dead of the night, where the dilapidating of her dwindling soul aided her quest to hunt for the food she was deprived of. It was the allure of the ocean too. Calling her name, its whispers sent a tantalising shiver down her spine, beckoning her. Magnetising her. Each of her limbs bowed to the sea, begging to feel the rush of cacophonous tides slap against her skin. The spray of sea salt-a musk, she could get intoxicated on until the Angel of Death travelled to her from darkened lands.

Her fingers flipped over the dense pages eyes scouring over reams of text and intricate drawings of the enigmatic creatures that harboured the sea, she sat on the floor of her boat, the barge settling upon the large expanse of the desolate sea. The moon hung serenely in the sky, the flickering of candles that penetrated the bleak homes had been blown out as sleep overtook the aching hearts of the townspeople. Over the past few weeks, the village had been struck with a shortage of food. Prices inflated as terrified fisherman refused to sail out into the sea and hunt for fish. It seemed the weather was equally aghast to the earth's aquarian- for a storm was brewing, the sky darkening into a stony grey, wind howling every night parrying against the wooden doors that were tightly locked, the metal hinges gripped onto the architraves for dear life. When she asked why they were so terrified, it was revealed that a daring fisherman had angered the Siren’s; thinking that a man was God and not made by him. Thinking that a Siren's land could easily be as colonised as one human colonised another. In turn their malevolent roars had burst his ear drums, their nails as sharp as knives impaled brutally into his supple flesh. With severed limbs, and gashes embroidered into his corpse, they had pushed back at the boat-rolling onto the port with poisoned fishes. A mockery. A warning, even.

Do not dare to anger a Siren. Its wrath exceeds boundaries that surpasses human imagination.

But the townspeople were wrought with hunger, starvation killing of the younger child with a weakened immune system that was simply pending on a trigger. Starvation had killed off her mother too, along with her father-who had in fact been taken by the sea itself. It was just her and her brother remaining, hungry and struggling to make ends meet with his measly job as a clerk. He promised that when he’d conjured sufficient funds, they’d move to the city to forge a better life for themselves and she would too be able to work. Though that seemed impossible with the way that progression, in his line of work, was almost unattainable. Thus, with her already struggling to stand on her own two feet-she decided to take matters in her own hands. It seemed quite impulsive of her, but she had enough skill to fish for the whole economy- it was just the danger she needed to steer clear off. As long as she didn’t venture into their lands and cause a ruckus, she’d be fine. Right?

“What am I supposed to do? If I don't go out there then we'll both be dead by the end of the month.” She argued. He slumped deeper into the sofa, resting his head in his palms.

“I’m just going to have to travel to the nearest town and see what they have.”

“The nearest town is three hours away. How will you cope?”

“I’ll cope alright. You stay here, its too dangerous. If the Sirens don't take you, the sea will.” He patted her head, gingerly as if to console her. She hated the way she was confined to their small home, feeling helpless as every day her brother came back home with little pennies in his pocket. Despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, she failed a number of times. It wasn't until he handed her all of the information she needed into the palm of her hand, that he had catalysed her venture out to the coast.

“The fishermen are thinking about going out to sea again.” Her ears perked up at the news, though she kept her gaze fixated to the chopping board as she sliced the vegetables. Flicking her eyes over to the stirring pot, she stirred the soup, her hands circulating the pot- before gripping the knife again. Picking up the map settled beside him, he ambled to her side-leaning against the countertop. “Look. They’ve said that on the safe side, we won’t use the first and second harbour. We’ll have to use the Queen’s Harbour, but steer clear of this part instead.” Fixating her gaze on the map, she gave him a curt nod, reeling in the co-ordinates and committing as much as she could-subtly moving forward as if she could not see the map clearly from where she stood.

“That’s good, but you should plan to make your trip anyway. They’ve been saying that for two weeks straight but nobody's been moving.” She advised. Agreeing with her - he grabbed the tin off the shelf, folding up the map neatly before placing it in. He didn’t notice her memorising his words, lips moving up and down as she poured his soup into the bowl dropping it in front of him. Before the dawn rose, she scuttled out of her bed-reaching for the tin on the shelf to steal the map.

Their fishing boat was not the largest among the array that sat proudly upon the shoal of the iridescent waves. It was ghostly white in colour, but perhaps the most meticulously cared for seeing that when their father had left it to their possession, he entrusted them to care of it. No matter how scarcely they went fishing. Throwing in her tools, she jumped into the boat, unravelling the ropes that tied the boat down to the docks. Hauling at the heavy oars, the barge drifted outwards towards the large expanse of the sea. She didn't travel too far out, considering the fish were mostly dense near the rocky shores. Moving out early was tactful too; grabbing the bait from the box, she pierced it to the end of the hook, slinging the line into the water.

Her luck was poor. The wind had gotten a lot colder picking up its pace, and she forgot her coat back at home in the rush of having to escape to the shore without being seen. With trembling limbs, she tried and tried again-growing tired and hungry yet all the fish seemed to have dispersed. Paddling out a little, she tried a number of areas yet she failed.

"Come on fishies. I gotta eat." She pleaded, turning the reel handle, the fly line drew up and out of the water. The hook was empty. With an exasperated sigh, melancholia flooded through her. Losing all hope, she wrapped away all of her equipment settling it to the side. One last time, she peered into the water, hoping to find a small aquarian shimmering beneath. Instead, she sought the silhouette of a much larger figure- flickers of a broad back with dark hair. A Siren?

“Come throw your heart into the waves

Your soul is lost, and still it saves

Drink me in and come undone”

A melodious voice permeated her ears, its hum serenading her blood, smoothing the flow of her palpitating heart. Its voice so eerily translucent, vibrating through her muscles, shimmering in the breeze as her hair fluttered delicately in the midnight sky. Her body paralysed to the spot, her skin itching to rip the fabric that clung to her like glue. At once, she lunged for the oars ignoring the intense rippling of the cerulean sea as she travelled the surface of the boat. Her arms rowed powerfully, as the waters rocked harshly against her. Panicked breaths escaped her, as she oared through the waters, the port in sight though tiredness gnawed at her aching muscles.

“Bring your body unto me”

Her eyes felt itself droop, her panicked breaths became eroticised by its seductive voice. She hated the bewitchment, she hated the way she wanted to feel its touch upon her cold, paling skin. Yet she persisted against her wild emotions, rowing and rowing. A shriek escaped her lips, as the boat rocked backwards upon a sudden weight. Paralysed to the spot, the saccharine hums edged closer. A shadow loomed above her, creeping down, its slender fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl, you’re so strong.” A masculine voice whispered, sending a shot of delirium through her. “Let me gift you, my dear.” A pearl necklace clasped itself around her neck. Her hands flung towards it immediately. Daringly, he pressed his lips to the gleam of her neck. Instantly, she snapped her head around and the enigmatic figure was gone, lost to the sea. As soon as she reached the port, she grabbed all the fishing tools and dashed back to her home. With the dawn slowly infiltrating the sky, she placed all of the tools into the shed, and traipsed back into her bedroom.

Catching her eyes in the mirror, the pearl necklace was coated with a silvery blue, glistening in the darkness of her room. Her hands slid to the back of her neck, in a desperate attempt to find the clasp. There was no clasp. Immediately, panic fulfilled her, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes. She’d just have to pull it off. Yet she could not, as she tried to tug at the pearls, the skin around her neck pulled violently. With a painful gasp, a weary sob eructed from her - flopping onto her bed she continued to sob into the pillow.

She was marked by a Siren. There was no other possible explanation. Reaching for the book she'd thrown onto her bed, she frantically flipped through the pages. Looking for something, anything, on markings; their potentially symbolic meanings and how to get rid of them.

Siren's can mark humans in a multiple of ways. There are three key types of markings. A tattoo can simply mean the mark of death. Marking can also be through inhabiting sharp canines, longer nails even a tail which allows a Siren to share your body so it can walk freely across the lands. This is temporary, the markings can be removed safely. The last one is marking by what the Siren's call 'gifting'. This is mainly carried out by male Sirens, they often give their human counterparts gifts such as earrings, bracelets, necklaces.

On instinct her hands flew to her neck, where a string of pearls were embedded into her skin, the bumps sending a jolt of despair through her. It felt like a set of hands gripping around her neck. Her eyes shot back down to the book spread across the laps, patiently waiting for her brother's footsteps to stop loitering outside her door.

This is potentially one of the worst types of marking. This is the mark of 'love' where the Siren's now own the body of their lover. It is up to them to do what they wish, whether it be marriage, mating, slavery, a slow death. This mark can only be removed by the Siren itself.

"Where did you get that necklace?" Her brother pondered, the same evening as he came back from work. They sat opposite each other on the dining table, in the crook of their tiny kitchen.

"Oh, erm Mum's jewellery box." Giving her sheepish smile, he turned back to his food.

"It looks nice, speaking of. One of our regular clients at work was asking about you. He saw that photo of you, me and Mum that we took last year." Humming as if she was paying attention, her spoon ran through the middle of her plate-playing with her food. Her ears had tuned out the sound of his voice as her eyes wandered out into the distance where the sea rested upon the crest of the shore. She had no choice but to go back, she needed to find the Siren who marked and get the wretched necklace of her neck. "Anyways, he's rich so I think you should marry him."

"Marry who?"

"San. We wouldn't have to worry about money again, plus he likes you." Her eyebrows creased in confusion, before huffing. He’d brought up the topic of marriage before, wanting his sister to be married to someone who could protect her better than him. Keep her safe and more comfortable than he ever could. In response, she’d tease him about having a wife- but he’d only shake his head saying he needed a lot more money and job security before settling down to start a family.

"Where did San come from?"

"Where you even listening to me?" He questioned with furrowed brows, wiping his hands with the napkin. Her silence caused him to release a sigh of frustration, throwing the dirty tissue her way.

At night, she moved along the shore again-once again unravelling the ropes, setting out to sail. At first she had to wait for her brother to fall asleep, which seemed futile due to his incessant insomnia, which had him roaming around the home at merciless hours. The waters were eerily quiet, letting go of the oars, she got up, summoning as much courage as she had to peak over the side of the boat.

"Bring your body unto me."

A jostle of horror coursed through her veins, as a pair of hands gripped onto the hull. Aerial hums transgressed the cool air once more, his round face slowly arose from the water, big eyes captivating her-the curve of his cheeks and menacingly charming smile, that had her body swaying towards him. His skin was tinted with a light blue shade, his collarbones painted in a gleaning silver glitter. His bare chest triggered a warm flush to spread over her cheeks. Following the movements of his pink lips, she could not help herself as she leaned over the side of the boat to draw her hands closer to him.

"Let your graveyard be the sea, Come away and drink it in."

His large hands ensnared around her wrist, jerking her body over the side, a potent force sunk her under the tumultuous waves. Her lungs screeched for air, the blood inside sizzling as the Siren tightened his grip swimming towards the bed of the sea. Her mind in a haze, body: his, as she heeded to his command. The bewitching croons dispersed as they moved closer to bed; the roar of the wind, rushing of water, wind rippling the surface ached her ears. Before she knew it, the bed of the sea drowned her in-her body pushed through the small crevices into a distant land.

A harsh cough escaped her, exhaling loudly, her body slumped against a rock, eyes fluttering as her temple felt as if a trident had been lodged through it. The Siren sook in her figure with his wide eyes. Her body trembled as an array of goosebumps rippled over her skin, she caught a glint in her peripheral vision-the outline of a sharp blade within arms reach. Upon seeing the Siren, she retreated backwards in fear.

"Were you the one to put this necklace on me?" He nodded, his wide eyes glossed with a certain type of innocence, the type that made her want to forgive him. "Can you take it off?" Her voice brimmed with desolation. His lips pulled into a frown.

“I can't. You belong to Choi Jongho now. You're mine.” Just as she predicted, he would hold his ground-stating true to her textbook knowledge of his remarks. She understood why they said to never follow a Siren’s call now; the beauty of his man had her unconsciously drifting towards him. The desire to outstretch her hand and address the surface of his smooth skin, to feel his bare skin pressed against hers. Those thoughts felt abhorred, but Siren’s were creatures of seduction; pumping lust into their subjects. One last time, her hands reached to the back of het neck; in an attempt to rid herself of the necklace he draped around her. With no clasp she slid her finger through the pearls-yanking the beads as hard as she could feeling the harrowing stretch of her skin as she tugged; her breath becoming lodged in her throat. “Don’t! You’ll rip out your throat.” Arduously, her arms fell at her sides as her weak endeavours failed pathetically.

"Why-why did you do this to me?" Resting her back against the rock, her chest heaved furiously.

"I like pretty things. If I see something pretty, I keep it." Suddenly, her arm stuck out towards him, as if her fingers were magnets attracted to the opposite pole. Harshly she tried to retract, yet instead her whole body lurched forward- into the water-twirling as if orchestrating an elegant dance. Taking an agitating step back, her limbs heavy as she tried to repel her body against him.

“Stop this!” This time both arms stuck out as if she was reaching out for him. Firmly plastering both feet to the ground, her arms remained fixated in the same humiliating position.

“If you want to hug me, you’ll have to come a bit closer.” He teased, he found the spectacle in front of him quite amusing.

“I don’t want a hug. Stop this now!” She didn’t mean for her voice to be crowded with as much apprehension and desperation as it was now, her bottom lip quivering slightly. It was so painful to repel, yet it was damning to surrender.

“I can’t. Our souls are bound now, the attraction you’re feeling? One day you won’t even be able to fight back.” She slumped to the floor, rubbing her hand against her chest as if it would soothe the pain she was feeling. Her lungs were burning, her heart was palpitating, the tension between was growing thick was every waking moment. Shutting her eyes, she curled up into a ball; the tormenting pull on her muscles relaxed, she released a contented sigh for a single second, before she felt a warm weight rest on her waist.

“Get your hand off me.” She snapped, a warm chuckle escaped from his pink lips.

“It feels much better, though. Doesn’t it?”

“No.” His hand retracted immediately at her dismissal, the pain washed slowly into her blood again, like the tides that tugged the sand slipping into unspeakable depths of the ocean- the sharp spike jolting through her so much that she could not even breathe. Irrationally, she jumped into his arms- craving his skin as one craved morphine; wrapping her arms around his own waist to feel the morphine that soothed the burn of a thousand hot knives impaling her supple skin. The pain dispersed as if it was never there to begin with. “Could you at least get the necklace off me?” She begged, peering to look up at him through her lashes. She was just going to have to play his game and win.

“Why?” His lips fell into a frown.

“I don’t like pearls.” She lied. Of course she adored them, she spent the majority of her childhood picking them out from oyster shells-creating small pearl necklaces and earrings.

“What do you like instead? Sapphires? Gold?” Running his hands through the length of her hair, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her forehead.

“I don’t really like jewellery. Could you just take it off? Please?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My love.” She whispered, his heart swayed with her every breath-drunk on the fumes of her every exhale. Catching sight of the fish hook behind him, she leaned forward, momentarily stopping in front of his face. Was she really going to do this? What choice do I have? Delicately, she pressed her own lips to his, circling her arms around her neck, to pull his head towards her. Her arms outstretched behind her to yeild the blade as close to her as she could. He pushed his body forward, her back hitting daintily against the rock. His body hovered over hers; warm breath leaving a trail of desire littering over her skin. Before she could blink, he began to pepper kisses over her neck. Slowly and softly his head slid down, dangerously lower and lower. It was then she realised how low cut the neck of her dress was. Unconsciously, her hands rinsed through his raven hair-pressing his head down deeper into her collarbone. With a hand around her neck, the heavy weight of the pearls lightened the load on her neck.

“Thank you.” She breathed out. With his head dug into her collarbone, she held back a grunt as she strained to reach for blade, the handle slipping into her palms like glue. Languidly, she drew the knife closer to his abdomen- the honed end waltzed on his skin. Taking a deep breath, the knife dug into the crevice of his skin; pushing the weight of his body off her, she scrambled to her feet, the ends spewing blood like raindrops. His heaving breaths pervaded the air, his siren eyes glaring out.

“I love you and this how repay me?” Letting out a forced laugh, his cackles sent dangerous ripples through the water- before he could do anything else she darted away from rock- the drag of the water halting her. “You clever bitch!” His scream echoed within the caverns yet her feet travelled as far as they could away from him, the water rising from her knees all the way to her chest. She hadn’t thought this was through- how would she get out? Quickly, her eyes scouted her surroundings, until she found a small hole carved within a rock yet large enough for her to fit through. Inhaling a deep breath, she dove into the water arms and legs moving powerfully to resist the harsh waves his anger had conjured. Lurching herself of the sea bed, she swung up her arms, flailing her legs to travel upwards feeling his angered roar tremble through her bones.

“You are no more, you are no less.

For all must die, all must rest.”

His hymns would not work now, she was no longer bound to him with the pearls having been rid from her body. Her head pushed up the surface of the water, oxygen powering into her lungs- inhaling as much as she could. Kicking her feet to stay afloat, she glided towards the boat- with an iron tight fist she flung herself over, rolling onto the floor. Nimbly, she got up towards the oars; smacking them down as hard as she could into the water. The boar tipped backwards with the sudden weight, her head snapping back; she was succumbed to his deadly gaze. If looks could kill.

“You forgot the necklace.” He threw the pearls in her direction, the clatter making her flinch. As fast as she could, she took hold of the oar-slamming the wood against his knees as hard as she could. Letting out a painful grunt, she tackled him to the floor. With a fish hook in sight, she grabbed it- as a beggar grabbed morsel- lifting it above her head, pummelling it into his rubbery skin. Drowning out the sounds of his screams, as she mutilated his skin; gutting it as one gut fish. Repeating the action. Until her arms had given up on her. Chucking the blade into the water, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes, she let out a pained sob. A scream terrorised the waters, purling through the underworld, stunting the water’s fluidity. Her blood stained hands cupped her sides of her cheeks, running through her hair- tears washing away the blood over his body.

In the distance, a figure had pounded into the water- using the little strength she had to push the boat on its head. A Siren’s body floated down towards the sea bed, as the soft waves carried her body to the docks.

Her brother’s trip to the next town proved successful, they were far from hungry-and he bought a little more than he should have; managing to sell a load in the town’s market. After a while, the fisherman formed a congregation and finally went out to sea. At first she was unsure if the Siren’s were still angry as she killed Jongho. Then again, she didn’t know how beloved he was to them. She didn’t want to know either, the image of his dead body engraved in her head. Yet when they came back with mounds of fish, and the economy was booming again, she had come to a quick conclusion that he must have not been anything but a head count. She never went near the sea again, for every step closer to the coast meant a step closer to Jongho despite the fact that his soul had been taken by the Angel of Death. At night, she could not help but let her mind litter to the way his touch kissed her skin; soon after she was reminded of the way she brutally murdered him. Over time, she suffered from insomnia like her brother, staying hidden in her bedroom to avoid suspicion of her sudden sleep apnea.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go fishing with me?” She nodded, unable to tell him that their boat had been lost the waves now- with a few bits of their equipment. Perhaps it was her brother’s insomnia that had impaired his judgement, for he didn’t notice the missing equipment and when he didn’t enquire about the missing boat- confusion struck through her. “What about the boat? It’s still there, why would it be anywhere else?” At first she didn’t believe him, so summoning all the fortitude she had, she made her way down to the docks to see him off to the sea. And there it was. No blood stains, no damage, pearly white as it had always been. Not wanting to entertain a foreign thought (of Jongho not being dead) she assumed maybe the other fisherman had been kind enough to return it to them.

Maybe it was San. She’d finally met him that day by the docks- she could understand her brother’s insistence to marry him. For now, she’d wait and let things settle as they were- and he was a kind soul keen on waiting for her.

Sat on her bed, lazily drifting her eyes through the words on a book- she aimlessly drew her pencil across. A knock, followed by the door creaking open, got her up from her bed- her brother stood in the doorway summoning for her.

“I made a friend whilst fishing.”

“That would be a first.” She joked, placing her book aside to give him attention.

“I thought I’d introduce you to him. He’s a natural at hunting for fish. And he let me use his equipment too.” She followed her brother to the front door. “I invited him to dinner.” She gave him a pointed look, huffing as she’d have to prepare food for one more mouth. Braking violently by the doorway, her mouth hung slightly agape as she took in the figure before her.

He turned around, those same wide eyes greeting her again. His round cheeks, uplifting as he pulled his lips into a charming smile. He was clad in the same fisherman’s dress as her brother, hair smoothed back as if untouched by a drop water. He sent a taunting wave.

“Hi, I’m Jongho.” Her words lodged in her throat, her brother sending her a displeased look.

“I’m sorry Jongho, she’s shy sometimes.” He flicked his hand reassuringly. Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled a rectangular black velvet box.

“Here, I heard you like pearls.”

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: may edit later!!!! Bro just wanted to give her some pearls 😭 we need more jongho’s, oc gotta get her shit together honestly 🙄✋🏻 the song is from a book called The Siren by Kiera Cass

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

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novaursa · 5 days

Text

The Fire That Was Promised

- Summary: You burn down King’s Landing in an act of revenge before flying to Shadowlands.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: This short story is one of the possible endings to The Broken Crown series, where Y/N takes revenge against her brother.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The wind tears at your hair as Tesaerix’s powerful wings slice through the air, carrying you higher and farther from the place that no longer feels like home. The dark expanse of the Narrow Sea stretches below you, a boundless void that mirrors the one gnawing at your heart. You should be bound for Winterfell, not Essos, wrapped in the furs of the North and preparing to wed Torrhen Stark. Instead, you’re flying away from everything you thought you’d ever wanted. Everything that should have been yours.

Your thoughts twist and turn, darker than the night sky around you. Aegon had taken everything from you. He had called off your betrothal with a cold, ruthless command, casting aside the promise of a life and family that had been within your grasp. Your role as his sister-wife, his conquest, had been his choice, not yours. You were the youngest, the last to be claimed by his insatiable hunger for power—and perhaps something more.

Anger thrums through you, a living thing, and you feel it course through Tesaerix as well. Your bond is deep, your emotions shared. The mighty dragon's blood-red eyes flicker with the same rage that seethes in your veins. You grit your teeth, clutching the reins tighter. The sky blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. Tears of frustration, of loss, of betrayal. You’re fleeing, yes, but there’s no solace to be found in running.

You’ve flown long enough.

Without a word, you guide Tesaerix in a sharp, spiraling turn, your heart hammering as you abandon your course to Essos. The golden dragon roars in response, a sound of confusion, anger—and something else. As if she, too, senses the burning desire that has ignited within you. Revenge.

King’s Landing looms on the horizon, a sprawling city bathed in the eerie glow of the moon. The sight of it fuels your wrath. The seat of your brother’s power, the very heart of his kingdom—and your prison. The memory of Aegon’s face, impassive and unyielding as he broke your betrothal, flashes before you. He had not cared for your happiness, for your wishes. He had seen only what was his to take, to control.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, your voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Tesaerix responds instantly, diving down toward the city like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her massive form eclipses the moon as she descends, her wings unfurling in a terrifying display of strength. You can feel the heat building in her chest, the deep rumble that precedes a dragon’s breath of fire.

The first burst of flame hits the Flea Bottom, a rush of golden fire that spreads like a wave over the ramshackle buildings. Screams rise up from below, a cacophony of panic and pain. You feel no remorse, no hesitation. Aegon took your future; now you’ll take his city.

The Great Sept crumbles beneath the onslaught of dragonfire, the stained glass windows shattering in a shower of molten shards. The bells ring out, a desperate, mournful sound that echoes through the dying city. Tesaerix roars, her own fury mingling with yours, and you feel the bond between you surge, unbreakable, forged in this moment of wrath and ruin.

You leave only the Aegonfort untouched, a twisted gift to your brother, the conqueror who took and took until there was nothing left of you but a vessel for his ambitions. Let him rule over the ashes of his realm, let him see what his greed has wrought.

As the city burns, you turn Tesaerix’s head towards the east. You cast one last glance at the inferno below, the flames painting the sky with a hellish glow. It is done. You have nothing left here but ghosts and memories, and you refuse to be haunted any longer.

With a sharp command, you urge Tesaerix onward, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoking ruin of King’s Landing. The air is heavy with the scent of destruction, the cries of the dying fading into the distance as you climb higher, breaking through the veil of smoke and cloud.

You imagine Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya scrambling in confusion, rushing to their dragons. But you are already beyond their reach, the skies your domain, your dragon faster and fiercer than they could ever hope to match. By the time they take to the air, King’s Landing is a smoldering ruin, the night sky painted with the orange glow of the burning city.

And you do not look back again. You set your sights on the Shadowlands, on the mysteries and dangers that await you beyond the known world. You are no longer Aegon’s sister, no longer the bride denied. You are the dragon unleashed, and the world will remember this night as the first of many that you will carve your own fate into the very bones of history.

You leave the Aegonfort standing alone, a silent monument in a city of the dead, for him to find in the cold light of dawn. Let him see the ruin you have wrought, the empire of ash he has earned.

#fire and blood #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf #aegon the conqueror #aegon i x you #aegon i x reader #aegon i x y/n #aegon i targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 7 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 10: Soulbound

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Your fingers twitch and knead against satiny textiles as wakefulness begins to return you to existence. A lightheaded daze shrouds your vision as your eyes crack open. The canopy of your four-poster bed suspends above you. The drapery is embroidered beautifully with stars, constellations, moons in all phases, and soaring dragons, all revolving around the central sun. In this dream-like state, the depictions seem to move, playing out their destinies against the indigo astral sea as shadows gambol over the extravagant fabric. It would be enchanting if it were not making your head spin uncomfortably.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers clench and twist the fabric beneath you, and a feeble whine sighs from your lips. Your tongue feels numb and lazy, sagging in your mouth uselessly, and your body feels as fuzzy and impotent as your blurred vision.

“You are awake.”

Astarion’s voice grates at the inception of your consciousness, and you recoil as much as your bloodless body will allow. You still feel his hand around your neck, squeezing tight, halting the pleas in your throat as his fangs sawed at your neck, ripping and tearing the soft flesh. You tumble off the edge of the bed in your panic, and his hands break your fall.

He’s touching you. Hells, he’s touching you, and you want, nay need, him to fucking stop lest you suffocate.

“Don’t touch me,” you sob with a croak, flinging your hands up to protect yourself from further harm, palms heating as your magic surges. “Please. Gods. Don’t touch me.”

Astarion’s hands jerk away, and you shudder while trying to breathe. The stabbing pain in your throat is intolerable, fresh tears springing to your eyes, and your fingers tentatively prod the tender flesh. You don’t need a mirror to know that your skin is revoltingly bruised, a hemorrhaging mural composed by his wrath, and you whimper at the contact of your fingertips. The muscles in your arms and legs still feel like gelatin. They wobble weakly as you push yourself into a corner, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Darling-” Astarion’s hands are poised near you as if he might be able to stop the inevitable crumbling if only he could find the right place to brace it.

“Leave me alone.” You choke out grimly, swallowing the pain caused by your gruff inflection.

“It’s me,” he says, small and shaky.

You need time to think, to regain your composure, and you cannot do it with his eyes on you, his voice repeating your name like a prayer and his hands trying to find where your pieces are weakest so he can give them strength.

“Get out!” You wail despite the barbaric sting that causes more tears to rain out of your eyes. “Get the fuck out!”

“I… Yes, of course. As you wish.” Astarion stutters hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he will heed your commands. The door hinges creak as he closes it behind him, “I’m sorry,” he breathes with a sigh. “Truly.”

Like an ancient ruin that can no longer persevere against the ravages of time, you let yourself collapse and crumble.

The overbearing walls of the Crimson Palace wash over him in waves as he roams through them in a stupor. His fingertips drag across the chilled panels as he tries to orient himself. It feels like he’s waking from a nethermost trance, and his alertness has not fully recovered.

He dives for the desk when he enters the study. It’s full of papers and ledgers in neat piles, and he grabs at parchment chaotically, sending it scattering, sheets fluttering to the ground around him. His eyes scan the documents as he shuffles through them quickly. All in his hand, signature, name, but he does not recall any of this. He tosses sheet after sheet to the side until he finds one with a date.

Eight months.

Eight months of nonexistence. Of something walking around wearing his skin, using his name, speaking in his voice, imitating him.

Where the fuck has he been all this time?

He slams his hands on the desk. It cracks and caves in, regurgitating its contents to the floor. He frowns, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Her voice still reverberates, an echo in his mind, as she said goodbye in a hauntingly melodic timbre.

Why did she leave him?

Dashing through the halls, the floor mocks him in creeks and groans for his heavy steps. He pushes all the doors open as he progresses further into the palace until he finds what must be his room. Opening the wardrobes and dressers, he tosses his clothing haphazardly to the floor, detached from his typical compulsion for fastidiousness.

Nothing. Not a single article of clothing and none of her possessions are here. Why?

His heart pounds as he jogs through the palace until he catches her scent at the top of the dark staircase leading down into a murky darkness – the old spawn quarters.

No. This cannot be, surely. He wouldn’t. Right?

He bounds down the stairs, 2 or 3 steps at a time, until he comes to a slightly ajar door in the hallway with a lock that he does not recall being there. The pads of his shaky fingers stroke the cool metal, and he swallows the lump balling in his throat.

This has to be a nightmare. This cannot be real.

The door whines when he pushes it and peers into the room. It smells strongly of Jasmine, Honeysuckle and Vanilla - it smells like her. Astarion staggers in and throws open the simple wardrobes and chests, breaking the doors off some of them in his haste.

She left everything, which can only mean one thing - she fled.

What has he done?

“Lord Ancunin?”

Good Gods, he’s come to loathe that singsong voice like nails on a chalkboard, and the back of his throat tickles as it hauls him away from his reflections.

“Elowyn,” he sneers spitefully, crinkling his nose in disgust. “How many times must we have this discussion? If this disobedience persists, I may have to reconsider our little agreement. I have no need for a spawn that cannot follow simple orders.”

The lie rolls off his tongue, smooth and modulated with the hint of a threat. Elowyn wishes to be given the gift of eternal life, and she’s idiotic and vain enough to believe he would ever grant her such a thing, but it is a simple enough falsity to keep her happy and submissive.

“I beg your forgiveness, Master.” Elowyn whimpers, dropping to her knees with her hands clasped in her lap, “It won’t happen again.”

“Good girl. Be sure it doesn’t, or you will force me to teach you another lesson.” He drawls unenthusiastically while staring at his nails. Threatening her brings him no pleasure. He finds it all a rather tedious business. “Now, I did not come here to chitchat. Araj, tell me what you have discovered.”

Araj glares at him with her arms crossed. The Drow has much more spirit and is more arduous to keep in line than her counterpart.

“Hungry, Lord?” Araj quips and leans her head to the side with an egregious grin. “You are considerably ill-tempered today. There’s always a neck here available for the biting if you were so inclined.”

“You can offer all you wish,” he snaps, rolling his eyes. “The answer will be no until the end of time. You disgust me.”

“Such harsh words for an old friend.” Araj pouts sarcastically before launching into the excuses he’s already heard. “Your blood is not easy to work with. It’s volatile and eats through everything like caustic acid.”

“You brought me here to tell me of more failure?” He snarls, baring his teeth. He considers killing them both. Their tests have gotten him nothing and no closer to understanding what’s wrong with him, but there is at least one more answer he seeks before he can do away with them. “And the sun immunity?”

“It’s hard to say,” Araj shrugs. “Why the sudden interest in the sun resistance? I thought we were here to see what your blood may be capable of, not to waste our time trying to bottle useless effects. Why would you need a potion to make you invulnerable? You are already immune.”

“What yourself, Araj,” he growls threateningly, his brows knitting together in a fierce scowl that casts shadows over his eyes. “You are under my employ. I get to decide what’s useful to me and what isn’t. You will do as instructed.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Araj smirks. “If this is about that lovely spawn of yours, it may be prudent to allow us access to her blood.”

He’s out of his chair before Araj can blink, slamming her against the wall with one dagger to her throat and the other pressed harshly to her abdomen.

“If you touch her, I will liberate your vile innards from your body. Then, I will hunt down your family, lovers, and friends, turn them into my obedient meat puppets and let them rot away in my dungeon for eternity. She is off-limits. You are to go nowhere near her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Araj swallows hard, her eyes wide with fear. “Perhaps you might consider an alternative? Turn Elowyn, and we can use her blood for testing instead.”

Throwing his head back, he laughs loudly, making both women jump, “You do not give the hound a bone until it has won the race. Find another way.”

He releases Araj, sheathing his daggers, and stalks away.

Araj’s voice stops him, “Elowyn tells me you’re refusing to give her more samples. We cannot run further tests without it.”

“No.” She would not want him to do this, and he has failed her enough for one day, “You will get no more samples from me until you have done as I ask. The next time you request an audience with me, you better have results, Araj, or there will be consequences.”

“Is that a threat?” Araj spits harshly.

“My dear,” he drawls nonchalantly. With a subtle movement, a dagger hurtles through the air and embeds into the wall so close to Araj’s neck that the shiny steel pets her skin. He looms over Araj, forcing her to arch her back while he hauls the dagger from the wall, “It’s a fucking promise.”

There’s an odd beauty to darkness, an inky void that obscures your surroundings and allows you to delude yourself into believing the elixir of lies you pour into your soul. In it, you can pretend, if only for a moment, that you are not a prisoner of your past and your sins are rendered null as they circle like vultures smothered by the shadows.

So, you lay in the jet-black abyss. Even as your bones begin to rue the rigid floor, and your eyes can shed no more tears, you lay unmoving.

Astarion sits beside you on the floor with his back pressed flat against the wall. He hasn’t uttered so much as a syllable since he settled there hours ago. When you look into his eyes, you see mayhem, starlight and darkness, treading the edge between diabolical and divine. He is a devil cloaked in the skin of an angel with blood dripping from his eyes, but Gods, you’ll ignite the world and walk across the hot coals of its remains if it means preserving the light in him.

You’re a warrior. When life threatens you with a battle, you will awaken every monster, every dragon, every demon that slumbers within you and answer with bloodshed.

You’ve wallowed in your self-pity long enough. A war awaits, and you intend to win it or die trying.

Crawling into his lap, Astarion wraps his arms around you. One of his hands comes to the back of your head, and his cheek presses tightly to yours as you slip your arms around his neck.

And Gods, it feels like heaven to be held in the arms of hell.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes next to your ear while he sweeps your hair away from your neck. His fingers shake as they brood over the bruised skin and gnarled, coin-sized holes that his fangs left. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

You press your hand against his, flat palm to palm. His hand dwarfs yours, “It’s okay.”

Astarion scoffs while his fingers interlock with yours, “It is most certainly not okay. I very nearly drained you dry, and who in the Hells knows what I would have done with you afterward!” His voice is unsteady, labouring beneath misery, “I will take you back to Shadowheart and Gale come morning. We can continue your lessons until you can feed yourself. Once that is accomplished, our business will be concluded, and you will never have to see me again. Freedom, as much as I am willing to grant you, is yours.”

Your eyes distend, and your brows pull down. Astarion is granting you the freedom you want. You should be happy, ecstatic even. So, why does it fill you with dread?

“Is that what you want?” You choke out, faint and tuneless, and pray to any God that hasn’t turned their back on you that his answer is not yes. “You want me to leave?”

“No, little love,” he finally answers in an eerily, delicate baritone after too many agonizing minutes of silent contemplation. “I am selfish as I always have been, perhaps even more since the Rite. Of course, I do not wish you to go, but you are not safe with me. I cannot control it. I have lost days before - days of not knowing where I had gone or what I had done.” He chuckles sarcastically, dismal and sullen, “We get what we deserve in the end, I suppose.”

Perhaps we do.

“I’m not going,” you state matter-of-factly. “Do you trust me, Astarion?”

Astarion gently draws you back to look into your eyes, sorrow dulling his expression with his lips firm in a tight line, “You may be the only person in the entirety of the cosmos that I trust implicitly.”

“Then trust that when the spark in your eyes is snuffed out, I can be your glow,” you vow, chillingly formidable. “My soul is forged in fire, and I will burn brighter than your demons and choke the darkness. I will do whatever it takes. I will always bring you home.”

“Don’t be a martyr. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?” he admonishes you with a shake of his head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Good Gods, you can be obtuse sometimes,” you roll your eyes at him. “You can stop posturing this charade of ignorance any time. I know you heard what I said to Gale.”

Astarion’s eyes drift to your hand, embraced with his, and his thumb skims up and down yours, “What if I am incapable of loving you back?”

Can’t or won’t?

“I don’t expect you to,” you strive to keep your voice steady and casual even as your heart fractures and implodes in your chest. “Love given with the requisite of reciprocation is not love. I give it to you freely, as it always was, as it always will be. May I speak plainly?”

Astarion arches a brow, “Go on.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable of love, Astarion. I believe you’re scared of it.”

“Love is a sickness of the heart.” Astarion takes a deep breath, his voice grave. “It will hail itself your saviour but be your downfall.”

“Then...” you shrug, “down I go.”

Astarion loving you is a fantasy you’ve long relinquished. A pathetic hope that would asphyxiate you in pools of failed attempts. But wrapped in his arms, staring into scarlet eyes dusted with an ethereal radiance, a murmur begins to bite at your thoughts, quickly becoming a roar, filling your ears.

There’s that feeling again. That connection of invisible threads bridging the gap between you and the presence lingering in the back of your head that you cannot touch. It tugs at the borders of your mind with a request. No, an invitation. For the first time since it made its home in your consciousness when you reach out, it does not shy away, and you embrace it.

There’s an ear-splitting rush and a feeling of sinking. Your body jerks, trying to right itself, but Astarion holds you firmly, pulling you tighter.

“Let yourself sink,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Trust me just a little further.”

You stop fighting the feeling and plummet. Suddenly, you’re not just you any longer. You are you, and you are him simultaneously. One being in two bodies. You can feel the comfortable pressure of your body against him, and his heart beats behind your ribs.

Another abrupt drop. It makes your stomach flutter, and you’re in the bowels of a stygian doom. You feel the corruption you heard in his mind as if it were in yours, infecting your thoughts with sadistic rants and relentless chittering. You can almost taste the rancid colloquy on your tongue, and you fight the urge to retch.

A hunger longing to escape, thundering against the bars of its prison. It hums enticing promises in an absorbing, almost angelic inflection that compels you to release it, and you’re horrified to find yourself tempted.

You’re dragged away, a feeling of hurtling through time and space, not entirely unlike portal travel. His voice echoes in your mind, bellowing in your head, begging you to peer into his darkness, dance with his demons, and love him anyway.

I do, you answer, you are safe with me.

Your eyelashes flutter as you come back. You no longer hear the voices mumbling or feel that malevolent spectre with its seraphic affirmations, but you can still feel him in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I- I don’t understand,” you breathe, trying to reestablish yourself with your body, thoughts and feelings, “What was that?”

“I have always been with you.” Astarion gently taps your temple, “In here. You cannot tell me you have not felt me. I know you have because I always feel you.”

You can’t help the awe transforming your face as you continue feeling his desires, wants, and fears flowing through you as you flow through him, two stars colliding and recollecting unified.

“I thought that was just how you could compel me.”

“Well... it is,” he nods, “but there is much more to it than that.”

“Did you have this with...” You cut yourself off when you realize what you’re about to blurt out, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood.

Astarion smirks, “You know it works both ways, right?” You hear his voice in your head and only realize that it’s not him speaking when you comprehend his mouth isn’t moving, “Just because you don’t say it doesn’t mean I don’t hear it.”

Fuck. Are none of my thoughts private any longer? Did I throw open the door for the devil?

“The devil, hm? A little harsh, don’t you think?” Astarion giggles. He must see the terror in your eyes, or Hells, does he feel it? Either way, he squeezes your hand. “Say what you were going to say,” Astarion instructs. “You might as well just say it.”

“I didn’t mean that you’re the devil!” You yelp and swallow hard, “Did you have this with Cazador?”

You wince as the name strolls off your tongue. You were never to utter that name in Astarion’s presence, and whenever you did, you paid for your carelessness. You impulsively cower, thrusting your eyes shut, magic rising in a sharp upswing.

“Easy, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I would make a very dashing devil.” Astarion coos while rubbing your arm, “Yes and no. I felt something similar; that ubiquity rooted in my mind gave him the power to control me, but the link concluded there. This… bond, if you will, is unique to you and me.”

“Why did it not feel like this before? I can feel you, Astarion. I can feel your heart beating as if it were in my chest.” You push your palm against his shirt and let it heat slightly, and your skin starts to heat in concert, “I can feel this as if I were doing it to myself. I feel your desires, wants, and fears. Good Gods, I feel everything.”

It’s gloriously overwhelming, akin to a pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. Your nerves and synapses are overloaded as they attempt to make sense of all this information circuiting.

“I had to open the door, so to speak.” Astarion kisses your heated palm with a wolfish grin. “Tell me. What do I want, little love?”

I want you, it arises in your mind, drifting on the current between you.

“Me.” You stutter, feeling like all the breath has been sucked out of your lungs. You stare at him wide-eyed, “You want... me?”

“Until the world falls down,” he purrs tenderly with a genuine smile. “Do not worry. You are able to close and open the connection, same as I. I need not be in your head all the time. Your dirty thoughts are private if you wish, but I do hope you share.”

“Can you force the connection open?”

“Yes,” he retorts blatantly, “but I have not crossed that line, and I do not plan to, and before you ask, no, you cannot force it open. You can, however, request it simply by reaching out. Wherever I am, I will feel it.”

You rest your hand where your heart used to beat. Hells, it feels like it is beating again, but you’re feeling his. You thought you missed this sensation, but right now, you’re finding it a harsh cramp in your chest.

“Astarion, this… this is incredible.” Tears well in your eyes. He’s letting you in, and the significance of this gesture is staggering, “Thank you.”

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Astarion takes his lips in yours, and you can feel his eagerness, his rampant desire and his enjoyment. When your tongues meet, tasting each other, you’re blown away by pleasure, yours and his mixed.

“Oh my, this will make for some very depraved carnal fun. I could read your body before, but now I can feel it. Hmm, the possibilities are titillating.” Astarion grins devilishly, “But that will have to wait. You are weak and must rest. I could find you some food if you wish. It will help you recover quicker, but it will not be of the four-legged variety.”

“Unless it’s your purple-haired hussy, I’m not interested.” You smirk. “I will make an exception on my dietary restrictions for her.”

“Oh, still positively green with envy, I see. I can feel your hatred. It’s delectable,” Astarion giggles. “My pretty consort, I do not like to see doubt cast upon your face. I told you I’ve never taken her to my bed. You need not be invidious.”

“Will you take me to your bed? I- I,” you stumble embarrassingly over your tongue. It feels cumbersome in your mouth, “I would like to rest with you tonight.”

You feel a rush of delight mixed with astoundment. Perhaps what’s more flabbergasting is that he simply lets you feel it, not attempting to camouflage or muzzle it.

“You do?” Astarion’s brows rise and curve upward, “I mean,” he clears his throat. “Of course. I can deny you nothing. You need not ask permission. You’re more than welcome to rest with me any night.”

“Well, in that case,” you smirk foxlike, “which wardrobe is mine then?”

The question only further increases the exhilaration you’re feeling ebbing from him. It’s so potent, a high so gratifying that you could get addicted to pleasing him - a dangerous notion.

“I suppose I will have to acquire you one.” Astarion chuckles and kisses your forehead, “Can you walk, or shall I carry you to bed?”

You scoff and do your best, but your muscles are still depleted of the sustenance required to function, and you wobble even with Astarion stabilizing you.

“Carry you, it is, clumsy thing.” He laughs lightheartedly while taking you into his arms. “Come, my love. Let’s go to our bed, hm?”

“Our bed,” you muse, kissing his cheek. “I do like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” he says, suddenly frighteningly serious, “Very much.”

The mattress dips as Astarion gets into bed. You’ve never really realized how enormous this damn bed is. Even with both of you lying in it, there’s so much space that it makes him feel far away, and you mourn the physicality.

A grin splits across his face, and he raises his arm, inviting you in, “I can feel that - you know, your desire to be close. No, it’s more than that. Isn’t it?” You can feel him scan the emotion, deciphering it, “It feels like a need. I suppose I should not be surprised. You never could get enough of me.”

“Astarion.” Pushing yourself close to him, you rest your head on his arm. The pads of your fingers rub the silken skin of his chest. Rest is starting to beckon you toward your trance. “What does this mean for us?”

“It can mean as little or as much as you wish it to,” his fingers meander the valley up your spine. “Nothing has to change between us, or we can… try for something more.”

As the dreamscape unfolds behind the closed lids of your eyes, your sensibility fading, you whisper, “Do you love me, Astarion?”

Emotional pandemonium tosses like waves on a rough sea. Alarm. Resentment. Dread. That proverbial portal slams closed frantically with so much force that it peppers your vision behind your eyelids white, and you lurch upward with your hand to your forehead with a howl.

It feels like a guillotine to your soul, slicing it in two. You are hollow. Your chest is still, the borrowed beat from Astarion’s heart dying. The slipstream of emotions no longer flows and combines as one enchanted ballad.

You are alone, completely incomplete, and you have never felt more dead than this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion rubs your back and kisses your shoulder softly. “I did not expect it to pain you. I’m still learning. I will take heed of my haste from now on. That’s enough rooting around in my head for one day. Rest now.”

The pain ebbs, and your thoughts reform, piecing themselves back together. You lay down without a word because you’re unsure of what you can say in your state of confusion. The feelings, none of them love or even affection, but you’ve been feeling his veneration all night.

What the Hells does it all mean?

The sun-warmed stones of the courtyard thaw the icy chill of your skin as you lay under the radiant rays. The sky is full of fluffy, white clouds like unsheared sheep grazing across a cerulean plain. You thought this might make you feel as alive as when the bond between you and Astarion was open, but instead, it’s another reminder you’re a walking, talking corpse.

A feather-light breeze flutters your hair around your face and carries the smell of food, well, people but food to you, reminding you of your hunger. Those cramps in your stomach have returned, and the unquenchable thirst is parching your throat, making your tongue feel like an arid desert.

Firey orbs rotate above, and you twist them into constellations, which you often do when your mind is unsettled. Astarion said you could try for more; it sounds like fantasies made reality until you remember that he’d said he wasn’t sure he could love you. In that case, what does more even mean to him? Do you take the risk and put your heart on the table?

Everything is getting so fucking messy.

How can you tell what is genuine with him? Gale wasn’t wrong when he said Astarion knows how to manipulate you. He hardly needs to compel you because he knows what buttons to push and pull, the words to say, to get what he wants. He always has. All roads always lead back to him. Is it your heart that gravitates to Astarion, or is it something far more sinister? Are you just ingrained to be drawn to your creator? How can you know your feelings versus just an innate reflex that was planted and has taken root in your consciousness?

“What’s troubling you?” Astarion lays down beside you with an arch brow and his crimson eyes vivid in the sunlight.

“Everything,” you sigh, “Just everything.”

Astarion rolls to his side and puts his hand on your arm. He looks bothered by your answer with one brow pulled slightly down with his head cocked, “Is it something I did? You can tell me.”

“No.” The orbs start to absorb each other until there are only two remaining. You make them violently clash and burst like a firework, “You didn’t do anything. Where did you go this morning? You weren’t here when I woke up.”

“I would like to take you somewhere today.” Astarion sits and takes your hand, kissing the palm and all your fingertips, “Will you come?”

Sitting, you pull your knees to your chest, “You want to go out during the day?”

“Yes, during the day.” He purrs in a soothing baritone. “You’re safe from the sun with me. You need not hide in the manor all the time.”

“It’s not the sun, Astarion.” A lie. It’s always a little bit about the sun. That phobia is alive and well. You’re starting to wonder if it’s less of a phobia and more of some weird vampiric instinct. “It’s all the people. I’m hungry, and my control is dreadful. I can’t be trusted around them. I’m not sure how you did it.”

“Centuries of practice, love. You do quite well for a young spawn. Cazador kept us in the kennels until we could control the hunger. I was in there for many years, I think.” Astarion cocks his head, drawing his brows down as if he didn’t mean to divulge that information but continues. “You have my word; I will not put you into a situation you cannot handle.”

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, “I’ll go.”

“Splendid,” Astarion stands and hauls you up with him, “You can ride a horse, yes?”

Your brows pop up, rounding your eyes, “Me? Of course. Do you? Last I checked, you hated those beasts.”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, “I am more than capable of riding the beasts. I don’t have to like them."

“This is going to be so much fun,” you giggle. “I truly cannot wait to see this. The Vampire Ascendant on a horse. Miracles never cease!”

“Cheeky pup,” he smirks and bumps your shoulder.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in the saddle, but you settle quickly. With your feet in the stirrups and hands on the reins, the dapple-grey mare canters with a rhythmic stride. Astarion’s steed, a large jet-black gelding, keeps pace effortlessly. It’s hard to keep your eyes off Astarion. In the saddle, he attracts attention with a cut debonair form, his shoulders back, hips rolling smoothly to match his gelding’s long strides, and his hair flowing handsomely in the wind.

He catches you admiring him with your mouth dropped open and smirks with a chuckle, nodding in the direction to follow and eases his gelding into a gallop. The two horses soar over the plains outside Baldur's Gate with booming hoofbeats, manes streaming in the wind, and tails held high.

There is something so unbelievably picturesque about this moment, so familiar yet unsettling. You spent so much time travelling with Astarion across areas like this. You, him and dirt roads from dawn to dusk, but this isn’t the same man from your memories - is it? It’s getting increasingly more challenging to be mindful that Astarion may look and act, well sometimes act, like the same person you knew, but he isn’t.

He no longer becomes shy when you ask him for a kiss; gone are the awkward hugs, the way he used to mutter to himself to test what he was about to say, and the way his eyes would dart away when he said something sweet.

Now, he’s prone to blacked-out fits of violent, deadly rage and can let you burn in the sun at any moment should he choose, force himself into your mind, and take away your agency with a thought. He can turn himself into a bat, mist, and who knows what else. He said he felt his powers growing, and you have a feeling you haven’t seen the full extent of what he can do.

How many people has he killed in his blackouts? How many people has he compelled? Has he compelled you? You have yet to see other spawn, but who knows what he’s hiding.

Yet, you love him all the same - even with his demons, darkness and madness.

In these moments, when things start to feel too much like old times, you can’t help but mourn the man he was – a man you still miss.

I wonder what he would have thought of himself turning me into his spawn?

Astarion reins his horse to a trot and guides the gelding into a dense thicket with a barely perceptible path. He twists in the saddle, “This way. It’s not far.”

The trees, smelling pleasantly of pine, are towering with thick trunks. A chorus of birdsongs flows like a river softly floating through the air. It’s easy to forget how beautiful nature can be. When was the last time you were out like this during the day?

After several minutes, the thick trees start to thin and give way to a pristine clearing with thick green grass carpeting the ground and a lake. The crystalline water looks as blue as the sky reflecting on its mirror-smooth surface.

“Here we are,” Astarion dismounts his horse. His feet land on the ground in silence; not even the snap of a twig can be heard or the crunch of his boots on the earth.

Your eyes scan the area with reverence. The colours are bright and vivid, as though painted and composed from an artist's rendering of a fairy tale. It’s been some time since you’ve seen anything of such beauty during the day. If you had breath to take away, this would surely confiscate it from your lungs. You pat the mare’s muscled neck, haul yourself up and hop off the saddle much less gracefully than Astarion.

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back, “This way. Come.”

He takes your hand and leads you toward thick blankets, pillows, chilled wine, flowers, and candles in a stunning presentation.

“Astarion,” you gasp, below a whisper as you take in the scene, “Did you do this?”

“Yes.” Astarion slips behind you and puts his arms around your waist, hugging you close to his chest, “I thought you might want to get out of the manor for a day.”

You lean into him, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I told you I can be romantic,” he quips with a boyish smile. His cardinal red eyes are set ablaze by the sun glinting off them, “You did not believe I was capable. Before you say it because I can see it on your pretty face, yes, little love, true feelings - they were a requirement, if I recall correctly.”

Do I ruin this moment by asking about what feelings?

I must know.

“What feelings, Astarion?”

Astarion kisses your temple and coos, “My feelings for you, of course. You said you were hungry earlier. I will go find you some food.”

He’s trying to retreat from the conversation.

“No, I’m fine,” you clutch his arm, afraid that if you let him go, you might awaken from this dream. “Stay, please?”

“Are you sure? It would not take me long, and I will be sure to stay close.”

“I’m sure, please.”

“As you wish,” Astarion removes his shirt and lays on the blanket, closing his eyes and basking in the sun. “If you change your mind, you have only but to ask. I do not like letting you go hungry.”

You sit beside him and grab the wine, uncork it and drink it straight from the bottle, disregarding the glass flutes.

He opens one eye momentarily and chuckles, “Hells, I see you’re still as boorish as ever.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggle while giving him a playful shake, “You used to love my lack of decorum.”

When you used to love me, or at least, I thought you did.

Astarion takes the bottle from you and drinks straight from it with a wink, “Who says I don’t still love it, you delinquent.”

He hands the bottle back and lies back with his eyes closed. There’s something so tranquil about him like this. You can barely believe that just a day ago, he had his hands wrapped around your neck while he tore at your throat. It feels like a distant nightmare and makes you question if it really happened.

Your fingers trace the scabbed, coin-sized holes he marred your skin with as if to prove to yourself it was real. There’s always a dull, icy throbbing in your breast as if you’re heart believes it should be beating and is trying to rival its death. Some days, the pain is easily overlooked, but right now, it feels like someone is driving barbed shards of ice through your heart with a heavy hand and thundering strikes. Bringing your hand to your chest, you put pressure on it as if that might impede the malignancy.

You need a distraction, a physical sensation on your skin that you can focus on before you try to claw your heart out, “Are there any people around here?”

Astarion listens intently for a few seconds before shaking his head, “No, there’s no one around for miles. Why?”

You swallow your anguish and give him a devious grin, “Can I swim in that water?”

He probs himself up and grins, “It’s not running. You should be fine.”

“Excellent,” you giggle, taking another big drink and handing him the bottle.

You remove your clothes and wade in, disturbing and rippling the glassy surface. Diving into it, you let yourself sink to the murky bottom. The water is cold, even to you, and nips your skin like needlepoints being dragged across your flesh. The sunless silence is serene, and you consider letting it swallow you whole, but when you open your eyes toward the surface, you can see the silhouette of Astarion standing on the bank. Bending your knees, with a push, you propel yourself to the surface, to him, because that’s what you do – is it not? You always return to him, even at your detriment.

Astarion’s eyes you regardfully with nervous scrutiny, as if he had been afraid you may never come back.

“It’s cold,” you warn him.

“That’s really not a problem,” he chuckles, relaxing his expression once he’s assessed you’re safe. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

You arch a calculating brow at him, and he rolls his eyes, “Sweetheart, get your head out of the gutter. Gods, you’re a freak sometimes.”

“Another thing you used to love about me,” you snicker while walking up to him. “What would you like to show me?”

“Used to” hm? That’s another wildly inaccurate statement,” Astarion tsks while he takes your hand and places it on his warm skin with a soft exhale and a wince that makes you smirk your “I-told-you-so” look. Slowly, his body cools until he’s as cold as you.

Your brows furrow as you place your hand on random spots of him. Icy cold everywhere. “You can control your body temperature?”

“I can do a great many things,” he chuckles with a cunning lop-sided half smile twerking one corner of his lips up, “Interesting ability, although I have found little use for it until now.”

Before you can register what he’s doing, Astarion giggles mischievously, picks you up and throws you back into the lake as if he were throwing a pebble, removes his trousers and wades in with you.

“That was rude!” You glower at him playfully and tap your chin with your finger, “Retribution may be required. I might have to get your hair wet.”

“Don’t you dare!”

With a wicked grin, you start splashing him, and he lunges toward you. By the time he’s subdued you with his arms wrapped around yours, he’s drenched, including his hair, and you’re both laughing loudly.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he giggles. “Naughty thing.”

Laughing, you comb your fingers through his hair and muss it further, “Don’t worry, you still look earth-shatteringly dashing.”

Astarion brushes wet strands of your hair out of your eyes, “You’re a vision.” He purrs while pulling you close to him, guiding your legs around his waist.

His thumb traces your lower lip. When he takes your lips in his, the kiss is raw with emotion, demanding and primal. His finger puts gentle pressure on your chin, opening your mouth for him, and his tongue explores you with a longing groan.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss and stares off to the side, a million miles away. An almost startled confusion distorts his expression, which perplexes you. Have you made him uncomfortable somehow?

“Astarion,” you cradle his face with your palm, “What’s wrong?”

Astarion’s jaw clenches, and he swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. His eyes snap back to yours, a scarlet tempest of determination raging athwart his irises, “I think we need to talk.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Please note - we may end up giving Tav a name. I've been agonizing over the idea for a while because it was something I never meant to do, but my resolve is weakening haha. If you're incredibly against the idea, please let me know.

I know my portrayal of A. Astarion is a softer version - I guess I have a weak spot for an Astarion that's all-powerful but still not completely cold and horribly abusive - although, he does have his moments.

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #bg3 #astarion #fangs and fractured hearts #astarion ancunin #astarion bg #astarion fic #astarion fluff #soft ascended astarion

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wackyharpy · 8 months

Text

Merchant's Daughter (Part 1)

God! Aemond x Human•Fem! Reader

Summary: In order to ease the wrath of one of the Gods, the girl among humans is chosen to be gifted to him.

Part 2

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: I'm inspired by a lot of things, by Greek mythology, by Beauty and the Beast story. Especially credits go to @flowerandblood. Some of her fanfics planted a seed of the idea for this story. I hope, you'll enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated :) And English isn't my native.

Warnings ⚠️

Mention of death, typical treatment of women those times, she/her pronouns

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Once the world was different. Humans shared it with other supernal beings — children and creatures of Gods who ruled those times. Back then miracles filled the surroundings — here and there ehoes of satires' and nymphs' wild dancing could be heard in the dead of night, taken by the wind from the concealed domicile somewhere in the forests or fields, and brought straight to the towns where mortal people resided.

Fishermen spread legends of beautiful women with colorful fish-tails whose voice could enchant one and become the death of him. Sailors told about orphic castles barely visible in the fogs of the sea.

Humans were always weak and foolish, bonded to their towns and houses, lived their short mortal nugatory lives. They couldn't comprehend the broadness of the world, the depth and beauty of it.

Gods tried to take care of them, their miserable children. They gave them lands, rivers, domestic animals and fish. They taught them how to cultivate fields and grow crops, how to exploit fire. At times, humans got punished for their sins, Gods abhorred misbehavior of their gawky children. Frequently, they didn't even cast a glance at them, being immersed into their divine scandals and disputes. They didn't invite any humans to their heavenly palaces, nor did they marry earthborn men and women. Some Gods and Goddesses might have laid with beautiful representatives of the human race. Still, nothing more.

It was so only until one moment.

The calm day didn't foreshadow anything violent. Until the evening, when the sunset was painted in scarlet. Something terrible happened in the heavenly palaces — one of the Gods blood was spilled. That night the residents of the town near the sea didn't see the moon. Instead, the night sky was pitch black as the abyss of Chaos which the universe emerged from.

The God of Murk and Affliction lost his eye to his nephew — the God of Joy.

But, little Lucerys escaped the wrath of elder Gods and remained unpunished. After all, they couldn't harm him in order not to cripple him or knock all the joy out of him that he shared with mortals — such was his endowment. The issue remained unresolved, and angry Aemond was forced to live with one eye since then.

In a century, he met his nephew again, above the sea. There was no way to escape the God of Murk and Affliction that time. The little God was hopeless. And Aemond put his nephew through tortures, through his revenge which he had been nurturing in his dark heart for many years.

That evening the residents of the town near the sea saw a scarlet sunset once again. And in the hour of the owl, claps of thunder rumbled in the pitch black sky. The storm of madness swept across those lands — the herald of the victory and death simultaneously.

The sudden sadness and fear filled the hearts of people. The God of Joy was dead. His two eyes, cut out of the sockets, turned into two precious stones with yellowish glow. Still, there are gossips that they can be found at the bottom of the deepest sea.

Since then, there was no joy as such on the earth, people no longer took it for granted. If they wanted to be happy, they had to find things that could bring merry into their miserable lives.

But darkness and fear remained, more diseases developed among people, life became tough. Servants of the God of Murk and Affliction began residing together with people, punishing them for their indifference they showed on the day Aemond lost his eye. Nobody stood for him at that time. Everybody thought they would get away with it. Though, the Gods, humans, and other beings are paying off for their negligence now.

Plague, Doom, Pain, Fear, and Sorrow are terrorizing people. They have infiltrated into the towns' walls, they are hiding in the shadows, every now and again preparing to attack a poor mortal soul.

The Gods and supernal creatures are trying to avoid the lands where the God of Murk and Affliction lives, being well aware that they can meet their death in the form of Vhagar — Aemond's monstrous beast, so enormous as a mountain.

Many centuries passed in the town near the sea. One day the Goddess of Wisdom bestowed the place with her presence and shared a piece of advice with people.

Opt a young maiden girl, and gift her to the God of Murk and Affliction. As a mighty man he is, he won't refuse to satisfy his carnal needs with an innocent mortal girl. It may sooth his wrath a little, and he may order his servants to stop terrorizing humans. At least, not frequently. One girl isn't a big price comparing the whole humanity.

And so was it. The government, the judges, and the public presented the most beautiful virginal girls to the heavenly court. The choice fell on the youngest of merchant's daughters — a poor being who was soon to be sent to the remote lands, right into the hands of the ruthless God.

The day her family was preparing her to the long journey, she was silent and pale. It seemed that all liveliness faded away from her eyes. Before going out to the carriage, her mother sat with her in the chamber to conduct a woman talk.

Be obedient. Do what He orders. Be flexible. It doesn't matter that he's a God, still he's a man that isn't deprived of needs that even humans possess. Your feminine power isn't between your legs, first of all it's in your mind. Use your head in the right way, and who knows, perhaps, even the God of Murk and Affliction will fall on his knees in front of you. The doings that a man and a woman perform in the bed chamber aren't always about pain, it may bring a great satisfaction and fulfillment for both of them.

At that time the words of the woman had no sense for the girl. But she only nodded, believing her mother. After all, the merchant's wife was known for her acute mind and wisdom. And beautiful curves of the body that all her daughters inherited.

Then, the girl settled in the carriage, and she with the convoy, consisted of several men, set off to the remote lands.

The journey took long days when they finally reached the dense woods. It seemed that places there were deathlike, shrouded in impenetrable thick fogs.

The carriage stopped and soon its door was opened.

"We've arrived, my lady. We won't go further, we are to leave you here," the servant of her father stretched a hand to her and helped her to get out.

Her nose immediately caught the moist raw scent of dead leaves and moss. The space around was dead silent. The sky was grey and cloudy — no signs of the sun, moon, and stars. Here and there hollers of ravens were heard. Vultures were circling above the trees, probably looking out for a half dead prey.

Shivers ran across her spine, the breath caught in the lungs.

The case with her belongings was stated at her legs. The girl turned to look at the servants of her father. They only gave her a sad smile and nodded, turning the convoy back.

She was left alone in these cursed lands. Abandoned by the whole world.

The girl looked around trying to figure out what to do next, and having no idea where to go, who to search for, she took her case, and just went further into the mist.

She couldn't tell whether she'd been walking for hours, but soon enough she noticed the outlines of the high fence which was visible in the distance. When the girl reached the gates, she stopped and placed the case on the ground. Beyond the large fence, the grim castle stationed itself. She felt that something tugged in her stomach, and stuck in the throat. Fear. Pure terror washed over her body. The sudden feeling of millions of eyes watching her prickled the petite body. But there was no one around her. At least, she thought like that.

All at once, the heavy front doors opened and she saw a tall man going down the stairs, directly on the lane bestrewn with gravel. He must have been the one who was going to meet her.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 3 months

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Past Life Reading

Hey fellas! Please please please donate to my CashApp or interact with my post so I can do this full time! If you can't donate please interact with this post. We made it to 200 followers and I can't thank you all enough. Also if y'all wanna suggest readings go ahead and dump those recommendations in my ask box!

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Decks used are the Archetype Oracle, the Anime Tarot, and the Starseed Oracle.

This reading will go over one of your Past Lives and how it affects your current incarnation. Remember reincarnation isn't linear and there are other planets with life on them. HAPPY FULL MOON IN CAPRICORN!! Take what resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new experiences!

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PILE ONE

Astrology: Taurus, Cancer, Scorpio

Past Life Song: Pale Blue Dot by TWRP

Current Life Song: 3 Strange Days by School Of Fish

Vibes: Black, white, ocean blue, pearl, moldavite, coral reef, seagulls, gold rings, gray hair, globe, strong aura, childlike wonder, peanuts, almonds, sunflower seeds, Zues, Posideon

Cards: The Fool, The Hierophant, Queen of Cups, Justice, The One, The Seed, Perspective, Child of the Cosmos

Welcome, pile one! I am feeling some kind of royalty from this previous life. I think you were a spiritual leader in this life too or you were very involved with spirituality. I think you were probably really superstitious and trusted the divine more than you trusted humans. You had a strong faith in tradition and routine. I see this is a huge contrast to your current life. In this previous life, you were very connected with your guides. I see you could probably communicate with them easily and often. You have many sea spirits that look after you that you connected to in this past life. They followed you because of how much spiritual work you did in this past life. I see in this life you were guided by your living ancestors into the role you took. You had to learn that walking a path for the sake of the collective is a high honor and it is not a role for the weak. You had to give up a lot of opportunities that would have been for selfish gain for the sake of others. You have lots of built-up anger from this past life of sacrifice. You were extremely noble in this past life. In your current life, this behavior still pops up from time to time. You are learning how to serve yourself over serving others. I see you have some people-pleaser tendencies that leak into this life. You are still meant to be spiritual but you are also meant to learn about your own opinions/morals and hold them above the beliefs of the many. I see in this life you are finding your own moral compass. I see you have been betrayed by mentors you thought you could trust with everything. They withheld information that would have been extremely helpful if you had known ahead of time. I see that your parents were not kind to you. Despite these hardships' you still have a pure heart. Except now you are more capable of ruthlessness. Be ruthless in your morals. Serve justice out on a silver plater so your enemies look at their reflection while they face your wrath. In this life, you will release the anger you held from the last. You must be selfish. You must harness your wrath. Seek truth. Do not follow without knowing why you follow.

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PILE TWO

Astrology: Libra, Aquarius, Leo

Past Life Song: Run Boy Run by Woodkid

Current Life Song: Being Real is the New Fake by Toni Jones

Vibes: Mint green, lavender, pink, gold, painting, flower crown, lightning, Celtic knots, ribbon, modesty, alchemy, museums, strawberry, smoking, drinking, dive bars, Hermes, Persephone

Cards: The Empress, The World, Death, 2 of Swords, The Creator, The Riddle, You're Not Alone, Cracked Open

Hello, pile two! I see you were a traveler in this specific past life. I see you traveled in style and luxury. You didn't start in luxury though. You earned it. You worked hard for the opportunities you gained. I see you had to jump many obstacles that didn't make much sense, in the moment. Some of them were difficult for you to pass but others were a breeze. I think you were a pilot for the military. You earned many awards while in service. You saw the most beautiful sights in situations that didn't allow you to appreciate them. You lost so many friends to a nasty war. This made you feel really alone. After you finished serving in the military, I think you became an airline pilot. This allowed you to be in the sky and make more friends along the way. I see you enjoying tourism and seeing the sights. You got to experience so many different cultures and learned to love every part of the planet for its different aspects. I see you took many lovers in your travels but never settled down. You picked up a creative hobby in your travels. I see maybe a martial art also became a hobby of yours in this life. You learned in that life that humans can be scary and life can be hell but you also learned that humans are wonderfully creative and life can be heaven. You had the pleasure of seeing every part of what it is like to be alive. The good and the bad. In your current life, I see you still are quite creative. You pull a lot of inspiration from other cultures. I feel you miss the sky a lot. You might create lots of art relating to the sky. In this life, you are learning how to connect with your fellow humans. You traveled so much in your past life, this definitely made it hard to make permanent connections. Now you must adjust to stay grounded and learn to live in mostly one spot. Don't fret though. You will still travel spiritually. Your soul is a free one and needs to see the stars once more.

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PILE THREE

Astrology: Sagittarius, Virgo, Pisces

Past Life Song: Sunday Candy by Nico Segal

Current Life Song: Live Your Life by MIKA

Vibes: Cyan, periwinkle, peach, orange, butterflies, Jupiter, Saturn, tigers-eye, winter, sports, yen coins, peregrine falcon, feminity, Hestia, Hera

Cards: Page of Wands, 10 of Cups, 5 of Pentacles, 4 of Swords, Agape, Gnosis, You're Not For Everyone, The Void

Hey there, pile three! Welcome to your reading. I see in this past life you were a romantic. You were perhaps a mother in this life or you took the role of one to your community. You had an abundance of love that you handed out like candy. I see you were very spiritual and read many religious texts in your spare time but this wasn't something you shared like your love. You supported many youngins in their dreams but never got to fulfill your own. You were too busy making food for your children and community. You were planning events and hosting parties for your family reunions. You were the glue that held together your loved ones. I see you went under-appreciated a lot of the time but you were immensely respected by everyone you knew. Even when you grew old you still had the heart of a spry little one. It surprised everyone how active of a person you were. I see you lived a loooooong life. You learned how to lead and how to see the love everywhere you went. In this life, you are meant to fulfill the dreams you couldn't in the last one. I see you seeking knowledge. Maybe you are a student. I see you putting aside your studies to help teach others. Old habits die hard I guess. Make sure you are spending your current life on yourself. Your community was assisted enough in your previous life. You definitely reincarnated into the same family. I see you have both a grand trine or a grand square in your astral chart. Allow yourself to learn for the sake of you. Learn that selfishness isn't as evil as people say it is. I hope you find the information you are looking for in this life. Your soul is determined to gain knowledge so allow it to learn. Allow yourself to be an oddity. Allow yourself to be the black sheep that isn't understood. You don't have to take the same role you took in your last life. You can serve yourself. You should be your priority.

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PILE FOUR

Astrology: Capricorn, Aries, Gemini

Past Life Song: Discovery Album by Daft Punk (yes the whole album)

Current Life Song: Me@U by Middle Milk

Vibes: Soft pink, rainbows, yellow, owl, pyramid, egg, horns, mountains, quartz, karma, star clusters, long hair, short bangs, malachite, copper, Sirius, mental health issues, Iris, Apollo

Cards: The Devil, Queen of Swords, Ace of Pentacles, 8 of Wands, The Vision, The Starborn, Messenger, Star Ancestors

Hey there, pile four. Welcome to your past life reading! You had it pretty rough in your past life. You spent a lot of it seeing weird visions and remembering other worlds. I see you could have been suffering from intense mental health issues. You were most likely hospitalized for a lot of your previous life. Your body was chained to earth but your mind was elsewhere. Your soul was being pulled into the astral realm by your guides and ancestors. Meanwhile, your body was facing incarceration. You could have other past lives on other planets and your last life consisted mostly of your soul adjusting to Earth's energy. Your soul is not new at all but it is semi-new to Earth. You were learning how wild Earth can be. You had to acclimate to the lower vibrations. There is nothing wrong with low vibrations by the way. They were just different than what you were used to. I see in this life you still have crazy dreams and visions. You are really attuned to the spirit realm. You are just now experiencing Earth for the first time consciously. You are meant to be a seer on earth while simultaneously learning all you can about what it is like to be human. You serve as a messenger for those who don't have the skill to hear the spirit realm as well as you do. You are learning very fast that it is rough out here. You are just starting to feel the weight of karmic connections. You will be learning a lot here but your main mission is to bring as much harmony and balance as possible to Earth. You understand how sick Earth is right now and it hurts you to think about but you have the wisdom to help her feel better. You have the wisdom to assist humans. It is hidden in your soul, friend. This is an opportunity to heal her and her citizens. I know it is tough out here and I'm really sorry that it is. I wish you could have had a warmer welcome but this is a fantastic opportunity.

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thisisnotthenerd · 5 months

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The Legend Lore Database

This is another use of the Legend Lore spell. All information herein is only that of legendary importance.

[a more complete database. i took some artistic liberties. see here for the updating document]

Legendary Individuals

Deities / Deific Entities

Ankarna

Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage and Conquest

Formerly the Giant Deity of Summer, Justice and the Harvest, Patron of the Giantkin of the Mountains of Chaos

Sister to Ruvina, Giant Deity of Winter and Sorrow

Spouse of Cassandra, Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night

Cassandra / Nightmare King

Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night, Patron of the Tribes of Sylvaire

Formerly the Nightmare King, the King of the Dark Dreaming, Rí Aisling Olc

Raised from their Undead form by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees

Sibling of Galicaea, Elven Goddess of the Moon, and Sol, Human God of the Sun

Spouse of Ankarna, Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage and Conquest

Stark Father of Baron from the Baronies

Eidolons

Seven Sisters, Elemental Spirits of the Universe and Hands of the Gods

From Eldest to Youngest

Chronoa, Eidolon of Time, of the Astral and Ethereal Planes

Terra, Eidolon of Earth, of the Elemental Plane of Earth

Pyrria, Eidolon of Fire, of the Elemental Plane of Fire

Nera, Eidolon of Water, of the Elemental Plane of Water

Zefira, Eidolon of Air, of the Elemental Plane of Air

Anima, Eidolon of Life, the Beginning of All Things

Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things

Trapped in Enchanted Mirrors created by Logran Soulforger, of which the only way out was Infinity

Galicaea / Lida

Elven Deity of the Moon, Patron of the Elves of Fallinel

Patron of Lycanthropes in her aspect as Lida

Sister of Sol, Human God of the Sun, and Cassandra, Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night

Struck her Sister from memory by way of the Sylvarian Heresy

Helio

Human God of Corn

Son of Sol, Human God of the Sun, and a mortal woman

Followed by the Cult of the Harvestmen, who sought the Apocalypse through perditional contradoxy

Jane Wren

Pirate Goddess of New Horizons, Freedom, and Adventure

She who stands atop the Ramble, overlooking the City of Leviathan

Kahaerin

The Storm King, the Wrathful Primordial of Storms

Perpetually in search of his lost Daughter

Logran Soulforger

Dwarven God of the Forge, He who Makes the World

Created the Enchanted Mirrors to capture the Eidolons in Finite Form, While Leaving Escape in Infinity

Did not Commune with his Followers after the Capture of the Eidolons, until Ostentatia Wallace, Prophet of the Forge, Joined him in his Workshop

Night Yorb

Speak Not of the Night Yorb

The Manta Ray of Darkness, they who would herald an age of darkness through a slow apocalypse

Currently Sealed by the Solar Lasso in the Hangvan

Ollie

Rad Dwarven God of Shredding, Patron of Skateboarders

Ruvina

Giant Deity of Winter and Sorrow, Patron of the Giantkin of the Mountains of Chaos

Sister of Ankarna, Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage, and Conquest

Sol

Human God of the Sun, Patron of the Humans of Highcourt and Solace

Father of Helio, Human God of Corn

Once ousted from his position by Arthur Aguefort, who proceeded to never leave his office and shit in a corner

Umberlee

Goddess of the Deep Sea, Patron of that which lies in the briny depths

Punisher of Sinners who Enter Her Waters

Prohibits artifacts which control the weather

NPCs

Aelwyn Abernant

She who assassinated the first Elven Oracle, Eleminthindriel

She who sank the Harpy, Flagship of the Fleet of Kalvaxus

She who determined the second Elven Oracle, Adaine Abernant

Caused the initiation of war between the nations of Solace and Fallinel

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Plague of the Shadow Cat

Acting Mistress of the Compass Points Library, in lieu of Ayda Aguefort

Arthur Aguefort

Founder and Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

He who caused the Sun to Fall

Paramour of the Last Phoenix

Former Paramour of the previous Elven Oracle, Eleminthindriel

Founder of the School of Chronomancy

Father of Ayda Aguefort

Asha Hammerheart

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Ayda Aguefort

The Mistress of the Compass Points LIbrary, Quartermaster of the Knowledge of Leviathan

Paramour of Figueroth the Infaethable, the Archdevil of Rebellion, the Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Creator of Adaine’s Furious Fist

Bakur / Athenriel

Infernal Servant of Ankarna, the Deity of Fire, Rage, and Conquest

Formerly Athenriel of the Faeth Lineage

Former Owner of the Armor of Pride

Cathilda “The Black” Ceili

Legendary Pirate, the Widow in Black, whose daggers flash with death and destruction

Crewmember aboard the Hangman

Elder of the Ramble, who defended Leviathan amidst the wrath of the Storm King

Chungledown Bim

Legendary Mouth-Shitter

Archnemesis of Fabian Aramais Seacaster

Survivor of Captain James Whitclaw's attack on the Cult of Bill Seacaster

Braved the Forest of the Nightmare King alone and escaped unscathed

Highest-level Warlock of the Cult of Bill Seacaster

Court of Elders

Leaders of the Tribes of Sylvaire and the Great Unicorn

Destroyed the Name of the Goddess of Mystery in the Sylvarian Heresy, in league with clerics of Galicaea

Eleminthindriel

The First Elven Oracle, succeeded by Adaine Abernant

Member of the First Council of Chosen

She who prophesied the second rise and fall of Kalvaxus

Garthy O’Brien

Prodigious Descendant of Zajiri Celestials

Impresario of the Gold Gardens, Leviathan’s hub for pleasure and sanctuary

The Curse Breaker who fought the effects of the King of the Dark Dreaming

Child of Ayda Aguefort

Guardian of Ayda Aguefort

Name contains an anagram for the Night Yorb

Gilear Faeth

The Chosen One

Current eldest male descendant of the lineage of Athenriel

Penultimate Inheritor of the Curse of the Armor of Pride

He who stopped three Apocalypses with wishes from a Puppy

Gorthalax the Insatiable

Prince of the Nine Hells and former ruler of the Bottomless Pit

Formerly Gorthiel, the Seraph of Eating the Right Amount of Food / Temperance

Father of Figueroth the Infaethable, Archdevil of Rebellion and Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Grafmy Rootdrinker

The Druidic Leader who pushed back the Curse of the Nightmare King on the Forest of Sylvaire

Hallariel Seacaster née Lomenelda

The Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Daughter of Telemaine Lomenelda, Heir to Kei Lumennura

Widow of William “Old Bill” Seacaster, the Scourge of the Nine Hells

Jamina Joy

The Bosun of Leviathan

She who keeps the City afloat

She who contains a Wish for the Welfare of Leviathan

Kalina

The Shadow Cat

Right Hand of the Nightmare King

Familiar of Cassandra

The Cursed Plague of the King of the Dark Dreaming

Kalvaxus

Former Emperor of the Red Waste

Allied with the Nightmare King and the Undead of the Necronomikron

Prophesied to rise once more at the word of Elven Oracle Eleminthindriel

When Kalvaxus once again beholds his glittering treasure And seven maidens once more are chained at the mouth of his lair When war befalls the realm And a king and queen are crowned anew in Solace Then will the Emperor of the Red Waste be released from bondage His destruction will know no bounds The sun shall fall from the Heavens And the world as we know it shall perish forever

Former Vice Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Currently the Goldenrod, the Infernal Vessel of William “Old Bill” Seacaster

Karl Cleaver

Legendary Adventurer and Member of the Pact of Kyburus

Of the Cleaver lineage of Adventurers

Kora Ironbrow

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Lydia Barkrock

She who sealed Bakur in her body with rage and rage alone

The Curse of the Armor of Pride was used to excise Bakur from her body

Nuathera

The Awakened Familiar of Grafmy Rootdrinker

Leader of the Town of Arborly and Protector of the Border of Sylvaire

Octavio Costello Gainglynn

He who sailed off the edge of the World and into the Heavens

Paramour of the Solar Zarael

Pok Gukgak

Premier Agent of the Lower Planar Reconnaissance Task Force of the Plane of Bytopia

He who brought the Plague of the Shadow Cat to the nation of Solace

The first Solesian to be slayed by Kalvaxus personally in centuries

Father of Riz Gukgak, Slayer of Kalvaxus

Telemaine Lomenelda

The Greatest Elven Swordsmith, who forged Fandrangor and the Sword of Sight

Lord of Kei Lumennura, the Guardian of Elven Teens

Tectonya Karkovnya

Superintendent of the Larger Solesian School District

Legendary Wizard and Scholar of the Eidolons

She who stole the Legendarium Extrordia

Tracker O’Shaughnessy

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Curse on Sylvaire, the Forest of the Nightmare King

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Tree

Reformer of the Faith of Galicaea, Leader of Wolfsong, the Lupine Cleric of Lida

The Vulture King

Father to all Vultures, King of the Vulture Dimension

He whose body became the Royal Artifacts of the Vulture Dimension

William “Old Bill” Seacaster

He who struck down the Pirate King and Hung his Head in Gibbety Square

Captain of the Hangman

Married to Hallariel Lomenelda, the Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Current Captain of the Infernal Wastes, Scourge of the Nine Hells

Captain of the Goldenrod, the Infernal Vessel carved from the body of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

Yvonna of the Sundering Hills

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Zaphriel

Spirit of Endless Sky Towards Late Afternoon on a Day at the Beach with Your Feet in the Warm Sand, Just Being Chill as Hell

The Possessing Spirit of the Hangvan

PCs

Adaine Abernant:

The Second Elven Oracle, preceded by Eleminthindriel

Established the right of the Elven Oracle to be paid, via dance battle

Patron of the Oracle of Dance Fabian Aramais Seacaster

Current wielder of the Sword of Sight, Sword of the Elven Oracle

She who invoked the name of Ankarna and broke Obliviati Mori

She who sealed Bakur with the power of the Curse of the Armor of Pride

Creator of Ayda’s Comprehend Subtext

Kristen Applebees:

The Chosen of Helio, God of Corn

The Creator of Yes!/Yes?

She who Resurrected Herself

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Coin

She who destroyed the Crown of the Nightmare King

The Blessed Saint of Cassandra, Deity of Mystery, Night and Magic

Figueroth Faeth:

Mortal daughter of Gorthalax the Insatiable, Prince of the Nine Hells and former ruler of the Bottomless Pit

Current Archdevil of Rebellion, Figueroth the Infaethable, the Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Paramour of Ayda Aguefort, the Mistress of the Compass Points Library

Last of the Faeth Lineage to bear the Curse of the Armor of Pride

Currently holds dominion over the infernal domain of Ankarna, Goddess of Fire, Rage, and Conquest, due to the creation of Dawn of Justice, a song so metal it could claim an infernal domain

Riz Gukgak:

Fifth of the World of Spyre to summon the Night Yorb to the Material Plane

He who slayed the Dragon Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

First living member of the Lower Planar Reconnaissance Task Force

The Investigator who Found the Prophesied Seven Maidens

Fabian Aramais Seacaster:

Mortal son of William "Old Bill" Seacaster, Legendary Pirate and the Current Captain of the Infernal Wastes, Scourge of the Nine Hells and Hallariel Lomenelda, the Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Grandson of Telemaine Lomenelda, Swordsmith of the Elven Kings

He who killed William "Old Bill" Seacaster

Current wielder of Fandrangor, Sword of the North Star

Dance Champion of the Elven Oracle, the Oracle of Dance

Maximum Legend at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Gorgug Thistlespring:

He who discovered the Plague of the Shadow Cat

Creator of the Solar Lasso used to seal the Night Yorb into his personal vehicle, the Hangvan

Creator of the Barbificer Specialty, the first in the World of Spyre to combine barbarian rage and artificer spellcasting

The Greatest Wizard of Our Age, as titled by Ayda Aguefort, Mistress of the Compass Points Library

Danielle Barkstock:

Blessed of Anima, Eidolon of Life

She who assumed the form and gave voice to the Empress Anima, Eidolon of Life

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Katja Cleaver

Blessed of Terra, Eidolon of Earth

Daughter of Karl Cleaver, of the Cleaver lineage of adventurers

Friend to Horses, Rider of Cinnamon

Slayer of Jana Cleaver

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Zelda Donovan

Blessed of Zefira, Eidolon of Air

Battle Dancer of the Donovan Lineage, who was possessed by the god of wine and ecstasy in bacchanal

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Antiope Jones

Blessed of Chronoa, Eidolon of Time

She who killed Charity Blythe

Daughter of Athena and Hector Jones, of the Jones lineage of adventurers

Leader of the Reform of the Ministry of Adventure

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Penny Luckstone

Blessed of Nera, Eidolon of Water

She who revealed the Society of Shadows one of

Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Sam Nightingale:

Blessed of Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things

She who released Talura upon Spyre for the first time in millennia

She who guided Talura to infinite form

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Ostentatia Wallace:

The first forge cleric to Commune with Logran Soulforger in millennia

Prophet of Logran Soulforger

Designer for the Gods

Blessed of Pyrria, Eidolon of Fire

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Barbarella Sasparilla Gainglynn

The Goddess of the Gold Gardens

Daughter of Octavio Costello Gainglynn and Zarael

She who struck down the Storm-Druid Alamaria

Myrtle (the Bitch)

The Priestess of Storms, Devout of Umberlee, the Sinker of Ships and Collector of the Treasures of the Deep

Jack Brakkow

Unlucky Jack, he who escaped the Bilge only to sink in the depths of betrayal

The Captain of the Late Bloomer, whose crew haunts the mast kept at his side always

Legendary Adventuring Parties

The Bad Kids (Adventuring Party):

Members: Adaine Abernant, Kristen Applebees, Figueroth Faeth, Riz Gukgak, Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Gorgug Thistlespring

Slayed Daybreak, leader of the Harvestmen, and averted the apocalypse of perditional contradoxy

Defeated Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

Defeated Occularia, Queen of Sight

Defeated Captain James Whitclaw, the archnemesis of William “Old Bill” Seacaster and prevented the crowning of a new Pirate King

Demolished the Elven prison, Calethriel Tower

Defeated the Nightmare King, the King of the Dark Dreaming

Defeated the Cult of the Night Yorb

Defeated the Night Yorb

The Sole Survivors of the Sundering of the Synod of Spyre

The first adventuring party in living memory to survive the Last Stand-ard Exam

The Buccaneer Buddies (Adventuring Party)

Members: Sunny Biscotto, Jack Brakkow, Barbarella Sasparilla Gainglynn, Cheese Stormcrank, Marcid the Typhoon, Myrtle the Bitch

Prevented the Summoning of William Seacaster for the destruction of Leviathan

Saved Leviathan from Destruction at the hands of Langley Sheffield-Harrington, Clive Mardres, the Storm-Druid Alamaria, and the Crescent Moon Trading Company

Averted the Wrath of the Storm King by disrupting the ritual of Alamaria and returning the Daughter of Storms to the briny depths

The Seven / The Maidens (Adventuring Party)

Members: Danielle Barkstock, Katja Cleaver, Zelda Donovan, Antiope Jones, Penny Luckstone, Sam Nightingale, Ostentatia Wallace

The Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Eliminated the Cult of Kalvaxus as vengeance for their capture

Cleansed the Temple of the Earth Defiant of the mutated monstrosities

Commandeered the Rombosa, the Pleasure Barge of Talcidimir Tallbreeze and kidnapped hundreds of nobles from the Baronies

Averted Project Reset, an effort by the Ministry of Adventure to cause world-ending disasters

Defeated Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things, by channeling the spirits of the Eidolons

Legendary Items

Sword of Sight

The Sword of the Elven Oracle, forged by the legendary swordsmith Telemaine Lomenelda

Currently owned by the Elven Oracle Adaine Abernant

Fandrangor

The Sword of the North Star, forged by the legendary swordsmith Telemaine Lomenelda and gifted to the Elven King Thristwin Eversong

Currently owned by Fabian Aramais Seacaster

The Armors of Sin

Seven Suits of Infernal Armor, each forged by a different Infernal Being and associated with the Sins assigned to them by name

Armor of Gluttony - Armor Carved of White Bone, armed with a massive spiked net. Chosen Armor of Gorthalax the Insatiable.

Armor of Pride - Armor of Gleaming gold, armed with a Golden Halberd

Armor gifted from Ankarna to her follower Athenriel. After Athenriel took on the form of Bakur, the armor passed through his lineage patrilineally until it was gifted to Gorthalax the Insatiable.

The curse of the armor transferred to the eldest male descendants of the lineage with the death of each previous holder of the curse. The most recent of these was Gilear Faeth. Upon reunification with the line of Athenriel, the curse was left in a flux state, until it was taken on by the Dark Mistress and Archdevil of the Bottomless Pit, Figueroth the Infaethable.

The Curse was broken and sealed in the Sword of Sight, and later used to remove the containment of Bakur from the body of Lydia Barkrock

Armor of Lust - Armor of Jet Black Leather, stitched together with a zipper over the mouth.

Armor of Envy - Armor formed of Pure Mirror

Armor of Wrath - Armor of Bleeding Iron, armed with two double-sided flails/scourges.

Armor of Greed

Armor of Sloth

Owned by Gorthalax the Insatiable and kept in the Bottomless Pit until stolen by the Scourge of the Nine Hells, Bill Seacaster.

The Transubstantiations of the Nightmare King

Four symbols of the Unnamed Goddess’ power, converted into four curses which spread the power of the King of the Dark Dreaming

The Coin, a curse placed on the hoard of Kalvaxus that allowed the Nightmare King to possess those who had knowledge of their wealth’s origin (Dragon Madness). This curse came from the trans-substantiation of the spellbook of the Unnamed Goddess, now known as Cassandra. DIspelled by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees.

The Plague, a curse placed on the familiar of the Unnamed Goddess, Kalina the Shadow Cat. This curse converted Kalina into a plague that manifested as various illusionary powers, with additional strength within the borders of Sylvaire. Dispelled by Aelwyn Abernant.

The Curse, a curse that bound celestials who attempted to enter the Nightmare King’s Forest and utilized their energies to power the mycelium web of trans-substantiations. This curse originated from the cottage of the Unnamed Goddess. Dispelled by Tracker O’Shaughnessy.

The Tree, a curse on the arcane focus of the Unnamed Goddess, a broomstick which became the Tree at the center of Sylvaire. This curse altered the shape of the Forest to suit the fears of those who entered–the more confident a traveler was in their path, the further they traveled from the center of the Forest. Dispelled by Tracker O’Shaughnessy.

The Crown of the Nightmare King

The last remnant of the Nightmare King after the Fall of Kalvaxus

A talisman capable of anchoring an extraplanar being to a world as if they were native to that plane

The Source of a great deal of power for the other trans-substantiations

Powerfully Cursed for mortal beings. Singular Curse broken by Garthy O’Brien

Dispelled by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees, through her Honest Worship of Doubt and her Resurrection of the Goddess Cassandra

The Daughter of Storms

Marble Relief that contains the soul of the daughter of Kahaerin, the Storm King, who calls the wrath of storms when it is brought above the surface of the deep sea

The Legendarium Extrordia

Divinatory Artifact that tracks the classification and progression of quests in the world of Spyre

Watches and Wards

Protective Ward created by the Elven Oracle Eleminthindriel, that prevents harmful summonings and conjurations on the grounds of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Only removable from the Aguefort Adventuring Academy Library by Arthur Aguefort and the Elven Oracle. Removed by Elven Oracle Adaine Abernant

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high sophomore year #pirates of leviathan #the seven #fantasy high junior year #the bad kids #buccaneer buddies #the seven maidens #long post #legend lore #dimension 20 meta

90 notes · View notes

doumadono · 11 months

Text

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, smut (short & not graphic), viking themes, Shoto is a spoiled brat

Summary: in a Viking world of power, secrets and warriors, a young woman captured during a raid finds herself entangled in the life of Dabi, the enigmatic eldest son of the ruthless earl. As secrets, scars, and desires collide, their unconventional connection unfolds in a tale of love, danger, and destiny

Word count: circa 5.9k

A/N: for a few years, I've held a fascination with Viking themes and their historical era. Recently, I had the idea to place Dabi in such a setting and see where the story would take me. I sat down to write and found myself falling in love with this new narrative instantly. While it might seem trivial to some, it's already become a precious gem to me. I plan to unravel the story over six chapters. I hope you enjoy the first one, and I'm open to all opinions. If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST NEXT CHAPTER KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

ACT I - UNMASKING THE SCARS

As the longship glided silently through the dark waters, the moon cast a pale, ethereal glow on the rugged Viking coastline. The scent of salt and adventure filled the night air, and the crew of fierce warriors, led by Dabi, the renegade son of the brutal, ruthless Viking earl, Endeavor, prepared to make landfall.

Dabi, at thirty years of age, bore the marks of a troubled past. Dabi's once-pale skin was now marred by those burns, darkened like a charred log in the heart of a raging fire. His body bore the scars of a fire that had ravaged him in his youth, a cruel gift from his own father, who had attempted to kill him. But it was these very scars that had forged his determination and honed his indomitable spirit. His hair was the color of snow, and his eyes were as blue as the frost-covered sea. He had a reputation as a fierce warrior, known for his ruthless tactics and the way he fought with the fury of a tempest.

The village he came from was a place of cold stone and rough-hewn timbers, where the Viking way of life reigned supreme. The women of the village shied away from Dabi, for his scars marked him as an outcast. He lived a life of solitude, seeking solace in the wild, untamed lands that surrounded their settlement.

Their destination was a small Christian village, nestled among the rolling hills. It had been raided by Dabi's people before, but tonight was different. Tonight, Dabi's heart was restless, and he was inexplicably drawn to the village's fate.

As the Vikings stormed the village, chaos erupted. Houses were set ablaze, and the cries of the villagers filled the night.

The raucous cries of his men filled the air as the village burned and the spoils of their raid were gathered. Dabi stood at the heart of the chaos, an enigmatic figure in the midst of destruction. A faint, unsettling smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hidden beneath the eerie wolf's jaw mask.

He watched with satisfaction as his warriors, his loyal comrades in arms, looted and plundered. The riches of the Christian village flowed into their grasp, their spoils of war. It was a successful trip by Viking standards, a brutal triumph in the unforgiving world they inhabited.

Amidst the smoldering ruins of the Christian village, the Vikings had unleashed their wrath. Blood had been spilled, and the lives of some villagers had been brutally cut short.

But not all of the villagers had met a swift and merciless end. The Vikings, with a calculated eye, had chosen to capture several women and a few men, sparing them from the fate that had befallen their companions. These survivors would serve a different purpose, as slaves in the service of their Viking captors. Among them a young woman. Her hair was the Y/H/C, and her eyes held the innocence of a world untouched by the brutality of the North.

As the raiders dragged the captives away from the charred remains of their homes, the air was heavy with the weight of despair and uncertainty. These men and women, once free, were now prisoners of a world far removed from the peaceful existence they had known. Their lives had taken a harrowing turn, marked by servitude and the harsh reality of Viking conquest.

For Dabi, this decision was not only about power but also about securing the resources and labor needed to sustain their existence in these harsh northern lands. The villagers had been caught in the merciless currents of fate, and their futures were now inexorably tied to the whims of the Viking warriors who had chosen to spare them for their own purposes.

As Dabi inspected the captured men, his gaze swept over the somber group, each face marked by fear and resignation. But then, as if guided by a force beyond his control, his eyes fell upon a young woman. The sight of her took his breath away, and for a moment, he couldn't lie to himself – she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.

Despite the dirt, blood, and tears that marred her face, her beauty shone through like a radiant star in the night sky. Her cheeks bore the scars of anguish, her eyes, streaked with despair, created rivulets in the dust and grime that clung to her skin. Her once-neat clothes, now tattered and dirtied, bore witness to the cruel turn of fate she had endured.

Dabi's heart, which had been hardened by the harshness of Viking life, thudded in his chest with a new and unfamiliar emotion. She was a vision amidst the chaos, and in that moment, he realized that there was something more to her than just her physical beauty. There was a strength in her, a resilience that had allowed her to endure even in the face of such brutality.

As Dabi's eyes locked onto her, a strange and unsettling sensation coursed through him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite comprehend, a magnetic pull that defied all reason. In the midst of the chaos and destruction, this woman, captured from the village, appeared before him like an enigma.

Her hair, now messy, and those defiant eyes held a fierce determination that had not been extinguished by the horrors of the raid. She was a picture of vulnerability and strength intertwined, a paradox that captivated his very soul.

Dabi, who had always been driven by the uncompromising resolve of a Viking warrior, found himself unnerved by the intensity of this attraction. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions, but her presence stirred something deep within him, a longing he could not explain. He questioned the very nature of his emotions, grappling with the unfamiliar warmth that her presence kindled within him, even though they hadn't spoken.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Every time their eyes met, it felt as if the fates themselves had intervened, weaving their destinies together in a tapestry of fire and ice.

Their initial meeting was far from the romantic tales sung by skalds. She was bound and helpless, standing amidst the ash and ruin of her once-peaceful village. Dabi, cloaked in darkened furs, surveyed the captives with an air of detached authority. His icy gaze met hers, a meeting of two souls from opposite worlds. "You," he spoke, his voice as cold as the northern winds, "What's your name?"

The woman's voice trembled as she replied, avoiding looking at him, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Dabi's frustration simmered just beneath the surface as her initial reply didn't satisfy his curiosity. He huffed in annoyance, the cold air from his breath mingling with the tension in the atmosphere. His desire to understand her and the strange attraction he felt only intensified.

Closing the distance between them, he moved with a predatory grace, catching her by the shoulders and forcing her to turn to face him. His grip, firm but not unkind, held a subtle hint of authority. Their eyes locked, his piercing gaze penetrating her soul. "I asked you for your name, woman," Dabi demanded, his voice tinged with impatience. It was a command that brooked no disobedience, his intensity pushing past the boundaries of the tumultuous situation they found themselves in. His own desire to know her name and the unexplainable connection he felt had turned into an obsession, and he needed answers, regardless of the circumstances.

As Dabi's demand hung in the air, she met his unwavering gaze. Her eyes, a mixture of fear and defiance, looked up into his, a silent struggle raging within her. But shortly after, her gaze faltered, shifting to the mask he wore, crafted from the jagged jaw of a wolf. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, a symbol of the fierce, untamed nature of the man who stood before her.

The man, with the mask that lent him an imposing visage, was tall and imposing, easily towering over her. His presence alone was enough to instill a sense of vulnerability in her.

Trembling, she finally surrendered to his demand, her voice quivering as she spoke, "I am Y/N." Her name, offered with a tremor in her voice, was a fragile gift, a shard of her identity laid bare in the face of the formidable Viking who had claimed her as his captive.

For the next two days, the Viking raiders worked tirelessly to pack the spoils of their conquest onto their longships.

Dabi, ever the watchful leader, stood guard over the entire process, ensuring that the riches plundered from the Christian village were securely stowed away. The village's treasures, from precious metals to food supplies, were meticulously organized and divided amongst the victorious Vikings.

The night of their conquest, the Vikings celebrated their successful raid with an infernal party. Driven by the spoils they had claimed, they emptied the Christians' pantries of beer, meat, and mead. The sound of merriment echoed through the night, a stark contrast to the sorrow that had befallen the captured villagers.

However, amidst the revelry, there were dark moments that marred the festivities. Some of the Viking warriors, fueled by intoxication and the ruthless nature of their world, committed terrible acts upon the captive Christian women without their consent. It was a grim reminder of the brutality that often accompanied such raids, where power and desire clashed with the innocence of the conquered.

Dabi, torn between his leadership role and the strange attraction he felt for one of the captives, observed the chaos with a heavy heart. The celebration, for him, was a juxtaposition of the jubilant and the sinister, a reflection of the duality that defined their lives as Vikings.

After days of tireless packing, the Viking raiders were finally ready to set sail for their homeland. The longships, laden with the spoils of their conquest, were now prepared to embark on the journey back to the rugged shores they called home.

Dabi took his place at the bow of his longship, a position of command and observation. His keen, turquise eyes surveyed the captivated people who had survived the ruthless acts of the past nights. They were a motley group, marked by both the physical and emotional scars of the raid. Some carried the burden of their violated dignity, while others were haunted by the loss of their loved ones and the destruction of their once-peaceful village.

The longship that Dabi commanded was the largest among the six that had come to the shore. It loomed like a dark behemoth against the horizon, its figurehead carving through the waves, a symbol of the Viking's ruthless power. Dabi watched as the captives, those who would serve as slaves in their new life, reluctantly boarded the vessel. It was a moment that carried with it a sense of foreboding, a step into the unknown, as they embarked on a perilous journey to a life that was bound by the harsh code of the Viking world.

Dabi's keen eyes never left the captivating young woman named Y/N as she hesitantly approached the longship. She was one of the last to board, and her trembling form didn't escape his notice. She might have tried to mask her fears with a poker face, but the vulnerability that emanated from her was unmistakable.

A faint, almost smug smirk played at the corners of Dabi's lips. He knew that Y/N was not going to be easily sold in any market or to another earl. The strange attraction he felt for her had ignited something within him, a desire to protect and possess her. He understood that she was unique, an enigma amidst the other captives, and he was prepared to put pressure on his father to ensure she remained with their family in their Great Hall.

The journey back home was arduous and relentless, the Viking longships battling through raging storms and colossal waves that crashed against their sides. The tempestuous sea was a cruel reminder of nature's might, a fierce adversary they had to contend with on their voyage.

For days on end, they sailed through the tumultuous waters, each day bringing new challenges and peril. The crew worked tirelessly to navigate the treacherous waves, their lives intertwined with the unpredictable whims of the sea. The longships, laden with their ill-gotten gains, were tossed like leaves in a tempest, and the thunderous roars of the ocean were their constant companion.

Dabi, despite his role as a leader, occasionally took walks along the longship to check on his comrades. It was an excuse, he told himself, but the truth was that he sought to steal moments to take a closer look at the captivating young woman named Y/N. She was bound to a mast, her body curled in a defensive posture, a vulnerable figure amidst the chaos.

One night, as they braved the wrath of the sea, Dabi stood close to the place where Y/N was tied. He leaned against the side of the boat, his arms crossed, gazing into the darkness that enveloped them. The crashing waves and the howling winds created an eerie symphony, but his focus remained on the woman who had become a focal point of his thoughts.

"I was curious how," Dabi's voice suddenly pierced the silence.

Startled, Y/N was pulled out from a shallow slumber she had allowed to envelop her. She blinked, momentarily disoriented. "What?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and apprehension.

Dabi, who had been standing nearby, turned his gaze toward her. "How do you know our language?" he inquired, his words delivered with a curious, almost neutral tone. It was a question that had been gnawing at him, the mystery of her familiarity with their Viking tongue.

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts racing as she grappled with how to respond. The truth was a delicate matter, a secret that she had guarded with her life. "My father was a Northman," Y/N replied, her voice carrying a note of bitterness, "and as long as he was around, he was teaching me some things."

Dabi's response was not immediate, and in the dim light, his smirk was concealed by the wolf's jaw mask he wore. The revelation intrigued him, and the knowledge that she had learned their language from her Northman father added another layer of complexity to the enigma of Y/N. It was a connection he hadn't anticipated, a bridge between their two worlds that he had yet to fully explore.

"What are you going to do to us?" Y/N asked suddenly, the uncertainty in her eyes betraying her anxiety.

Dabi sighed heavily and walked closer to her, resting his hip against the mast to which she was tied. "You'll work for us," he replied simply, his tone carrying a hint of slyness.

Y/N's expression darkened as she processed his words. "So, we're going to be your slaves," she said with a tinge of bitterness, "a beautiful perspective."

Dabi chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "Well, we Vikings have a different way of looking at things, you see. You'll find our 'perspective' quite interesting, I assure you."

"Why us?" Y/N asked, curiosity mingling with her apprehension.

Dabi's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Your village was raided before, and you happen to possess a huge amount of goods we needed," he replied, the slyness in his voice becoming more apparent. "You could say it's just a matter of unfortunate circumstances."

"You're a monster. You all are. You killed innocent people!" Y/N ground the accusation from the depths of her mind.

Dabi chuckled darkly, his head tilting back slightly. "We? Oh no, sunshine, we're not monsters," he retorted, his voice dripping with a chilling nonchalance. Dabi leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice low and filled with an air of mystery. "You see," he began, a hint of smugness in his tone. "We are Vikings, warriors of the North. Our ways are brutal, but they're also fiercely proud. We live by the sword and sail by the stars. Our world is one of conquest and survival, where strength and cunning are the ultimate currencies." Dabi paused for a moment, as if considering whether to reveal more. "And you, Y/N, have found yourself caught in the wake of our world. Your journey is now intertwined with ours, and how it unfolds, well, that remains to be seen."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unknown.

Dabi's sharp ears caught the sound of Y/N's quiet sobs, and he turned his gaze toward her.

Her words, filled with pain and anger, washed over him. "I wanna rather die than be a slave," she lamented, "you're animals, killing and robbing for fun. I'll never forgive you for killing my friends."

He let out a low, almost amused chuckle, a sound that resonated with a kind of sly arrogance. "Animals, you say?" he responded, his voice carrying a note of mockery. "Perhaps, but in our world, it's the fittest that survive. We aren't much for sentiment, and the reality is, we did what we had to do to ensure our own survival." Dabi's gaze remained fixed on her, and his tone took on a more cryptic edge. "As for forgiveness, sunshine, that's not something I'm particularly concerned about. We live by the code of the North, and it's a world where the line between predator and prey is often blurred. It's a harsh existence, but it's ours."

As the Viking longships sailed southward through the tempestuous sea, they finally reached their home village, known as Skjaldvargr nestled on the southern shores of Norway.

The arrival of Dabi and his crew was met with a raucous reception. The people of Skjaldvargr, mostly guards and shieldmaidens, had been eagerly awaiting their return. The shieldmaidens, with their fierce eyes and battle-worn armor, stood proudly alongside their male counterparts, a testament to the equality that defined Viking society.

The village came to life with the clanging of shields and the joyful cries of reunion as the raiders disembarked, their ill-gotten treasures in tow. It was a homecoming marked by the spoils of their conquest and the triumphant return of their warriors, a scene that underscored the unyielding spirit of the people of Skjaldvargr.

The longships were expertly unloaded, and the captivated men and women were carefully escorted off the vessels. They were bound together, forming a dispirited line, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and resignation. The captives from the Christian village now stood on the wooden pier, their lives forever changed by the Viking raid.

Dabi was the last to disembark. As he stepped onto the pier, the people of Skjaldvargr erupted into cheers. His name carried weight in the village; he was known not only as a fierce Viking warrior but also as one of the heirs to Endeavor, their ruthless earl. His presence was a symbol of power and authority, and the villagers greeted him with a mixture of reverence and admiration.

The triumphant return of Dabi and his crew marked a momentous occasion in the life of Skjaldvargr, where the spoils of their conquest and the legend of their daring deeds would echo through the halls of their Great Hall. The fate of the captives, bound and silent, hung in the balance, as the world of the Northmen unfurled before them.

Among the men and women on the shore, there was a tall, white-haired male with a thick, long fur draped around his shoulders, a figure that stood out amidst the assembled Vikings.

Dabi approached the man and wrapped him in a warm hug. "Natsuo, brother," he greeted him with a grin that couldn't be seen behind his mask.

Natsuo, the younger of the two, returned the hug, placing his hands on Dabi's shoulders. "Looking good and returning successful again. Wonderful," he replied with a hint of admiration in his voice. He stepped back, taking a moment to study his brother. "But what's all this fuss about a Christian village?" he inquired, his curiosity evident. "You've got everyone talking."

Dabi's smirk only widened as he regarded his brother. "Oh, Natsuo, it's a long story. Let's catch up over a drink at the Great Hall. I have quite the tale to tell."

The brothers shared a knowing glance, the unspoken understanding between them evident in their eyes.

Dabi wasted no time in issuing his orders to one of his men. "Make sure the Y/H/C woman is not sent to the market but is brought straight to the Great Hall," he commanded, his tone devoid of any room for discussion.

His bondsman, ever dutiful, nodded in acknowledgment of the directive.

Natsuo, wearing a mischievous grin, couldn't resist teasing his older brother about the mysterious woman. "Dabi, she must be quite the catch if you're keeping her for yourself," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Hope you're going to share a little!"

Dabi scoffed, playfully shoving his brother's shoulder. "Don't be absurd, Natsuo. She's just a captive from the Christian village. I've got more important matters to attend to," he replied, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of a secret smile. "Now, off to the Great Hall. Father is likely impatient for the reports."

The banter between the two brothers continued as they made their way to the heart of Skjaldvargr, leaving behind the captivated woman who had captured Dabi's attention and a tale that had yet to fully unfold.

His hips moved with swift and forceful determination, and the woman beneath him found herself panting and moaning his name in response. With a final series of intense grunts and thrusts, the young man with distinctive two-coloured hair reached his climax, giving one last deep thrust into the girl, spilling his seed in her.

She gently placed her palm against his cheek, her touch brushing over a scarred, reddened area under his left eye. However, her hand was met with a swift and firm push as he growled, withdrawing from her and hurriedly adjusting his pants.

"No," he snarled, pushing her off his bed with ease. "Get the fuck out now," he demanded, his tone filled with a brusque and dismissive edge.

"But you told me you liked me and that we'd have more time together," the young thrall whispered softly as she gathered her clothes from the wooden floor.

The young man's chuckle was cold and devoid of genuine emotion. "Are you that naive?" he sneered, "I only wanted your pussy, nothing else. Get out of my bed before my father or older brother catch you. You don't want to find yourself in trouble, do you?"

The thrall, disheartened and regretful, quickly dressed and left the room. She entered the main chamber of the Great Hall just as Natsuo and Dabi stepped through the massive doors.

Their father, Endeavor, the fearsome earl of Skjaldvargr, was seated at the throne at the end of the chamber, grinding his axe. His stern gaze bore into his eldest son as they approached, a silent expectation for a report on their latest raid.

"The raid on the Christian village was a resounding success. We looted their coffers, took their goods, and brought back valuable supplies that will sustain our village for the winter. The riches we've acquired are beyond our expectations."

Endeavor nodded, acknowledging the information. "Any captives?" he inquired, his eyes scrutinizing his son.

Dabi continued, "We have several men and women who will serve as thralls. We've also secured a Y/H/C woman who is very unique, father. She possesses knowledge of our language, and I've made the decision to keep her within our Great Hall rather than sending her to the market."

He listened to Dabi's report with a stern demeanor, his eyes narrowing as his son spoke about the captive Y/H/C woman. When Dabi finished, the earl's voice held a note of warning. "You know that you shouldn't be making such decisions without my consent," he admonished, his tone heavy with authority. "But this time, I will let it slide."

Inside, Dabi couldn't help but heave a silent sigh of relief. Endeavor's leniency meant that he would have the opportunity to interact with Y/N more freely, a chance to explore the mystery and attraction that had drawn him to her during the journey home. The knowledge that he wouldn't face immediate consequences for his impulsive decision filled him with a sense of gratitude, even as he maintained his outward composure.

Natsuo, on the other hand, took a seat at the long table, where freshly cooked meat was being served by their thralls. He joined the warriors who had gathered to eat, listening to the tale of their successful raid with a satisfied grin. The sounds of feasting and celebration filled the Great Hall, a stark contrast to the darkness and secrets that had transpired on the longship during the journey home.

As Dabi stood in front of his father, a sudden presence caught his attention. A young man with two-colored hair, neatly groomed but slightly untidy now, had joined them. It was Shoto, Dabi's youngest brother, who had recently celebrated his eighteenth spring. His appearance and demeanor appeared deceivingly innocent, but Dabi knew that his younger sibling was not to be underestimated.

"So, you've returned, brother," Shoto said, his tone dripping with feigned sweetness. He offered Dabi a smile that was almost too saccharine, given the complexities of their family dynamics.

Dabi acknowledged Shoto with a nod, a sense of unease brewing beneath the surface.

Shoto turned his attention to their father, Endeavor, his voice carrying a subtle air of request. "Father, this winter, I want to visit Earl Gizzor's settlement, as we discussed. It's crucial that we maintain good relationships between our settlements."

Dabi furrowed his brow, disbelief tinging his words. "What? How do you intend to do that? We've declared war on them."

Shoto maintained his sweet smile as he responded, "While you were away, brother, father and I reached an agreement. We've decided that it's no longer necessary to wage war with Earl Gizzor. Instead, we've buried the hatchet."

Dabi was taken aback, struggling to process what he was hearing. Earl Gizzor was known to be a man of dubious trustworthiness, and the sudden reconciliation with him left a bitter taste in Dabi's mouth. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, and the unexpected alliance between his younger brother and their father raised more questions than it provided answers.

Endeavor nodded in agreement with Shoto's proposal, adding his voice to the conversation. "Shoto is right, Dabi. Maintaining alliances and peace with neighboring earls is essential. We can't be at war on all fronts."

Dabi, with a simple nod of acknowledgment, turned to leave the throne area of the chamber. However, before he walked away, he caught Shoto's shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. "You have a fucking sperm on your pants, you little bastard," he grumbled, his voice low and filled with a blend of irritation and brotherly mockery. "Which poor thrall have you managed to lure into your charms this time?"

Shoto, not one to be easily cowed, replied in a wry and cocky whisper, ensuring their father couldn't hear, "You're always looking so closely, brother. Some of us don't need a mask to be charming. If you looked look like a real man, you wouldn't need to be envious of my romantic pursuits," he quipped, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he took a not-so-subtle dig at Dabi, looking him hardly in the eyes.

Their exchange, hidden beneath the veneer of family respect and decorum, hinted at a deeper sibling rivalry and a history of conflicting personalities. The tension between Dabi and Shoto was a thread woven into the very fabric of their family.

Dabi's patience worn thin by the exchange with Shoto. He scoffed and let go of his younger brother's arm. He turned and made his way straight to his chamber, his footsteps heavy.

Natsuo, who had been a silent witness to the situation between his two brothers, watched with a heavy heart. He loved them both and couldn't bring himself to pick sides, but the tension in the air was palpable, and he worried about the growing rift between Dabi and Shoto.

In his own chamber, Dabi wasted no time. He shed his outer layers, discarding the fur, the mask, woolen shirt, and pants until he stood naked in the room. He flopped onto his bed, which was covered with furs, and stared at the ceiling. His mind was filled with thoughts about everything that had transpired during the days, and he couldn't help but wonder about Shoto's intentions and the potential consequences of their father's newfound alliance.

After some contemplation, he decided to take a bath to clear his mind. Dabi wrapped a towel around his hips and called for one of the thralls to prepare a hot bath for him.

As the thrall prepared the bath, the steam filled the room, creating a cozy and relaxing atmosphere. Dabi wasted no time and immersed himself in the hot water of the wooden tub. The soothing warmth seeped into his muscles, and he leaned back comfortably against the edge, closing his eyes.

The scent of the bath's herbs and oils mixed with the steam, creating a fragrant haven that allowed Dabi to momentarily escape the complexities of his world. With each passing moment, the tensions seemed to melt away, leaving him in blissful solitude and the serene embrace of the soothing bathwater.

As you were brought to the Great Hall, everything appeared new and unfamiliar. Fear coursed through your veins as you found yourself surrounded by strangers, most of them men whose eyes bore into you with an unsettling hunger. The air was thick with whispered, lewd comments, but you did your best to avoid drawing attention, keeping your gaze lowered and your composure intact.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, an older woman, a thrall who had been through similar experiences, extended a hand to guide you away from the prying eyes. She offered a reassuring smile as she took your hand and spoke in a soothing tone. "Come with me, child. I'll explain your new duties and help you settle in," she said, her voice filled with empathy. "You'll find your place here, and in time, it will become more familiar."

Her words provided a glimmer of hope in the midst of your fear, as you followed the thrall to begin your new life in the Great Hall, embarking on a journey that held both uncertainty and the possibility of finding your own strength in a world of unfamiliar faces and customs.

The thrall, as she handed you a plain, thick, greyish dress, began to speak about the members of the earl's family. Her voice was gentle and informative, and you listened attentively, eager to learn more about the people you would be serving. In the end, it was your new life.

She explained, "The earl is Endeavor, a formidable leader and the head of this settlement. He's known for his strength and authority, but also for his ruthlessness."

You nodded, taking in the information, and she continued, "Touya, the eldest son, is a fierce warrior, and he's known for his prowess in raids. His younger brother, Natsuo, is more diplomatic, often seeking peaceful resolutions. The youngest of Endeavor's sons is Shoto," the thrall continued, her voice carrying a more cautious tone as she spoke of him. "He can be the most problematic one, especially when it comes to his affairs." Her words were filled with a hint of warning. "Shoto is known for his charisma and charm, but don't be fooled. He's a smooth talker and has a way of getting what he wants." She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she emphasized, "Be careful around him, dear. He may seem charming, but his intentions can be far from virtuous."

Overwhelmed by the realization that you had been reduced to nothing but a slave, a feeling of hopelessness and anger welled up within you. You turned to the elder woman and, with a hint of defiance, you declared, "I don't want to work. I won't be a slave."

The thrall, her expression heavy with the weight of harsh reality, looked at you with a stern gaze. She leaned in closer, her voice low and foreboding as she whispered, "You don't have a choice in this matter, my child, so hadn't I. If you refuse to work, you won't survive for long. This is the way of our world, and it's a harsh one. I arrived here several years ago, after being taken from the settlement of another earl who was killed in a battle with Endeavor, and ever since, I've been toiling for the earl's family. The tasks are far from rewarding, but such is the way of life," she explained, her voice tinged with resignation.

As you inquired about the tall man who cnquered your village, the thrall's eyes held a certain intensity, and she clarified, "It was Dabi. Dabi is his chosen warrior name. His given name is Touya."

You had obediently completed your first task of cleaning the Great Hall, even though it felt like a menial chore that reflected your new life as a thrall. However, when another thrall instructed you to go to another room to help with the bath, you complied without question. With a heavy sigh, you followed the directions and pushed open the door.

As you stepped into the room, a rush of steam enveloped you, carrying a fragrance of herbs that filled the air. Your brow furrowed in surprise, but before you could react further, the steam dissipated. What lay before you was a scene that caught you off guard: a large bed and clothes, and a mask that you recognized from when Dabi had worn it.

Then, your eyes fell upon the figure in the bath, and a gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't control. You took an involuntary step back as the sight unfolded before you. The man in the bath was Dabi, his body covered with a patchwork of purple, dark, scarred skin. These gnarled, wrinkled, and disfigured patches marred much of his lower face and neck, extending past his collarbone, and continued down his arms and legs. Your whimper of shock hung in the air, and you couldn't help but take another step back, horror etched on your face. It was the first time you saw him without a mask.

Dabi's turquoise eyes opened slowly, and he gazed at you with a haunting intensity. "That's you," he whispered, a quiet acknowledgment of your presence, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery and a deep well of secrets.

As the realization of Dabi's disfigured appearance settled in, the room seemed to grow heavy with tension. Your initial shock gave way to a mix of empathy and curiosity, wondering about the circumstances that had led to such extensive scarring.

The room, suffused with the aroma of herbs, steam and the eerie sight of his scars, seemed to cradle you both in its embrace, marking a pivotal moment that was only beginning to unfold.

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