Connor Roy Attending Each Of His Siblings Graduation And Screaming "THAT'S MY BROTHER/SISTER!" And Applauding

Two’s company, three’s a family - Part three

Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, not oblivious to the reason.

Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Warnings : Reference to "Red Flags" (Tom Cardy), quick s3x mention, non-con touching (not s3xual), depiction of anxiety, foul language, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.

Words : +3k

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The sweet light of a summer day pierced through the branches of the surrounding trees. The sky was unexpectedly blue, and the air was just starting to heat up, tingling your exposed skin. It was so enjoyable; as you basked in the environment, you were almost forgetting your clients.

You were currently sitting on the storefront awning across the cafe where the date was occurring. It was going really well, and their bond was amazing too. It took you six years to find your client's perfect match. You won't deny the fact that you were picky; however, you weren't going to apologise for it either. If your clients had to spend their whole lives with someone, you should at least try not to pair them up with the most infuriating person that God ever made (I'm looking at you, Joey !).

But dang, you had to admit, she was fantastic ! They were literally made for each other. They were so in sync, it was truly adorable. When two people were obviously made for each other, it was your duty to make sure Eternity would welcome both of them. Never to be apart. You rubbed your stretched-skinned right arm.

Ooh, you're going to get so much love from this, your numbers gonna skyrocket...

You send a wave of curiosity your client's way, inciting him to question her more; the more interest he shows in her, the more pleased she'll be. He reached out and rested his hand on hers.

"By the way, do you have a favourite film ?" He asked, eager to see if they also had the same cinematographic tastes. She was so cultured and sophisticated; it was really refreshing to encounter someone of her kind. Yeah, she was one of a kind, alright. Oh, how could you have foreseen what she was about to answer ?

"Oh yes, just basically the best movie of all ! A masterpiece of art, really. You may have heard of it." She was trying to hide just how much she was yearning to scream the name of that movie. Anxious even, for some reason.

"Mmh. Interstellar ?" He tried to guess playfully. But she was jubilant; you knew she wouldn't be able to play along. You frowned, becoming fairly worried, wondering if she would implode.

"Mh-hm ! Wrong !" She giggled, ecstatic. Now you're just scared. You gulped in sync with the client as she stood up and slammed her hands on the metal table. As she exclaimed, finally freed from her own guilt, you thought that some people should have a warning of their own. For the good of society.

"It's Human Centipede !" She clapped and beamed.

Oh, for the love of God... Obviously, your guy was rightfully alarmed since he believed he'd never see his mom again. You left your perch and flew their way; right now, you had to prevent him from running away. Both of your hands settled on his shoulder.

"Custom disguise was truly a highlight, but I mostly liked it for the plot." How can someone so cute fill you with so much dread ? Although your hold was already firm, you couldn't help but twist Arlo's shoulders. Yes, Arlo was his name, but he was closer to Denver, personality-wise.

"I'm not quite familiar with the plot, actually." Oh, you poor unfortunate soul. He didn't know, or maybe he'd rather live in full and hurtful denial his entire life than relive that abominable day when his soul was shattered into a million pieces... Mmh, he probably just didn't know.

"In a nutshell, a German doctor sews three people's asses to their mouths." Her wide brown eyes seemed to belong to the deadliest apex predator. Send help, please. Blinking was out of the question; turn your eyes away for a second, and she'll stab you right in the throat. You darted your eyes towards the butter knife. You exclaimed sharply and miraculously removed it. Better safe than sorry.

You exhaled; you felt so puzzled right now. Every human deserves love, despite having a passion for obscure and particular forms of art. But was this truly the best person for him ? The last thing you wanted was their misery. What if her interests were real signs of psychopathy ? Of future abuse ? She didn't give the impression of abusive behaviour.

You squinted your eyes and started analysing her heart through your own. Contrary to humans, your heart was nested in the very centre of your chest and could be used as a filter. Usually you'd pick up the scent—yes, every emotion had a smell, and thankfully it was faint when you weren't using your heart—guide it towards your chest, and find what you were looking for. Your heart is a great multi-function machine and an amazing tool to achieve your goals; you were thankful for it.

A relieved sigh passed your lips when you didn't sense any brutality or cruelty. And what you felt was passion, ambition, eagerness to start something new, quite a bit of lust, and straight-up horniness.

Mmh, you had to admit that this demon of lust was a talented lad.

"The narrative of character growth comes from a genius mind ! The Human Centipede is a wonderful tour de force; you should watch it. Or, we could watch it together, and I'll show all the little details."

You rolled your eyes and smirked. She was just quirky, but she was looking forward to hitting it off with him. But, still, you wanted it to be his choice; you wouldn't force someone into a relationship and spend eternity with someone they didn't belong with. But it might be the only true relationship they will ever have. You looked over to him and were honestly surprised to see him blush and watch her with such attention. Alright. You shrugged. His mind was sent.

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. You flew away, leaving enough distance to let them take off themselves. You stretched your arm, aimed, and silently hoped it was not morbid curiosity on his part. And finally shot.

Yay ! Right in our hearts!

Nice shot; you praised yourself.

They flinched and smiled brightly. The deal is sealed. Suddenly, the clocks in the watchmaker store struck eleven a.m. You struggle to swallow. Alright, here goes nothing.

You went down to the street corner and called out the invisibility spell. You walked casually through the street but couldn't help but overhear the lovebirds conversation.

"My dream wedding would 100% be themed "Human Centipede"." She laughed so joyfully. Everyone around was looking so distraught but didn't dare say anything. Mmh.

"That would be so cool! Imagine just how much we could save on the catering bill." He burst out in laughter; it was hilarious.

And that's another wedding you will not attend. Thank God they weren't in your department anymore.

Good luck with that, Adriel...

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You had arrived before Aziraphale, so you would have time to report to Chamuel. Yep, the Archangel of Love himself. No pressure... You weren't the same rank as Aziraphale; he was a Principality. You ? You were under the order of a Principality. Jophiel, to be exact. So meeting up with the Archangel was a big deal.

You rode the escalator while poking random fingers on your chest to calm your nerves and erase all of your emotions. You hoped they wouldn't notice the change. You hoped Chamuel didn't show up during the reunion concerning the Anti-Christ. You hoped that everything would be alright.

You exhaled for a long time, entering the endless building of light. Steadily, you made your way towards your bosses. Impassive. Calm. You spotted Chamuel and your principality, and you stopped a few feet away.

"Hello Y/N ! How are you today ?" What a dashing smile he had—too white to be human. His deep green eyes were scanning your own. His attention was nerve-wracking.

"I am fine; thank you, Chamuel." Your tone was as neutral as you could manage. Your posture was rigid, trying to stay as still as possible.

"I too hope you two are doing well."

"We are, thank you... Now, how's your heart ? Has it caused you any problems ?" His pale hand suddenly patted your mid-chest, too rough for your liking. You flinched but didn't dare say anything. Mmh. Behind him, Jophiel was looking at you up and down, keeping her distance. She still gave you a brief, tight smile.

"I am fine, thank you." You sounded straight-up robotic.

"Good !" He clapped his hands together and shook them. He took his place beside the dark-blond angel, his vivid blond hair harmonising with hers.

"Your recent results have been quite impressive, Y/N. Very good fuel for the upcoming war". Jophiel praised you while never fully looking your way.

You simply bowed your head, despite how geedy you actually felt. She didn't praise a lot, so you were delighted.

"Even from just a few minutes ago ! You are doing an excellent job. I appreciate the constant flow of love; it almost keeps the Bound together." He laughed heartily. You bowed your head again; you knew he didn't mean it.

The Bound is what holds everything together. Literaly everything. Earth, humans, animals ect. And Love is the fuel it needs to thrive. But when Armageddon starts, all cupids shall stop the love, let the Bound unfold, and fight along side the other angels, filled with the... ugh, power of Love. So cheesy... Help.

"Our sources have also confirmed the punishment of two demons who were prohibited from working on Earth for the remaining years; great job ! The least nuisance in the way, the better.."

Despite his sinister aura, he did appreciate your work. You just couldn't bring yourself to be happy about it.

"Now !" He slapped his hand on your shoulder and made you turn around. You grunted quietly. "I believe you must attend another meeting, right? I wouldn't want you to be late. Go on." He pushed you forward, and you had to catch yourself before reuniting with the floor.

"So... Darachiel and Requiel are up next..." Jophiel said it absent-mindedly, already forgetting your encounter.

Brief and concise, exactly what you prayed for. As you were leaving, you passed Darachiel and Requiel, on their way to their report. They observed you from afar, doing their best not to get too close to you. You just stared right in front of you. You didn't want to hear their gossip. It was almost as if their mouths had only been designed to talk behind your back. You teeth clenched. Focus.

You'll just have to deal with three more archangels, convince them the boy is turning into a saint, and hope they will not mention your role as a cupid. It didn't really bother me that Azirphale and Crowley might find out about your job; it's just that you were quite... private and wanted to make sure they wouldn't realise what your mission was. Be cautious.

You didn't want to lie to them. You sighed. Nevertheless, you comforted yourself, remembering that you wouldn't be alone against them.

Still, your heart echoed through your ears; the drumming was hurting your ribs and chest, like every fibre of your bones wanted to crawl their way out of your throat. You kept walking. Your breath was laboured, and your eyes were watering, blurring the awful images that rolled before you. Your gaze fell down, shielding yourself from the memories and those fucking intrusive fights. Mmh..

"Y/N ?"

The sweetest feather touch grazed your forearm, the concerned voice abruptly grounding you back into the dazzling reality of Heaven. Lost, you revolved slowly, and your pleading eyes searched for reassurance.

"Oh, Y/N..." Aziraphale whispered softly to not startle you.

"I'm sorry, I just.. I've never..-" You had to hold back a sob. The blond shushed, caressing the side of your arms.

"I know, dear... It's a lot." He smiled at you, tender. He delicately lifted your chin to meet your eyes. "But I'm right beside you; you won't have to face them on your own. You are the most intrepid angel I've met; you will blow us all away!" He jested.

"Mmh." You gave him a sheepish smile for an answer.

"Come now." He gestured forward into the meeting zone, not touching you. He walked beside you. "It's going to be just fine. I must confess, I've fooled them quite a lot before." His confession caused me to smirk as well.

Angel ? No, he was quite devilish, alright.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Mmh..." Aziraphale moaned, his mouth full of cream. You never thought you could bless someone through your Parfait. Your recipe was Aziraphale's favourite dessert, which he desperately tried to copy but could never get right.

Your afternoon was spent at Aziraphale's bookshop, sitting cross-legged on the comfiest couch, reading your latest acquisition. The anxiety was slowly draining its way out your veins. You turned another page and smiled softly. You have loved astronomy ever since you were created. You didn't have as much knowledge about space as Crowley, but the beauty enticed you so much that you couldn't help but be saddened by its upcoming destruction. You also cooked for the angel to really thank him.

"It's truly fantastic, Y/N." He took another spoonful. "You're sure you don’t want to share your secret ? Confess and feel even better." He teased.

"Confess, huh ? I should rather put a copyright on my recipe, you little thief."

Eden, thankfully on your side, was pushing Aziraphale's thigh, sticking her tongue out to get a lick.

"No, Eden, we were not talking about you- No !" He lifted his arm way up. If he thought it would stop your mini cow, he was deeply mistaken. She put all her efforts into her desperate attempt to steal the sweet, climbing on his leg. Aziraphale made a muffled squeal; Eden had her hooves digging in his flesh.

"Help..." He begged in a strained voice.

You giggled and got up. You took your time, really, dusting a shelf and bouncing quickly on your left leg. His eyes were almost stern as he observed your smug face. You waited a few seconds. You smiled innocently, petted Eden's head, and snatched the glass from his hand.

"Oh ! Y/N !" Alright, that gasp was just comical. Your lips let out a joyful giggle, and you jogged away, tasting the dessert with your fingertip.

"Mh.. Yum ! What a talented cook I am." You contemplated your work. Still, you saw the two hungry fellas in the corner of your eye. Too emotionally drained to play, you turned around and handed back the dessert.

"Thank you." He shook his head but smiled gratefully.

Eden nudged your right arm, demanding a treat as well. As you tossed it to her, you spotted Aziraphale stare your way. You stared back, confused. Caught in the act, he didn't back down and directly asked you what was on his mind.

"Did you hurt your arm ? I never noticed that scar before."

Oh.

You looked down your right arm and saw the tiniest bit of scar sneaking out of your pulled-up sleeve. You covered it back down.

You never thought he would notice that.

"I got cut by a demon claw. It never really healed properly."

"Maybe I could help... Let me see." He reached for your arm. You didn't mean to flinch, but still, you backed away.

"It's okay, Aziraphale. Really, it's fine."

You were charging your charm to chase him off, but the door suddenly burst open, and Crowley entered like he owned the place. He noticed the two of you, and his face went stolid. The three of you stood here for a minute or two before the angel broke the weird silence.

"Hello Crowley, How was your day ?"

The demon found his scrunched expression back.

"Awful. As expected... Some people just apparently can't believe that humans can be bad enough to end up in hell without having to be murderers! Ugh."

He sat nonchalantly on his designated chair and went limp to try and get rid of all of his frustration. He hated having to visit Hell, as one could understand. He didn't belong there. You don’t belong anywhere. You cringed. Mmh. He weakly waved in your direction.

"How about you guys ?" He hummed.

"Mmh, well, Azi' will tell you. I should get going !" You forced a smile and reached for Eden, petting her to calm her. You felt Aziraphale's eyes on you while Crowley tensed up slightly.

"Already ? Have I scared you away or something ?" He asked.

"Oh, don't be silly, Crowley; of course not ! Eden's tired; I've got to put her to bed."

"Well, can't she use the backroom- ?"

"Oh, by the way." Whoosh, quick, unnoticeable charm. "Here ! I finished it !" You threw your book on his lap, earning a grunt. "I hope you'll show me a real one day." The suggestion was true, but you knew it wouldn't happen. You didn't have the right to. Mmh.

"Bye bye ! Smooches !" You sang your way out of the bookshop under the concerned and puzzled looks of your clients.

You waited until you were around the corner before finally collapsing against the facade. Overwhelming—yeah, that's the perfect word to summarise your day. You brought your hands up to your head and rubbed your face. What am I so upset about? Why was your heart aching, burning your skin away? Why did their stares and comments feel like daggers in your back? You just wish you weren't alone. The light did nothing to warm up your frozen face as tears threatened to roll down. Mmh...

No... you didn't want to go back to this... You just couldn't.

The firm grip you had on your shirt snatched a bit of skin and twisted it. It had at least the benefit of shaking you enough to act.

You exhaled sharply and slapped your own cheek to knock some sense into yourself. You have no time. Eden was still rubbing her head on your leg when you bent down to kiss her forehead.

You straightened up, activated your blindness spell, and manifested your bow and arrows. Taking off from the ground and positioning yourself to get a good view of your clients You aimed with your right arm and lined up. Your breath was taken away by the glimpse of a scar that shone in the disappearing sun. You frowned, growled, and struck. Upper arms.

Alright, now shit was about to get real.

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I guess we all have to learn about our own back story, right Y/N ?

Anyway ! I promise we will see more of the ineffable husbands in the next part. You just needed a little bit of time for yourself.

Hope you enjoyed it ! Bye !

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Tag list : @legendary-maddie @kpop-athena @drugs-for-memes @emo-queer-boi @cunning-girl @mochikofi @brain-has-left @cup-of-tee007 @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @somekale08 @liyacreate @msyolocat-blog

"girls, boys, neithers, boths, and in-betweens" is actually rificulously inclusive and will forever be better than any variation of "guys, gals and non-binary pals"

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Weiterlesen

Just a bunch of useful websites

12ft – Hate paywalls? Try this site out.

My Fridge Food – No idea what to make? Tell this site what ingredients you have on hand and it will give you recipes to cook.

Project Gutenberg – Always ends up on these type of lists and for very good reason. All works that are copyright free in one place.

Ninite – New PC? Install all of your programs in one go with no bloat or unnecessary crap.

Unchecky – Tired of software trying to install additional unwanted programs? This will stop it completely by unchecking the necessary boxes when you install.

Sci-Hub – Research papers galore! Check here before shelling out money. And if it’s not here, try the next link in our list.

LibGen – Lots of free PDFs relate primarily to the sciences.

Zotero – A free and easy to use program to collect, organize, cite and share research.

Car Complaints – Buying a used car? Check out what other owners of the same model have to say about it first.

CamelCamelCamel – Check the historical prices of items on Amazon and set alerts for when prices drop.

Have I Been Pawned – Still the king when it comes to checking if your online accounts have been released in a data breach. Also able to sign up for email alerts if you’ve ever a victim of a breach.

Radio Garden – Think Google Earth but wherever you zoom, you get the radio station of that place.

Just The Recipe – Paste in the url and get just the recipe as a result. No life story or adverts.

Tineye – An Amazing reverse image search tool.

My 90s TV – Simulates 90’s TV using YouTube videos. Also has My80sTV, My70sTV, My60sTV and for the younger ones out there, My00sTV. Lose yourself in nostalgia.

Foto Forensics – Free image analysis tools.

Old Games Download – A repository of games from the 90’s and early 2000’s. Get your fix of nostalgia here.

Online OCR – Convert pictures of text into actual text and output it in the format you need.

Remove Background – An amazingly quick and accurate way to remove backgrounds from your pictures.

Twoseven – Allows you to sync videos from providers such as Netflix, Youtube, Disney+ etc and watch them with your friends. Ad free and also has the ability to do real time video and text chat.

Terms of Service, Didn’t Read – Get a quick summary of Terms of service plus a privacy rating.

Coolors – Struggling to get a good combination of colors? This site will generate color palettes for you.

This To That – Need to glue two things together? This’ll help.

Photopea – A free online alternative to Adobe Photoshop. Does everything in your browser.

BitWarden – Free open source password manager.

Atlas Obscura – Travelling to a new place? Find out the hidden treasures you should go to with Atlas Obscura.

ID Ransomware – Ever get ransomware on your computer? Use this to see if the virus infecting your pc has been cracked yet or not. Potentially saving you money. You can also sign up for email notifications if your particular problem hasn’t been cracked yet.

Way Back Machine – The Internet Archive is a non-profit library of millions of free books, movies, software, music, websites and loads more.

Rome2Rio – Directions from anywhere to anywhere by bus, train, plane, car and ferry.

Splitter – Seperate different audio tracks audio. Allowing you to split out music from the words for example.

myNoise – Gives you beautiful noises to match your mood. Increase your productivity, calm down and need help sleeping? All here for you.

DeepL – Best language translation tool on the web.

Forvo – Alternatively, if you need to hear a local speaking a word, this is the site for you.

Succession Preference: Baby Introducing Their First Date

Requested: 2nd preference: how would each sibling react to their baby sibling (reader) introduceing their first date (gn neutral if possible) - anon

A/N: This is just too cute to imagine!!! I love it!!! I hope you like it my love!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Connor is so excited to meet them. Unfortunately for you, the whole family is over for dinner and insists on meeting your date before you go out. You were hoping to sneak out after drinks, but before dinner. Connor won't let you get away with that, though. He's eager to meet them. Really. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Connor fears no ill intentions. He truly wants to see the best in people, even the people trying to date his baby sibling. When they get there, they're immediately taken into the living room. You have no time to warn them at all. He doesn't intend for it to be an interrogation, but Connor asks them a lot of questions. Are they in school, what do they do for work, do they have any siblings, pets, what is their family like, what are their intentions with you, etc. This is just a first date. You like them, you want things to go well, but this is definitely not the type of deal where they should be meeting your family. This is not going well, not if they're with Connor the whole night. Your date just smiles and nods along. When your brother is satisfied, he winks at you before you go, telling you "they're a keeper". You thank him, getting the hell out of there before he asks anything else.

Kendall doesn't like this at all. He goes to your father, asking if he's heard about this little date you've got planned for tonight. Of course he does. Why would Kendall care? No, no he has to put a stop to this. He thinks his father has lost his edge. He tries to bribe you with money and alcohol and shares in the company for you not to go. You try to remind him that you're an actual, legal adult. That you can see whoever you want when you want and he can't stop you. You also remind him that this is a first date, it could be nothing special. It definitely won't end in marriage. You don't know that, he warns. What are you talking about, Ken? You were never this way with Shiv and Rome. He wants to tell you it's because you're his baby. Shiv would date whoever she wanted and didn't care what anyone thought. Roman rarely dated and when he did it was never that serious. But you? You're his baby. He watched you grow up. He can't let you go that easily. He just can't. He doesn't care if this person is some supernatural genius or the next president or the bringer or world peace, he will not let you go with them. You're just a baby, his baby.

Shiv accidentally and not so accidentally crashes your date while you're on it. You and your date go to a very local, very popular cafe that just so happens to be near Waystar. You didn't even think about if you would run into your family, you just picked it because it was a nice place. Shiv spots you laughing and smiling across from someone who most definitely is not a friend, at least not a friend she's ever seen. Hey kid, she says, dragging a chair over with her. Who's this? Wanna introduce me? If you could crawl under the table and hide, you would. Instead now you have to sit and smile as your sister quite literally interrogates them. What do they want with you, what are their intentions, do they respect that no is a complete sentence, do they know who your father is, etc. You want to die. They have this look in their eyes that screams help me, but you can't do anything. Every time you try to get her to go away and move on, she blatantly ignores the hints. When she's done, you swear it's taken forever, she leaves with her coffee and a wicked grin. Your sister doesn't like anyone wanting to date you. As far as she's concerned, you're too good for them. You'll always be too good for them. All of them.

Roman doesn't like them at all. He doesn't even give them a chance. He makes fun of them, he points out their flaws, he picks on them. They come up to meet Logan just for a second before you go to dinner. You don't know that Roman is there until you come out of the bathroom and see your date being taunted by him. Immediately you defend them, hissing at your brother to stop it. You send them down to the lobby, needing to talk to your brother. What the fuck are you doing? You ask, ready to kill him. He was going to scare them off forever. You really liked them, you wanted things to go well. Them? You like them? Are they paying you? That earns a slap to his arm. What is wrong with you? He laughs. How much time do you have? You just roll your eyes. You'll have a big fight about it after, but for now you have to go downstairs because your date is waiting for you. Roman would never put this into words, but you dating means you're all grown up. He doesn't like that thought very much. What happened to the baby he used to rock to sleep and the toddler he held on his shoulders? Suddenly you wanted a partner? Nope, not on his watch.

Scintilla

An omega Steve Harrington x alpha reader fic- where Steve hides his secondary gender, nears the last of his heat suppressants, and resorts to anonymously ask the reader, a known 'omega' at the school to buy him some. Unbeknownst to him though, the reader aids the other 'hidden' omegas in the school to get them their suppressants without rumours circulating- The exchange of gifts between the two, which may lead to something... bigger?

So uh- this is my first Stranger Things fic, and truth be told I am still halfway through the first season, but Steve was to pretty for his own good, and uh- I love him sm- so here we are.

All my love and appreciation to my wonderful friend, @mysyerious who kindly beta read the fic, and supported the creation of this fic- ily sm, and thank you so much!!!

Masterlist

Scintilla: a spark or a trace of something

Ah, the small town of Hawkins. A place you had been born in. Where everyone knew everyone- which was simultaneously a good thing and a bad thing. A good thing in a sense, because people would notice if you went missing or if you wound up dead. At least you’d be found pretty early on. A bad thing, because everyone- literally everyone knows a lot about you. Not only that-

“More heat suppressants, eh?”

You nodded absentmindedly. The clerk ringing up your things gave you a knowing smirk.

“Y’know, heats usually pass by quicker if-”

You knew what was coming next. It was going to be the usual thing- an offer to quote unquote ease away the bi-annual occurrence.

Alphas and omegas were rare. Even rarer in a small place like Hawkins. Which meant- Rumours flew quickly. Gossips and whispers trailed behind those who bought heat suppressants and scent blockers.

“Fuck off,” you hissed out, shoving the wad of cash onto the counter before shoving the boxes of heat suppressants and scent blockers into your open bag.

You swiped the change the clerk handed you and glared at the man, to which he responded to with a shrug.

“Not my fault you’re the only omega around this place.”

You didn’t even bother to respond, instead pulling up your turtle neck sweater up to your nose, your lips tugging into a snarl.

You stomped out of Melvald’s General store, and let the slightly cool breeze brush your bare skin.

Despite the rumours and the whispers surrounding you- following you- you weren’t the only omega in Hawkins. Hell, you weren’t even an omega.

You were an alpha. One that bought necessities for the younger, hidden omegas. You were the one to direct all the rumours- the stereotypical jabs, the whispers and gazes- towards yourself.

You would endure it. The judging looks you got as you strutted down the halls, head held high, your scent forcibly pushed down. If they believed you were an omega, then you would allow them to think that.

The grateful looks thrown your way by the omegas you were protecting- the small parcels of sweets in your locker- notes of thanks, scrawled on a lined piece of paper or on the back of a half-completed worksheet- those all made you continue to help them all.

Even if you wanted to get out of this shitty place as soon as you could.

~ ♥~

You weren’t particularly fond of Hawkins High. It was a… school. Nothing more, and nothing less. Bustling of students- whispers and giggles- creaking of metal- the swirling of different scents merging into one. Lavender, tinges of nutmeg, and other scents you couldn’t place a finger on.

You leaned against your locker, letting your cheek rest on the cool metal momentarily before opening it to get your notebooks and folders. But something fluttered from in between the pages of your book.

The crumpled piece of paper slowly fell down onto the dirty hall floor and you were quick to step on it to prevent it from flying away somewhere else.

You were used to the fleeting, fading scents of your… ‘regulars’ on pieces of paper and wrapping. But this one- you lifted the paper to your face, sniffing slightly- you didn’t know it. That was weird. Mainly because you prided yourself in your ability to distinguish between different scents and matching them to the person. For example, Jonathan Byers had a faint, woody scent- oak. Nancy Wheeler had a scent so soft that it usually was smothered by the other scents around her- but you could smell it. The scent of detergent- of freshly done laundry.

But this? You don’t think you’ve ever smelt this metallic scent before. Not in this school- and not in this town.

You looked at the scrawled words written on the piece of paper.

Junkyard. 10 p.m. 3 bottles of suppressants + 6 sticks of scent blockers Leave them on the ground and go.

You scoffed slightly and neatly folded the piece of paper. This person was rude- weren’t they? You contemplated on whether or not you should just drop it on the ground and leave it there. Their words were demanding- and not at all polite. You weren’t really picky about attitudes, but- the words written rubbed you the wrong way.

Three bottles of heat suppressants? And six scent blockers? This omega must be desperate. And you did start buying all these omegan products to help them- the omegas who needed all these things but were afraid of the judgement of being one.

You looked down at the paper, rubbing the note with the pad of your thumb. You tilted your head up when you could feel a prickling stare at the top of your head. But- in front of you was the quote unquote popular kids; Tommy, Carol, and Steve.

You must have been imagining the sensation. The three of them wouldn’t pay attention to you. They were betas, and Harrington was an alpha. And you were, as perceived by the larger student body, an omega. Someone that should be ignored.

“Fuck it,” you lowly muttered, before shoving the piece of paper into your pocket. If this person wanted help, then you would give them help. It was what your inner alpha wanted to do. You didn’t have a pack of your own, so you would be content with taking care of other omegas. Maybe form a couple bonds.

As you twirled on your heels to make your way over to your homeroom, you could swear that you’d heard a near inaudible, relieved sigh.

~ ♥~

“Fuck.” Steve hissed out, as he rummaged through his room, fumbling under his clothes and other discarded objects for his bottle of suppressants. “Fuck.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a low uncontrollable snarl escaping his lips. His parents had been gone for a while- and they had been the ones to buy him these suppressants- away from this town- from the city. Nobody wanted an omega to sully the family name.

Thankfully though, he saw the glimmer of white under one of his sweaters. He immediately scrambled over to the bottle strewn on the ground. He lifted it to his ear and shook it, grimacing slightly at the rattling of the pills. He didn’t have a lot left. He could last a day? Maybe two, if he took half of what he normally took.

Either way, he was screwed.

Then, his mind flickered to you. The town’s ‘only’ omega. He knew you weren’t the only one. Steve’s inner omega might be suppressed and near non-existent, but his sense of smell was still better than most. He had sensed a couple of softer scents lingering near you. Scents he instinctively knew to be of an omega- or omegas.

And he also knew you bought a shit ton of suppressants each week. Both Carol and Tommy had mocked you for that. Making jokes about how you didn’t need those pills- that people would gladly help you through it-

Steve shoved those memories at the back of his mind. Instead, he ripped a piece of lined paper from one of his notebooks to quickly scribble note onto it. Scent blockers and suppressants- you would have some, right? Hell, nobody could go through all those bottles in a week-

He had to be careful though. He grabbed the stick of scent blocker to lather it onto his neck- right where his scent gland was. The instructions pasted on the stick had warned him to not apply it directly on his gland but- his dad had told him that this way was better. This way, his scent wouldn’t have the chance to touch the air.

Steve crumpled the piece of paper before shoving it unceremoniously into his pocket. He threw the stick of blockers onto his bed before pulling on a sweater.

Hopefully, you’d help him.

~ ♥~

You fiddled around with the piece of paper as you took a bite of your sandwich. Three bottles? Of suppressants? You were lucky that Pam was out of town this week. You could give her share of the meds to this mysterious omega.

You had asked your friends- the ones you took care of- but all had told you that this scent- the metallic tang of it- was something they had all not smelt before. Which meant that there was a possibility that this note was a trap of some sort.

Dean, who had taken a seat next to you during homeroom, had taken a look at the note and had vehemently insisted that you not go. You didn’t know who this was. He didn’t know who this was- what if you got hurt? What if you died trying to help others?

You had waved off his concern, patting his shoulder softly when you sensed his hold on his omegan scent slip. There hadn’t been a death or a disappearance in this town for a long while. You were safe.

Something was placed on the table in front of you. You were snapped out of your thoughts, and your gaze immediately flickered to the carton of juice with a sticky note reading ‘<3’ stuck on it.

And from the cheer uniform and the pony-tail swaying behind her, you knew that this was from Maria- another one of your regulars. She was less open with being seen with you, but she was a nice girl. Appreciative of what you did for her. Smiling and thanking you every time you slipped in what she asked of you into her bag.

You smiled to yourself before taking out the straw and sipping the juice, humming lowly under your breath.

Your good mood was dampened, however, by the sensation of something cold and wet being poured down on the top of your head.

You grimaced as you felt the liquid drip down your face, and onto your shirt. You immediately stood up from your seat, a near feral growl ripping from your lips as you turned around.

Only to come face to face with the asshole trio. Tommy, holding a now empty cup, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Carol, giggling with her arm looped around his. And Steve, who was smirking at your current predicament.

Your inner alpha was a snarling mess- you didn’t deserve this. You could easily rip the three of them a new one- you would win-

You took in a deep breath. No. You could endure this. You were fine. The shirt could be salvaged, and it wasn’t like Tommy poured sticky juice over you. It was just water. It would dry.

You reigned in your inner alpha. You can’t let your secondary gender slip now- you had too much to lose. If you exposed yourself as an alpha now, there would be more questions- about why you were buying heat suppressants. Why you were hoarding them-

“Oops.”

You were very close to snapping. Your hold on your scent was loosening. From the corner of your eye, you could see Dean look at you worriedly, and his posture half standing up, as if he were ready to run over to you. You subtly shook your head.

You opened your mouth to make a scathing remark, but-

Slightly callused fingers, warm and slightly smooth from the rings covering them, wrapped around your wrist and you could feel yourself being pulled along. You saw your friend give the trio a wide grin before flipping them all off. The earthy, petrichor scent engulfed you as you were briskly led out of the crowded cafeteria and out of the school building.

A familiar denim jacket was thrown into your arms when you shivered slightly as a cool breeze washed over you. You shrugged it on, nestling into the warmth that it provided you.

“Thanks, Eds.”

“Those fucking assholes.” He hissed out, as he slumped onto the metal bench. You followed suit, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You good?”

You wiped some of the remaining liquid from your forehead and nodded. You closed your eyes and sat in a rather comfortable silence.

You couldn’t wait to escape this shitty school- and the town. Just a couple more years.

“You wanna ditch this place?”

You popped your eyes open and grinned widely, to which Eddie responded with a slightly unhinged grin of his own.

“Thought you’d never ask, Munson.”

~ ♥~

“Huh. The freaks ran off together.” Carol said, as she settled on a bench next to Tommy. “How adorable.”

Steve simply nodded along to her words, thinking back to your expression and the subtle change in your scent when you turned to glare at them.

Carol and Tommy hadn’t noticed, but he did. An almost instinctive chill ran up his spine, and for a split second, he felt as if he couldn’t do anything but freeze. Something was up with you.

As he listened to the two talk more, he pushed his thoughts away. He didn’t need to think about this- about you. He just needed the meds- just until his parents came back to get him some more.

Then he’d never speak or interact with you again.

~ ♥~

It was dark. Nearly pitch black. You could just barely see the scraps of metal and junk in this yard. Why this person wanted you to drop off the bottles here of all places, you didn’t know.

Three bottles, as well as six scent blockers. All packed neatly in a plastic bag. You had also slipped in something sweet- a piece of hard candy you considered a guilty pleasure for yourself.

The junkyard was quite big, and truth be told, you didn’t know where to put this. Should you mark it to make sure this person picked it up correctly? You fiddled with one of your rings- a silver one, in the shape of a coiled dragon, one you had picked up from a yard sale- and pulled it off. You messed about with the bag and the ring, eventually being able to push a piece of plastic through it.

Satisfied with your handywork, you stood up from your crouch and nodded to yourself.

Hopefully, the person would see it. And maybe, next time, they would be less demanding.

~ ♥~

Steve emerged from behind a large piece of junk as he watched you walk away and get in a car. One he assumed was Munson’s- judging by the rainy scent lingering nearby.

He made his way over to the plastic bag, pulling off the silver ring from it to push it into his pocket. He checked to see if you had, true to your reputation, given him the right meds. And he let out a relieved sigh when he saw the familiar label of the suppressants.

You had delivered.

He frowned when he saw a neatly folded piece of paper nestled in between the bottles of suppressants. Steve pulled the note out and attempted to read it with the glimmer of light in the distance.

Hello, stranger. I don’t know you, but apparently, you know me. I won’t ask any questions. But I need to know. Are you a student at Hawkins High? Also, do you want me to keep supplying you with all this?

Steve thought momentarily. To be frank, he didn’t really know when his parents would be back. And truth be told, he didn’t know if they would remember to buy him the suppressants- hell, he didn’t even know if his parents would even remember that he was an omega-

He made a decision. One that he hoped he wouldn’t regret later on.

~ ♥~

You opened your locker, yawning. You really needed a coffee this morning. You groaned and knocked your forehead onto the cold metal of your locker. You really didn’t want to come to school today. A chemistry test- Sure, you studied for it. Reading your notes whilst Eddie threw pieces of popcorn at you, blasting Metallica with a shit eating grin on his lips.

You half expected all your books and pieces of paper to spill onto the ground, but you were pleasantly surprised when instead, you were greeted with a single stem of a white flower- a daffodil- stuck on the inside of your locker.

Next to it, was yet another note, tinged with that unknown metallic scent.

Yes. Same time + place next week?

You snorted at the curt words written on the lined paper. Whoever this person was- they were really aloof, weren’t they? Hell, they didn’t even return your ring! You liked that one. You got it for like fifty cents, but if was neat- and you were sure Eddie wanted it-

You plucked the daffodil from its place on your locker to tuck it behind your ear. You huffed slightly. At least this person gave you a flower- you’d forgive them this time.

“Keep your secrets, Harpocrates.” You muttered as you pulled the textbooks and folders that you needed for your classes. “Not that it matters to me. But I liked the ring.” You pulled out a well-thumbed edition of the Odyssey and slipped the note in between the pages. “Hey, as long as you keep giving me flowers, you’ll be forgiven.”

You felt it again. A burning gaze drilling into you. You quickly lifted your head to catch the brown eyes of the one and only ‘King’ Steve Harrington. You couldn’t place a finger on the expression gracing his features.

You held his gaze, raising your eyebrows at him. What? Did he have a problem with you? People thought you were weird either way. So, you were going to be weird whilst simultaneously being pretty.

Before you could say anything to him, an arm slung lazily around your shoulder, and the scent of petrichor hit you.

“You need something, Harrington?”

That expression was gone in an instant, instead replaced with what seemed like… faux swagger?

“No.”

“Then us freaks shalt be off.” Eddie said, giving the other a mock bow. You followed suit, as you tucked the fresh flower more securely. It would be a shame for this pretty flower to fall down onto the ground, only to be trampled under the shoes of the other students walking along this hallway. “Come on. Your dungeon master requires your presence.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted at Eddie’s emphasis on ‘dungeon master’.

“Don’t make it weird, pretty boy,” you said, to which he tilted his head back to laugh at.

And you left your locker, strutting confidently with your friend. The soft scent of daffodils following you as you walked.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes followed you until you slipped into your homeroom.

~ ♥~

Steve didn’t know what to feel when you tucked the flower- one he had impulsively picked- behind your ear. He didn’t know why he did it. But something had urged him to do it, and before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, the white flower was clenched in his hand.

He really didn’t have a choice, so he decided to just stick it in your locker with the reply to your note.

He had no idea what to do with the ring- it was an extravagant one, with detailed engravings on it- should he return it to you?

But before he could have contemplated further, he had seen Tommy and Carol walk towards him so, he had hurriedly hidden the ring deep down in his pockets.

Steve had wanted to ask- why did you leave your ring behind? Why did you wear the flower? Did you know he was this mysterious person? Is that why you were thinking out loud? For him to hear?

But when your eyes, curious, yet guarded, met with his, he knew that wasn’t the case. Even though he had all these questions in mind, he couldn’t bring himself to ask them. He seemed to freeze- like a deer in headlights-

And just when he gathered his wits to actually talk to you? Munson stepped in, his earthy scent very quickly covering yours- arm draped around your shoulders.

Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was so interested in you. He could have just waited for his parents to get him more meds. He had enough at home right now- but-

Steve rolled the silver ring in between his fingers as he walked over to his own homeroom.

You piqued his interest. You, with your subtle considerations and the somewhat strange atmosphere surrounding you. But- should he approach you? Give up on this ‘popular’ life he had meticulously built up since freshman year?

~ ♥~

“So.” Pam said, as she plopped down onto the cafeteria bench next to you, her tray clattering onto the plastic table. “A new customer, ay?”

“Wait- you’ve met them? Whoever it is?” Dean asked, as he reached towards your lunch tray to place his cup of jell-o onto yours.

You nodded, before brandishing your weathered copy of the Odyssey. You smiled at your friends as you brandished the daffodil, pressed in between two pieces of paper towels.

The two omegas looked at the flower, so carefully placed in between the pages, and they gave you a slightly incredulous look.

“…What?”

“I swear, most of your uh-” Dean hesitated momentarily “-‘customers’ give you shit like this- hell, I’ve probably given you more baked treats than I can even fucking remember-”

“I know.” You huffed out, as you peeled open the jell-o he had given you. “But nobody’s given me flowers.”

Your fingers gently ghosted over the fragile petals.

Pam snorted, making you snap your eyes towards her. You tilted your head to the side questioningly. Dean’s eyes were on her as well. She simply shook her head.

“Nothing- it’s just.” Pam shuffled to make space for Eddie, who had apparently decided to sit with you instead of the rest of the Hellfire club. “Didn’t take you for the romanticising type.”

Eddie laughed before wheezing out your name a couple of times. You glowered at him and nudged his side with your elbow.

“-is the sappiest person I know-”

“Shut up Munson-”

He simply stuck his tongue out at you, swiping at the unopened cup of jell-o on your tray.

“Always dreaming about what you would do when you eventually got bonded to someone-”

“Oh?” Dean said, a small grin forming on his lips. “I thought you never wanted one. I mean- that’s what you’ve told me, at least.”

“I mean- being bonded to someone as an omega’s probably gonna suck,” Pam said, a small pout on her face. She phrased it so that it would seem to be empathic to you, but all three of you knew the truth. She was expressing her own laments in regards to being one.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, his own voice soft and dejected. Male omegas were definitely treated worse- just like female alphas. Both had the stigma of being abominations of nature, for some strange reason.

A beat of silence passed between all of you.

“Well, if all goes wrong.” You said, reaching over to pat at the two omegas’ hands. “I can just live with some other omegas.”

You ignored the tang of guilt digging into your heart when you saw them perk up at your words.

You saw the apprehensive look Eddie sent over your way, but you subtly shook your head. Nobody was going to find out you were an alpha.

Nobody.

~ ♥~

That was how it went on for a while. You would drop off the plastic bag filled with suppressants and a note- along with one of your many rings. You had to drag Eddie to get some more, and he helped pick out some new ones.

(“Get the one with the skull.”

“I have like five of those already, Eds.”

“The more the better-”

You bought the ring.)

The weeks dragged on. On the second week, a white tulip. Slipped into your locker, along with a small, scribbled note with a single sentence: ‘I’m sorry- Do you want your rings back?’

On the third, a yellow lily. Placed with more care than the previous two flowers. Yet another note, less crumpled and the writing slightly neater, with a single question: ‘Why do you call me Harpocrates?’

At the month mark, a dahlia as well as a cosmos- both red hued flowers stuck neatly onto your locker door. As well as another note- one that had fluttered to the floor. You quickly picked it up before anyone else could see. You let out a quiet laugh when you read the note, garnering a lot of weird stares-

‘Should I be flattered? You did technically call me a god-’

You tucked the flowers behind both of your ears, grinning widely. Flitting about the halls in a rather eccentric manner, with Eddie laughing along with you whilst Pam and Dean looked on fondly.

That week was a strange one- with Carol and Tommy making their usual jabs at you- about ‘being an omega’ as well as the flowers tucked carefully behind your ears. Eddie had been all ready to get his knuckles bruised when he saw the flicker of self-consciousness on your face. But before he could, it was Steve who snapped at his two friends to stop.

Yeah- that was a weird week. Especially when the suave, confident, ‘King of Hawkins’ didn’t meet your eye.

The fifth week, no note, but a single, blue stem of a hyacinth (Pam had declared, as she slammed an encyclopaedia of flowers on the lunch table, making both you and Eddie scramble back with your trays).

Shit hit the fan however, when the sixth week came.

~ ♥~

That was how it went on for a while. Steve picked up the bag of suppressants and scent blockers every week at the junkyard behind his home. And he would visit the florist before going to school the next day. The florist- a soft, wintery smelling beta- somehow giving him a flower and telling him what each one meant.

The second week, a white tulip in exchange for a silver, skull shaped ring- as well as a note. A white tulip, as an apology- for keeping your ring. The second ring took its place next to the first one on his windowsill.

On the third, a yellow lily. More carefully placed into your locker. Steve took care in writing more neatly this time- a response to the note (‘Nope- Keep them, Harpocrates. A gift for a gift, yeah?) he received the week before. The florist, with black hair and green eyes- someone he didn’t know lived here- telling him that the particular flower meant gratitude. He had clenched the flower in one of his hands whilst the other played with the slightly spiked ring he had hidden deep into his pocket.

At the month mark, the florist had given him two flowers- a dahlia and a cosmos. The former meaning kindness, and the latter meaning harmony. He placed both flowers, as well as the response to your note (The god of secrets and silence- you’re not telling me anything about yourself, Harpocrates.) in your locker.

And he watched, as he nodded along to whatever Carol was saying, smiling to himself when he heard the peal of laughter escaping your lips. The smile growing slightly bigger when he saw you tuck the flowers behind your ears.

Normally, he would have tolerated his friends’ jabs at you- because he didn’t know you, and he needed this position as the popular kid in the school- but-

He had smelt how the petrichor scent of the beta standing beside you soured when your expression faltered, and your shoulders curl up on yourself.

Steve had demanded Carol and Tommy stop, his fingers slipping into his jean pocket to fiddle with the latest ring you had left behind- a simple silvery-black band. And the two stopped, simply shrugging at him.

He could feel your gaze on him, but- for some reason, he couldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe he was afraid of seeing the contempt in them- the judgement? maybe? So, he had simply left for his homeroom, without another glance at you.

The fifth week, he didn’t wait for the florist to give him a flower. Steve had immediately asked for a flower- for an apology. His friends- his friends were being assholes. And he hated to see you look so… dejected. He couldn’t find the time to respond to your note from before (‘I am loving the flowers, Harpocrates- I hope you could see me wear them at school.’) but he did choke on air when he read it.

Shit hit the fan, however, when week six came.

~ ♥~

“What do you mean, you’re out?” you hissed out, your hackles raised and voice rough.

The clerk raised his hands in surrender.

“I don’t know- the latest stock of heat suppressants didn’t come.”

You growled lowly- nearly inaudibly- as you stuffed your hands into your hoodie’s pockets in a rather annoyed manner.

“Just wait another couple of weeks- your heat’s probably not going to hit soon, right?”

You simply glowered at the beta before turning to stomp out of the general store.

It was fine. You had some suppressants as well as some scent blockers stored away in the back of your closet. It wasn’t a lot, and it sure as hell wasn’t enough to satisfy everyone’s needs but-

It would have to do.

And if the meds weren’t stocked soon, you would make your way to the nearest town which had them.

~ ♥~

Steve furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the distinct lack of bottles in the bag you had left for him.

Did he do something wrong? Did you not give him what he needed because he didn’t respond to your latest note? He picked up the note, crumpled and stained with ink blots and read it.

I’m sorry, Harpocrates- there weren’t any suppressants in the store this week I’ll get around to buying some more in the next town over. Have some from my own stash instead.

A single bottle and three sticks of scent blockers. As well as a ring as usual. Gleaming silver, shaped in the form of a coiled snake, with what seemed like gemstones embedded in the place of where its eyes were.

It wasn’t enough, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to blame you. You had given some of yours to him, even if you were as impacted by this lack of stocks yourself.

In a sense, his lack of suppressants was his fault- he hadn’t spoken to his dad about needing more. And his dad hadn’t offered to get him more. His mom? She was more preoccupied with keeping an eye on his dad. It was fine though. He had to become less dependent on his parents for his necessities.

Steve rolled the bottle in his hands absentmindedly, his eyes flickering to the row of rings settled on his windowsill. The silver rings gleaming under the artificial light of his bedroom. He tilted his head back with a sigh as he bumped it onto the wall he was leaning on. His bed was soft under him- even without the use of the boxes of nesting materials shoved into the corner of his room.

Despite his parents buying these for him- most of them felt off. Some too soft- some too smooth. None of them truly meeting his standards.

He threw up the bottle and caught it in his hand. He had to ration his suppressants- taking two after every meal instead of four.

Steve ran his hand through his hair, sighing before placing the half empty bottle of pills onto the windowsill.

Nothing could go wrong. He just had to hold onto his scent harder.

Everything’ll be fine.

~ ♥~

You felt bad- guilty. You had allowed the omegas in this school to rely on you for their suppressants. And- you had failed to get them what they needed.

All of them were understanding- Pam and Dean patting your back as you muttered apologies as you collapsed onto their laps. Maria whispering to you as you passed her by the hall- reassuring you that it definitely wasn’t your fault. Hell, even Earl- one of the more standoffish individuals- pulled you to the side to tell you that it was ‘Hawkins being a shitty town’. He then left with a rough pat on your shoulder.

You huffed as you sat on your normal lunch table, next to Pam and Dean. Eddie was currently sitting with his club- and you would have joined him, but you didn’t want to make any of them uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, babe-” Pam said, as she leaned to bump her forehead to your shoulder.

“I promise I’ll go over to the town over- I can -fucking- hitchhike or something.”

“No,” both your friends said in unison.

“Just ask Eddie to give you a ride,” Dean said, as he bit into his PB & J sandwich.

You shook your head.

“Can’t- he has band practice today-”

You froze in the middle of your sentence when you caught it. The very subtle, nearly unnoticeable metallic tang brushing past you. A scent that most people wouldn’t notice or take care to.

But you had smelt this before. On the notes. On the flowers.

You quickly looked up and-

It was Steve Harrington.

It was fucking Steve Harrington.

You choked on air, making Dean pat your back worriedly. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pay any attention to him. Not when Steve’s brown eyes met yours-

And he seemed to notice the revelation you just had from the way his jaw twitched, and the way the metallic scent became fainter and non-existent.

A call of your name. You tore your eyes away from him and to your two omegan friends, who were looking at you in confusion and worry.

“-are you alright?”

Steve Harrington- the ‘King’ of Hawkins- the renowned alpha- the only alpha in the school- bought heat suppressants off of you. He took your rings and gave you flowers. He wrote the notes to you-

You nodded dumbly, your eyes fleeting over to the brown-haired boy, who was watching you carefully. Almost fearfully, as if he thought you were going to spill this secret of his.

“Yeah.” You said, finally getting a hold of your voice. You cleared your throat several times, taking a sip of your water. “I’m all good.”

Steve Harrington, the most popular boy in school- the strong, cocky alpha-

Was an omega.

Holy shit.

♥♥♥

T4T.

pairing: trans!eddie munson x transmasc! reader

type: fluff <3

cw: nothing (:

other: some eddie t4t hcs while I work on requests

# met during pre-T

# supportive wayne bro, helped him come up with a name

# sweetest bby

# you take your T shots together <3

# wayne taught him how to shave. he prefers a smooth face and finds the facial hair too itchy

# loves when you look after his scars and make sure that they heal right

# before surgery you had to remind him a lot to bind properly, a lot of the time he would forget because of his campaigns or whatever else was going on in his life

# you had to tell his ass to stay in bed after surgery

# he was extremely mopey because he had to stop taking T postop, so you'd remind him how handsome he is. you just lay in bed with him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear to get him through it

# adores the fact you took care of him during his recovery, so he did the same. never leaves your side after surgery

# if he's feeling dysphoric you drop whatever it is you're doing to comfort him. even if it's important. you'll call him at any hour and tell him you're coming over, and smother him in love

# if you feel dysphoric he tries his best to distract you, mostly by playing his guitar or pampering you

# not many people know that you two are trans. mostly close friends and family for obvious reasons. eddie does like showing off his scars though, so maybe the occasional people know

# he was picked on a lot (before taking T and getting top surgery), so he got called a faggot or a sissy. a lot of people mistook it for him not going through puberty

# style his hair for him <333

# he gets excited whenever bottom growth happens so expect a lot of excited screaming

# sock packers (:

# he gets so happy when you call him handsome (:

masterlist.

Connor sitting on the plushsofa in one of the smaller livingrooms of the estate enjoying a hot cup of tea and a rare moment of silence when a 14 y.o Kendall, 11 y.o Roman and 8 y.o Siobhan (age heacanon from me idk open to other ideas!) come barging in, kendall slapping adoption papers on the coffee table "You're our dad now, bitch"

I have no words this is Amazing

Yandere Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton (Platonic Scenario - "A Fool's Mistake 3: Taking the Black")

Warnings: Abuse of Power, Reality Warping, Violence, Blood, Death, Mentions of Torture, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

Word Count: 7825.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here)

The silhouettes of free folk dashed between trees and rocks in the silverish light of the full moon. They were clothed in the skins of woodland animals, and they wielded with much dexterity a combination of bows, axes and spears crafted from the forest.

Droves of the free folk had begun to scale the Wall at yesterday's sunset and, from midnight to daybreak, had reached the point where falling meant certain death. Despite enough time passing for the sun to peek over the mountaintop, the space that surrounded the free folk remained dark as night.

The sky was black but held no stars as if drapes had been thrown over the earth. The top of the Wall, a summit that appeared taller than the clouds, was covered in impenetrable darkness. Glimmers of sunlight skirted the darkness, and the scarce light traced the shape of a bubble around the free folk who dared to rise.

The ground was no longer visible to those who looked down in the hope of descending the Wall and testing the climb another day. The ice wall in front of them and the makeshift tools used to hook it was all that met their eyes beyond the shadows.

Whispers seeped into the ears of the free folk, whispers that resembled the faint voices of the people climbing with them. The voices asked for the location of the other free folk, asked after their health and encouraged them to resume the climb.

Once the first ragged antler and stake impaled the ice at the top of the Wall, the free folk realised that their vision had been dulling. In the final moments of heaving oneself onto the Wall, each member of the expedition noted themselves to be the only living thing there.

The sight that greeted them flashed back and forth between the bodies of their fellow free folk and an empty stretch of ice. The shadows warped their eye and seemed to drill into their heads before the darkness took them to the ground far below.

When no birds sang and the air became colder than the depths of a northern pond, you watched for creatures with blue eyes and ghostly skin.

Except for the occasional lash of shadows at the base of snowy trees, the woods lay motionless and free of dark magic on this hour. The current flowing from the distant Bay of Seals was tumultuous and churned as if locked in a storm, but it carried nothing more than the rare howl and rush of icy breath.

* * *

With his wrists bound to the back of a chair and his ankles tied to the wood legs, the sole mercenary to survive the recent battle at the Dreadfort sat in his own sweat. A mob of Bolton soldiers encircled him with their swords raised and their eyes locked on whichever part of him they were most inclined to cut.

The large door to the dining hall creaked open in an outward swing of metal and bending joints. Ramsay Bolton stormed into the room, his fingers playing with a gore-drenched knife.

After a moment of examining the mercenary, the immediate wrath flaring on his face waned and evolved into morbid curiosity. “I remember you.” Ramsay tilted his head and scanned the man's visible wounds and foul odour to confirm his suspicion.

It was then that the mercenary's stomach dropped to bottomless depths, and he began to whisper prayers for the mercy of the Mother.

Unlike the frantic turns and agitated stomps of earlier, Ramsay's next movements were slower and dominated by quiet steps that struck a greater panic in the heart of the mercenary each time. “You took a long look at them.”

From his pocket came the glint of a knife, prompting the mercenary to squirm against the ropes and expel a whimper.

Ramsay twirled the weapon in his right hand and conveyed a taste of future pain with unrepentant eye contact. “Just before you tried to kill them.”

Before the tip of the steel could blind the mercenary, the harsh voice of Roose Bolton echoed in the dining hall and overpowered any wails spilling out of the mercenary. “Ramsay!”

The sound was little more than a growl, and Ramsay paused with his knife hovering just in front of the mercenary's eyeball.

The violent shake gripping his arm did not cease, spreading to his lips and upper body as he stared into the mercenary's terror with bubbling insanity that flailed against the bridle he was compelled to put on it. Ramsay vented slivers of his untapped rage through the tremulous breaths whipping past his bared teeth.

While the soldiers beside him kept a tight hold on their swords, Roose did not allow his voice to waver. “We need this one alive.”

The blade was so close that the mercenary's eyelashes brushed it every time he blinked.

It quivered with the threat of twitching too far and impaling his skull before he could release a full scream, but Ramsay seemed to find enough delight in his father's command that he turned his head away. “Oh, he'll live.”

Just as the knife reeled back and then plunged forward, a booming announcement sounded from Roose. “We're going on a diplomatic mission to White Harbor.”

Ramsay listened to his father with a distracted mind plagued by runaway thoughts and bits of emotion he could not manage, his eyes flitting between Roose and the nearest objects while his fingers twitched with ideas of what pain to inflict on the captured mercenary. “When will you return?”

Roose looked upon his struggle with amusement and indifference. “You should know. You're coming with me.”

As if Roose had revoked his legitimacy as the heir, Ramsay raised his head and widened his eyes. The tension clenching his shoulders and jaw shifted to confused glances, and his lips moved to search for the appropriate response that changed with each surge of dissatisfaction and the sense of a goal stepping out of his reach.

“My place is here. I have rallied the men.”

Roose began to approach the main entrance to the fortress and did not slow his stride. “Your place is where I say it is.”

Ramsay stopped walking, but Roose ignored the vicious stare drilling into the back of his head. “Father,” murmured Ramsay, and his next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “I need to find them.”

Roose took a final, definitive step forward and turned, the bottom of his cloak gliding across the floor. “There will be a time for that. Right now, what you need to do is mount a horse and ride with me to White Harbor.”

* * *

The chambers of Tyrion Lannister stank of wine on most nights, but the scent was especially potent on this night. An empty flagon sat at the foot of a luxurious chair, which Tyrion used to rest his legs while he put his mouth to the work of downing every glass he could fill.

With his knuckles pressed underneath his chin, Tyrion observed the half-full goblet with a curious glint in his eye. He laid his hand over the top of it and waited in silence for many a second.

When he retracted his hand and peeked into the cup, a foolish part of him hoped that it would be full again. A layer of wine at the bottom was all that greeted him. Tyrion hurled the goblet at the wall, and a thick wave of blackberry wine exploded onto the stone.

The glass clattered to the floor and rolled into the leg of a chair, streaks of reddish-purple cascading down the rock and draining into the crevices. Droplets continued to seep from the rim of the cup as trails of the dark liquor mixed with the red of a Lannister banner and fell behind a dresser.

As the door slammed behind him, Tyrion stamped past the duo of guards protecting his chambers and snapped his fingers. “With me.”

The guards lifted their shields from the floor and hurried to follow.

Tyrion marched down the corridor with a palace guard on his left and his right. Flanked by the men, he rounded a corner and leaned forward to place his hands upon an ornate set of double doors.

He pushed open the door to Cersei's chambers and found her sitting at the table beside the balcony, a glass in her hand and red wine on her lips. The rattles of the guards' swords and armour must have been loud in the silent halls, for she was facing the entrance without a lick of surprise.

She lowered the glass and eyed him as if he were an insect that had crawled into her bedroom from a hole in the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tyrion widened his eyes and removed his hands from the door, allowing it to shut at his back. “I was concerned,” he lied, feigning fear in an exaggerated, deliberately obvious manner. “Just the other day, a man had his throat slit for sleeping.”

Cersei kept her voice low as though others were in danger of listening. “I believe that to be the work of our mutual friend.” She placed distinct acrimony on the word “friend,” her lip curling.

As her gaze drifted off to the cityscape outside her balcony, Tyrion wondered if the bitterness came from her belief that the word was untrue or the implication that the two of them could ever share a companion. “Don't tell that to the king. He was quite upset at having his prized day interrupted.”

The hand that held onto the wine glass began to shake, and Cersei refrained from looking at her brother. “Joffrey won't see me.” A heaviness existed in her words, a quiet misery that she was attempting to drown in wine.

Tyrion kept his frown level. “Oh, yes. Not since you promised the sorcerer would find their own way back to him, a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” He tilted his head upon saying the second bit.

Cersei shut her eyes and clenched her teeth slightly, refusing to let the posh smile on her lips fall. She opened her eyes and glanced in his direction when the soft thuds of footsteps came near the table.

A chair squealed as it was pulled from under the table, and Tyrion plopped on it with his hands resting close to Cersei's. “If I say it, I would be branded an enemy of the crown and lose my head within the hour. Perhaps Jaime?”

She turned farther away and fixed her eye on the open doors to the balcony. “Joffrey's working him like a dog.”

A slight sigh rolled out of him, and Tyrion closed his eyes for a pensive instant before opening them with a degree of sympathy. “If Jaime could be here with you, he would be.” He unfurled his arms, turned his palms to the ceiling, and gestured to the bedroom.

Lifting the glass, Cersei took another sip. “I'm not so sure.”

* * *

The courtyard of the Red Keep smelled of pollen as a medley of berry bushes and wildflowers bloomed in the light of day. The leafy grass was green as the coat of arms from House Tyrell of Highgarden, and it swayed in a cool breeze that was welcomed by the lords and ladies dilly-dallying in the sun.

From the generous lengths of the surrounding corridors, Varys and Petyr Baelish strolled into the small garden. Each one moved in tandem with the other just enough to keep up the illusion of leisure and signify that the interaction would not end until one of them deviated from the path.

“The Boltons are a minute settlement thousands of miles away in the North with one fiefdom no larger than my biggest brothel,” said Petyr.

A slight nod of the head came from Varys. “Yes, but some of my little birds have flown north for the summer.”

“And what songs do they sing?” asked Petyr, his lips casting the shadow of a smile as he walked past a servant girl consorting with a visiting lord.

Varys spotted similar goings-on in a corner of the garden ahead, and he cast his gaze in the direction of the man beside him. “They sing that the Bolton's youngest is unbalanced yet terribly ambitious. Certainly one to watch.”

Petyr slowed to a stop and turned on the heels of his boots. He blinked slowly and released a modest sigh, his eyes flickering to his surroundings while his voice quieted. “He's one man with neither the stomach nor the mind for the South.”

Varys looked askance, tilted his head, and raised his shoulders a bit as if considering Petyr's words. “One man nearly toppled the realm not so long ago,” he replied.

The subtlest chuckle—no more than an audible exhale—slipped out of Petyr. His neck bent towards the ground slightly, and his attention remained on the cobblestone patterns flowing beneath him for a contemplative instant. “Indeed,” he conceded. “I have to go.”

Varys bowed his head. “Ah, very well.” He lifted his eyes to catch sight of Petyr slinking to the edge of the garden. “Perhaps we can speak again soon, Lord Baelish.”

As the shadow cast by the arch of the Red Keep fell over him, Petyr turned and offered a glib smile. “Perhaps we can, Lord Varys.”

* * *

Every man atop the Wall was struck by an unearthly coldness that night.

No matter how thick the coats around their shoulders were, the wind sliced their face and nipped any exposed skin with its frosty claws. The cold dove into their bones and seemed to chill them from the inside out.

Despite being rekindled every other minute, the light of the torches was dimmer here. The fog of the night was murkier than the bottom of a bog. The fires were short-lived, swept away into simmering embers by sudden and isolated gusts.

The same light that would have illuminated your body was extinguished by the wind. The brother in charge of relighting it swore under his breath. When he peered at you in wonderment of your apparent resistance to the frigid weather, a shiver ran through him as if he had been stuck with a frost-tipped spear.

It killed the words on his tongue.

The dark around you seemed deeper and more foreboding than any cave, unaffected by light even as the moon beamed down upon it. The brother saw the outline of you hidden in the darkness, and it was all he needed to see to decide that the remainder of his watch was someone else's responsibility for the night.

In the ensuing calm, your head surveyed one end of the forest below to the other. No figures had crept out of the woods yet.

The clanks and grinds of the lift rising to the top of the Wall sounded from behind, and Samwell Tarly stepped off it into the snow. The soft, pearly white material was crushed under his heavy boots. After a brief pause, his footsteps approached you and stopped at your side.

Your head slowly turned, which allowed you to catch Sam peeking in your direction. He glanced downward and released a bashful chuckle upon being caught, but a look of childish excitement soon washed over his full face. “Jon says you're a wizard!”

The snow crunched as Sam shuffled his feet, his gaze darting from his shoes to you. “I've never seen a real wizard before!” He shifted again and failed to restrain the huge grin breaking out across his lips. “Only read about them in books,” he added, somewhat lowering his voice.

Sam leaned forward and looked up and down at your iron mask and dark robes. “Do you all dress like that?” He outstretched his arms to push his cloak back and looked at his own black coat and armour. “Maybe we're more alike than I thought!” What escaped him next was a quick, “Ha!”

He turned his head back to you and kept his mouth open slightly as if expecting you to agree, but your continued silence prompted his smile to falter.

As his eyes searched the snowy darkness that lay in front of him, Sam shook his head. “My father detests wizards. Thinks magic's for nellies who don't want to fight.” There was a layer of distaste and pain to his words as though repeating his father's opinion had poisoned his tongue and caused a bad memory to churn within his mind.

“Not me,” he blurted, his head bouncing towards you before moving back again. Sam leaned over and patted his chest with both hands once. “Big fan.”

As Sam marvelled at his proximity to a real magic user, the lift descended into the bowels of Castle Black and then rose to the top of the Wall after a few minutes of rasping. The dark-haired Jon Snow emerged from the fiery light of the lift with a torch raised in his hand.

“Sam,” was all he said, and Sam fell silent.

Jon nodded at him with a tiny smile when Sam turned and offered a happy, “Hello, Jon!” Sam stepped back to allow Jon room to walk forward and stand diagonal to him.

Although he was addressing more than one person, Jon kept his eyes focused on your mask. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with Brother Black alone.”

Sam lost his smile for a moment, but it returned with a shrug of his shoulders and another shift of his feet. “Of course! Of course!” He distanced himself from where he had been standing and motioned for you to go with Jon. “I'll just be here.”

Jon bid him farewell before marching farther down the Wall, the light of the torch undulating in the icy wind.

As the orange glow started to vanish from sight, Sam looked away and faced the edge of the Wall. “I ought to be checking on Gilly.” Fond memories of the woman softened his voice and provided some warmth against the cold. “Sweet Gilly.”

No one answered but the howl of the wind. Sam inhaled through his nose and allowed the silence to live for a couple of seconds before he sighed. “Boy, it's cold up here.”

The journey ended after roughly ten minutes of walking, and Jon turned to give you a cursory scan. In his eyes was suspicion, curiosity and more than a token of discomfort. His breath was visible in the cold, flowing upward as he turned to overlook the cliff.

“The other brothers don't feel safe around you. They need to know they can trust the man standing next to them.” A flash of uncertainty overtook him in a sweep of cold wind, and Jon turned his head to look at you as if for the first time. “You are a man, right?”

There was a carefulness to his words as though you might shed your veil of humanity and lunge at him before he took another breath, his legs shifting with a rattle of his heavy armour and his hand confirming its place on the pommel of his sword.

A gust of air wafted from the lower slit in your mask and floated into the night sky.

Holding the silence as the grey cloud dispersed into the darkness looming above the castle, Jon chose not to pursue such thoughts and gave a single nod. “Right.”

* * *

The flaps of wings preceded the caws of a raven, and the bird landed its coat of snow-dappled feathers on the stone frame of the window. It raised its left leg as if it were limp and turned its black eyes to Jon, revealing a scroll tied to its lean body.

Jon approached the raven as it continued to caw and move its head in sudden, jerky motions.

“I haven't sent for any wandering crows,” mumbled Alliser Thorne, who waved at Jon to receive the letter when he paused at his comment.

The bird twitched and hopped while the scroll was taken from its leg, and once the gloved hand released it, the raven flew into the white skies with a string of caws.

As Jon brushed his thumb across the reddish-pink seal, the emblem of an upside-down flayed man sent a wave of apprehension over his body. The impulsive part of him said to toss the letter in the fire and never wonder about its contents, but the impatient gaze of Alliser demanded that he push his misgivings aside.

“Well?” came the older man's disgruntled voice.

“It's the sigil of House Bolton, ser.” Jon glanced between the Lord Commander and the scroll, struggling to void all of his concerns but stepping forward with dutiful haste.

Alliser nodded his head and quirked his eyebrows as if coaching a child. “I can see that. Would you care to read it?”

Inspecting the seal one last time, Jon broke it with a snap and unfolded the parchment. “Dear the men of the Night's Watch, it has come to my attention that you recently brought a sorcerer into your ranks.”

His volume tapered after every few words as if seeking to lessen the blow of an expected threat, but as the inky texture of the crooked and misplaced lines stretched and fell before his eyes, he realized it was a continuous promise of danger.

“Their allegiance belongs to House Bolton. If you do not return them to me, I shall flay you living and make you watch as I tear your brother's still-beating heart from his chest and feed it to my hounds.”

Jon lost much of his interest in reading the message and looked askance at Alliser for the sake of averting his eyes from the letter.

When the Lord Commander returned his gaze with stunned silence and a minor shift in his position, Jon proceeded to the end. “Two fortnights it will take for me to march on your pathetic excuse for a castle, so two fortnights you shall have to act.”

Despite the reluctance plaguing his hold on the scroll as if touching it would transmit a disease, Jon took only a second to recuperate and finished with a weary drop in his tone. “Signed Ramsay Bolton, Acting Lord of the Dreadfort.”

He tucked the parchment and lowered his arms to his side, casting a pensive look over the glow of the fire before turning his eyes to the Lord Commander.

“Inane ramblings from a madman,” spat Alliser with a sharp turn of his head. The man tugged a quill out of the inkpot on his desk and slammed a piece of blank paper onto its surface.

Jon watched the quivers of his hand and the words they wrote becoming clearer as the ink dried, but the scratches of the quill marking the parchment were overshadowed by a quick step forward. “Ser, the Boltons are a ruthless people. We shouldn't take anything they say to be idle threats.”

The Lord Commander refused to look away from his writing or slow the motions of his hand. “Roose Bolton is a few steps short of a wildling in lord's clothing. As for his son, I've never met him.” He finished the letter with a flourish. “And I'd like to keep it that way.”

The thud of a seal echoed in the room before it was replaced by the creak of a chair sliding across the floor, and Jon clutched the letter that was pushed into his hand.

“Give this to Maester Aemon. Tell him to send it immediately. When it's done, have a brother ride to Mole's Town.” As Alliser marched out the door to his chambers, Jon followed and overheard his yells to the congregation of Night's Watchmen standing below. “Increase the patrols! I want a fresh man at those gates for every hour!”

The group lifted their swords and scattered throughout the courtyard, while Jon hastened his walk to the library. Orders were shouted into the wind, and the collective rattle of armour and thump of boots faded into the background.

Jon entered the library a bit louder than he intended. The door slammed behind him when a strong wind pulled it forward, causing both he and Maester Aemon to jump.

A mumble slipped out of Maester Aemon as he ran his fingers across the Braille in the book of dragons he had been delighting in reading. The table at which he was seated was strewn with a variety of books. It stood in the centre of the room, and it was bordered by tall bookcases full of centuries of knowledge.

Stepping forward, Jon extended the scroll and approached the table. “Maester Aemon, I have an urgent scroll from the Lord Commander.”

Maester Aemon took the sealed scroll from him, running his fingertips along the seal and parchment. “Oh,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He turned back to the books in front of him and heaved himself from the rickety chair.

As soon as he had started to drag himself forward, a chill washed down his spine as if dunked in ice water. He slowly turned his head and fixed his blind eyes on the furthest corner of the library.

There existed a deep shadow, swirling and spreading like tar. It seemed to emanate from the wall itself, and Maester Aemon took notice of whispers filling the back of his mind. They spoke in ancient tongues with otherworldly inflections that echoed in every part of the library.

His chapped lips struggled to find his brittle voice. “Who are you?”

Jon stilled and followed his gaze, but he saw nothing more than ordinary darkness. “Maester Aemon?”

A few mumbles crept out of Maester Aemon, each one disjointed and confused. He turned his head back and forth between the stone floor, the nearest bookshelf and Jon. His eyes were lost and searching for something unknown to Jon. “Oh, never mind,” he said softly, for the whispers had ceased.

Tucked away behind a wood column, on the corner of a table set against the wall, was a rectangular coop. Tufts of hay and wheat laid on the bottom and provided the footing for the assortment of ravens scuttling inside.

Maester Aemon shambled to the coop and peeled open its small door. With both hands, he lifted a raven from the enclosure. The bird went limp in his hold, its head facing downward and its legs sticking out.

He equipped the raven with a leather cylinder on its left leg into which he inserted the scroll. Once the latch on the cylinder was pinched shut, Maester Aemon retreated to allow for the raven to take flight with a flutter of its wings.

Jon watched as it glided through the short window at the base of the ceiling, and he wondered why a raven was necessary if a brother was riding to the town. His first thought was the scroll contained additional information that the brother was not privy to learn.

The answer came when he caught sight of the raven flying southeast instead of towards Mole's Town.

Before he could question the destination, Samwell Tarly burst into the library. Sam doubled over and placed a hand over his palpitating heart, breathing as a runner would after a race. “Jon!” he panted. “We're needed at the King's Tower!”

Two pairs of footsteps rushed to the walkway outside the library. Jon collided with the guardrail and grasped the top of it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the discord unfolding in the courtyard.

Night's Watchmen streamed into the corridors overlooking the main entrance, a group of five rangers was riding astride on horses, and the brassy call of a horn was sounding over the din of brothers hauling weapons and scaling sentry towers.

As the rangers poured into the stables, Jon looked further and noticed a circle of brothers marching in tandem with you to the opening doors.

* * *

The chairs of Merman's Court were cushioned with the finest silk. They complemented the long table stretching from the foyer to the throne, which was decorated with a nautical tablecloth and various plates of pork pies, roasted eels and fried lampreys.

The food, still warmed by the steam of the fires, smelled of spice and gravy. The dead and cooked fish swam in the sauce and drank mouthfuls of it in a vile parody of life, a life that the oceanic paintings lining the walls and ceiling illustrated in vivid colour.

The guards who watched over the feast resembled the type of warriors one expected to see in a submarine kingdom, for the weapons clutched in their hands were tridents.

Lord Manderly sat in a velvet chair similar to his throne, which he had joked about bringing to the table more than once. The Boltons were seated opposite him, and sitting beside them were Lord Cerwyn and his son Cley.

While Roose met the eyes of each lord, Ramsay turned his gaze downwards and divvied his attention between the various items of food covering his plate.

Roose glanced in his direction when Ramsay's hand found its way to the knife. “Forgive my son's lethargy. He is weary from our travels.”

Lord Manderly drew his eyebrows to his receding hairline and stretched his lips in a royal imitation of surprise. “Is he an old man?” Lord Cerwyn joined his chuckles with bountiful enthusiasm, neither lord acknowledging how Ramsay slowly lifted his head.

Malice radiated from the young Bolton like foul breath from a dog's jaws, but, sensing the gaze of his father, he mustered a polite smile.

Roose waited for the laughter to fade into a pregnant silence before he seized control of the discussion. “Our merchants are reporting that they've been turned away from the gates of White Harbor, some at swordpoint.”

Lord Manderly tore a chunk of bread from the strudel and ate it at a comfortable speed, peering across the feast rather than at Roose. “Aye, you'll have to find somewhere else to dump your subpar goods.”

A screech resounded in the dining hall as Ramsay yanked the blade of his knife a short distance across the wood, and he looked at Lord Manderly without raising his head. “Watch your tongue.”

Lord Manderly stopped chewing and faced the young Bolton's desire to maim him with a combination of surprise and umbrage.

At the stern look of Roose, Ramsay lowered his gaze and resumed carving a furrow into the table.

Lord Cerwyn shared an unsettled glance with his son, turning his eye to Roose when Roose looked away from Ramsay and spoke with far more elegance. “The Boltons have traded with the other Northern houses for years, and I haven't had complaints from House Cerwyn or House Umber.”

The weathered face of Lord Manderly acquired a sombre quality. “Ah, Umber. I heard what happened to Gareth's fifth-born. A right tragedy, that.”

A stillness came over Ramsay, his hand pausing and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at the plate.

There was no visible change in Roose's demeanour, but he offered no words of sympathy.

Lord Cerwyn picked his tankard off the table and turned to Lord Manderly. “One less Umber. That's a start.” The two men descended into a hearty roar of joy and bumped their cups together, while the Boltons watched in quiet amusement.

When the lords joked and drank without a care for the original discussion, Roose spoke with enough strength to regain their attention but not appear demanding. “As Warden of the North, our trade is essential to Northern commerce.”

Lord Cerwyn, who had been gulping the alcohol like a direwolf gorging itself on meat, lowered his cup to the table. With an eye roll, he muttered, “Oh, great. More Bolton furs and flayed skin. Just what this city needs.”

The hiss of a blade rang in the ears of every lord when Ramsay jumped from his seat and slammed the knife through Lord Cerwyn's finger. The bone was just barely visible peeking out of the skin's edge as blood gushed from the exposed tendon in spurts.

A howl of agony bellowed from Lord Cerwyn, and he clutched his injured hand while reeling in his chair. His legs began to kick the stone floor, the distress growing louder and more wild with each surge of pain that lashed his mind and dragged shrieks from him as if his finger were aflame.

As Cley started to shiver and seemed on the verge of tears, he stood with a sharp creak of wood on the rock and rushed to help his father.

The corners of Ramsay's mouth twitched in a small release of tension, his pupils dilating at the screams and his hand squeezing the utensil. He did not blink once to sever his view of the desperate eyes and paling skin of Lord Cerwyn.

It was not until he turned to his father with a jerk of his head that he allowed his enthusiasm to wither, for Roose was looking at him with the unforgiving coldness of someone who regretted his son's birth.

Smile dropping, Ramsay attempted to win back his favour. “Father-”

Roose interrupted him with a frigid scowl. “Leave.”

Ramsay faced his father's tranquil rage in momentary shock as if the man had ordered him to leave the realm instead of the room, his fingers tapping the knife before curling around it. He glanced at various spots on the walls and the table without focusing on any of them.

Hatred of the glare Roose was sending him and his own failure to meet the man's wishes quickened his breaths, and the young Bolton tore the blade out of the wooden surface.

A thin crater became visible on the table next to the disembodied finger, with jagged chips of wood rising to decorate it.

Ramsay took fervent and aggressive strides to the door and shoved it open. Gales of Northern wind swept into the hall like ice water, lifting his cloak as he stormed outside.

The slam of the door behind him cut the chilling breeze like a sword to the head of a great beast, and the return of the torches' warmth redirected the spotlight to the weakening cries of Lord Cerwyn.

“My wedding finger,” groaned Lord Cerwyn, his neck drooping and his eyes fluttering. “He took my wedding finger!”

The limb sitting on the table was adorned with a gold ring that glittered under the candlelight of the chandelier. Only droplets of blood still leaked from his knuckle, dripping onto the plate and tablecloth.

Cley guided him to his feet and positioned himself under his father's left arm, while Lord Cerwyn scrambled to retrieve his finger and cradled it in his other hand.

Lord Manderly tossed his napkin onto the fresh bloodstain infecting his tablecloth and peered at the man with an irritated side-eye. “Pipe down, Medger. It's not like you were using it for much.”

Lord Cerwyn squirmed in his son's grasp, continuing to whimper and holler as he was hurried to the door. Another gust of wind followed their exit, and Roose shifted to a more comfortable position on his chair and clasped his hands together. “So, the trade routes are to be reopened?”

Lord Manderly cocked his head and seemed to repress a scoff. “The chopped-off finger of a twat won't buy our obedience. Do you expect House Manderly to cower in fear?”

Roose presented a look of callous certainty. “I know you're going to lose more than fingers if another Bolton caravan returns empty-handed.”

This sparked a burst of resentment to twist the mouth of Lord Manderly. “You'd threaten a man in his own home? Need I remind you whose wine you're drinking?”

Crumbs from a pork pie tumbled down his fat chin as he took a greedy bite of one, and Roose eyed the meat pie sitting on Lord Manderly's plate. “Need I remind you who hunted the pigs you're eating, Wyman?”

Lord Manderly stopped his chewing. There was a threatening sort of emphasis placed on his first name, like someone dangling a steak over a hungry dog. The remaining chunk of pork pie hovered in front of his mouth, untouched.

A battle of eye contact came and went between the two lords before Lord Manderly dropped the chunk on his plate.

With a subdued sigh, he looked down and pushed his fork away from his dish. “Aye, you're a tough, old codger, Roose.” Roose offered a slight smile at this, and Lord Manderly reclined on his chair. “I'm only doing it 'cause of pressure from the Lannisters.”

The mask of composure slipped from Roose's face for just a moment. “I see.” His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in discontent, looking over the feast once more. “It's a shame that the crown feels such a powerful need to meddle in our friendship.”

A laugh bellowed from Lord Manderly as if he had just been informed that the Dothraki had laid down their arms and become a peace-seeking civilisation.

Roose swung his cloak over his shoulder and left his chair with his mind far away in the depths of planning, but he remembered enough pleasantries to nod at the lord. “Be seeing you.”

When the senior Bolton pushed the door open, the sight of an agitated Ramsay fiddling with the bloody silverware eliminated any satisfaction he had gained from learning a piece of the truth.

The soldiers were all standing at a considerable distance from Ramsay, their eyes darting between him and the snowy land to avoid being noticed.

At the sound of boots crunching snow, Ramsay whirled around with a shudder. “Father, I-”

He was struggling to meet Roose's gaze, but his father walked past him. “Be quiet, Ramsay. Mount your horse.”

Hoofprints littered the snow from where Lord Cerwyn and his son had fled to obtain the services of a maester, their tracks disappearing into the blizzard in the northwestern direction of Castle Cerwyn.

Roose lifted himself onto his steed with minimal difficulty and turned his attention to the frosty water of the White Knife babbling nearby rather than grant his son a second of acknowledgement. “We're going home.”

Ramsay was slow to heed this command, his eyes drifting across the snow and clenching the knife so that it would have snapped if made of anything weaker than metal.

When he curled his lips in a question of whether to speak or not and squinted to deflect the rays of sunshine peeking over the rolling hills, the clop of hooves leaving the entrance to New Castle broke his concentration.

Roose had spurred his horse to trot in the opposite direction, and Ramsay clambered onto a horse of his own to follow.

The journey back to the Dreadfort was far longer and more tedious than the last time. The path meandered over hills and winded around rivers like a serpent slithering in the grass, with the overcast sky looking bleakly at the snow-covered ground below.

When Roose dismounted and allowed his horse to be spirited away to the stables, he said nothing. He did not grant Ramsay the briefest glance or quietest mutter, nor did he wait to see him return safely and dismount his own horse.

Listening to the footsteps tailing him grow louder and more erratic, Roose relented and turned with a dreary, if not vaguely sarcastic, frown. “The fault is mine. I thought you could better control yourself.”

Ramsay stopped to look at his father in an inability to process the discomfort preventing his mind from resting, his breaths slowing to allow for clearer thinking.

“You've embarrassed our house and disgraced our family name.” Roose watched as the last shard of restraint broke within his son, and he gave no chance for an apology or protest to grace his ears. Instead, he walked down the hall until his footsteps had quieted into nothing.

Abandoned to brood, Ramsay was no longer comfortable in his skin and found himself overtaken by a restless and inflamed energy.

The guard who stood at the door to the kitchens nearly yelped when a gloved hand clutched his throat and yanked him downwards. The noise was silenced by the pressure constricting his windpipe, and it took all of his training and discipline not to attack or look away from the wild eyes glaring into his own.

“Gather the men.” The order slipped through Ramsay's clenched teeth as a whisper. “Tell them we march tonight.”

He released the guard, only to shove him a moment after the man failed to sprint out of arm's length. “Go!” Ramsay turned in the direction his father had gone as the rapid thuds of steel boots echoed against the stone floors.

* * *

A rush of cold wind burst into the Lord Commander's chambers as the door swung open. The thuds of leather boots on wood marked the entry of a panting Night's Watchman, his forehead slick with a layer of snow and a hand resting on his abdomen. “News from Mole's Town, ser.”

The focus of Alliser's squinting eyes crumpled into dismay, and the Night's Watchman stepped further into the chamber. “Three armed strangers arrived last night.” He took a breath. “Together.”

Alliser let his gaze fall upon the scrolls littering his desk, searching for a reason not to assume the worst. “Were they bearing any sigils?”

Despite his limited understanding of the situation, the brother saw his commander's desperate hope and shook his head as if fearing the implications of his answer. “No, ser.”

Alliser was unsure of whether to be relieved or troubled by that fact. The possibility that the strangers were merely bandits or deserters with impeccable timing was one he clung to like a monkey to the last branch, but the paranoia creeping up his spine drove him to rise from his seat. “Two fortnights, he said. Not forty-eight hours!”

The Night's Watchman looked between Alliser and the door, his feet shifting to the exit and his hand twitching closer to his sword.

A tense silence of unspoken orders and obscenities reigned as Alliser swerved his head back and forth across his desk. “The Boltons have shat on their promise,” he finally declared. “Not that I expected anything less.”

After a moment of deliberation, Alliser waved the brother away. “Ride to the Shadow Tower. Request an audience with Denys Mallister, and tell him we need as many men as he can spare.”

A brisk “yes, ser” flew out of the Night's Watchman's mouth. A gust as cold as ice blew his cloak into the air when he opened the door once again, his boots thumping away from the chambers and then descending the stairs.

Another pair of footsteps replaced his and thundered to the door with haste. Alliser jerked his head up in preparation for scolding what he assumed to be the same brother returning in confusion.

The man who greeted him was Jon Snow, and Jon hurried to the front of the desk while looking upon him in a frenzy of bewilderment. “You're having Brother Black escorted out of the castle?”

Alliser narrowed his eyes at the name, his lips pressing together and then parting into a straight line. “I am.” He gave a swift nod. “They're a fugitive from justice.” The chair squeaked as he rose from it and collected a scroll lying on the desk, which was unfolded with a broken red seal.

“Ser,” said Jon, his tone disbelieving. He looked behind himself for a brief moment and then put forward his hand. “Brother Black-”

Alliser spun towards him and yelled, “They're not a brother, Jon! They never trained! They never took the oath.” A moment of silence passed before he began again at a slightly more controlled volume, “They're a runaway scratching at our door.”

Jon took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and when he pointed a gloved finger at the Wall, Alliser knew his words before Jon uttered them. “They've killed more wildlings in a week than most of these men have in years.”

With a heavy sigh, Alliser shook his head. “The crown issued a royal decree for their return. Would you have me branded a traitor?” He turned back to the desk with an upward swing of his hand, and his voice lowered to a frustrated mutter. “Now we have Bolton spies skittering about in the dark like rats.”

At this, Jon opened his mouth and glanced around the room. “The Bolton army can't march on Castle Black.” He stretched an arm towards the open window as if the army was marching forth at that very moment. “The lords have no jurisdiction here. It's neutral territory!”

Alliser looked over his shoulder to bob his head at Jon. “Tell that to them when they're peeling the skin off your bones.”

* * *

Far outside the Lord Commander's Tower walked a group of four Night's Watchmen, each of whom was exchanging a cautious glance with the man beside him. All of them carried a sheathed blade on their hip as well as a torch to chase the shadows of tall trees away.

The shadow that was dragged across the ground at your feet, however, did not fade no matter how many sources of light were waved over it.

The forest ahead was devoid of singing birds and howling wolves, and the giant trees partially blocked the golden and pinkish rays of midday. Every man slowed his pace and watched the tree line, some expecting to see a Bolton sigil flying and others fearing that a bear was likely to hurl itself at the nearest man.

From behind a thicket hopped a rabbit. The appearance of the small animal elicited a hushed chuckle from the brother on your right. “That'd make a nice feed,” he whispered, nodding his head and waving his torch at it.

The brother on your left turned to him and talked without a care for his volume. “Don't bet your supper on it.”

After its long ears twitched and flattened at the noise, the rabbit scurried away into the bushes.

The man who had spoken first cocked his eye at him, and the brother on your left continued. “I caught me one of them hares down in Dorne. Ate the whole thing before the guards came and said it was some lord's pet.” The brother put his hands together and then spread them apart to visualise his meal.

He shrugged as if he could still taste the hare and knew it to be worth the punishment, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Now here I am.” The sliver of a smile fell to a frown, and he shook his head. “It's too bad. I hear Dorne's nice this time of year.”

You peered beyond your shoulder to spy the wood doors of the entrance to Castle Black, which were comprised of hefty logs that reached thrice above your line of sight. Somewhere warm, you thought, was an apt place to hide from those who lived in the cold.

yandere-toons, all rights reserved.

Succession Preference: Youngest Sibling Fainting

Requested: I would love either a preference of how each succession character would react to there S/O fainting around them or a baby roy sibling fic were she faints around some of their siblings ❤️Thank you ❤️❤️ - anon

A/N: I combined some of the ideas, I hope you don't mind!! I love this so much it's not even funny like they would all freak out internally I love it. I wanted to show different reasons for the fainting from each sibling, so that's why I chose the preference btw! I hope you like it my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Connor is so worried. You're sitting outside his ranch when you go pale. It's been pretty hot out, but today takes the cake. You excuse yourself, getting up to go to the bathroom, when you faint. Immediately he's calling out for Willa, his heart going into his stomach. He loves you more than life itself. He's scared beyond belief. You wake up to the two of them above you, each of them using a tone they'd use to hush a crying baby. What happened? What the hell were they doing? Slowly, they get you up, walking you inside, getting you water and an ice pack for your head. You're burning up. Connor can't help but apologize over and over again. Of course it's not his fault, of course, but he won't hear it. It was the sun you tell him, but he's not listening. It's his job as big brother to take care of you, to make sure you're okay. When you're not, and he doesn't notice, that's on him. Connor banishes you to the inside for the rest of your stay, asking you every fifteen minutes if you feel okay, etc. He won't have you fainting again, not on his watch.

Kendall had no idea what happened. It was a side effect of a medication you were taking and telling no one about. Ever since your father passed you hadn't been able to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his body. You'd been on the plane, you'd been there through it all. You were dizzy, but only a little. You thought you could manage, that you were fine. You pull up in the car outside of Waystar, getting out, when you faint. Kendall runs around the car, calling your name, trying to shake you awake. You're only out for a minute, but it feels like an eternity. You're groggy, scared, unsure of what happened. He gets security to get you some water, holding on to you despite your fighting. You scare him so much he's gone pale. He doesn't stop asking if you're okay until you're seated in the office, someone checking you out, shining a light in your eyes. That's when you tell him about the pills, the not sleeping. He had no idea, though he knows he should have. He's your big brother, he should be protecting you from everything. He should have been there for you, before this. He makes a vow to himself that he'll be better, he has to be.

Shiv knew something was off. Ever since you'd been officially hired by your father at Waystar, you haven't been eating or sleeping or really leaving the office. You'd been tasked with a minefield and every wrong step would cost you your job. You were in the middle of presenting to your father, in front of everyone: Logan, Shiv, Gerri, Karl, Frank, Hugo, Kerry. You lose track of what you're saying in the middle of the sentence, so unlike yourself. That's when the dizziness hits, when you clutch the desk, when you drop. You bang your head pretty hard on the floor, though there isn't any outside damage. Shiv steps up right away, getting to the floor. Everyone is calling your name, questioning what to do, she's the only one who works. She fans you with her hand, calling your name. You're awake before you know it, terribly embarrassed, apologizing to your father. She doesn't let you get up though, not right away. She doesn't care how much work you have or what your father thinks, you hit your head pretty hard, she's surprised it's not cracked open. She needs to take care of you now, cursing herself she hadn't noticed earlier, hadn't stepped in and intervened earlier. You definitely feared losing your job now.

Roman had no idea how to help. You'd been there with him, before the funeral. Unlike his overly enthusiastic demeanor, you couldn't stop from freaking out. You were hyperventilating, feeling sick to your stomach, calling to him from the bathroom doorway that you didn't think you could go. That's when you faint, from getting all worked up. He drops his cards, running towards you. You look dead. Roman is shaking you, yelling your name, about to be sick himself when you open your eyes. He breathes the biggest sigh of relief, doing something so unlike himself: he hugs you. Hard. You have no memory of falling, of the last few minutes. He makes you stay there so he can call someone, anyone, unsure of what to do. Shiv gives him instructions. Through it all he cracks a few jokes, his heart still racing. You scared the shit out of him. He gets you water and gets you up slowly, bringing you to the couch. Shiv and Ken both on their way, coming to check on you, already in the same car. Awkwardly, he pats your leg, threatening to never scare him like that ever again.