Nick should’ve heeded the warnings about going native, about looking at things that didn’t belong to him, but did it matter when 60% of the population was decimated or zombiefied? Worse yet, did it really matter when the dumbass was so willing to play along to be stolen away for a quarantine quickie.
Did he ever pay attention to the fact that Georgia didn’t have a wild wolf population? Nope. And now he was finding out the hard way what happened when someone got a little hungry. He was just doing a routine perimeter check when Coach noticed that Ellis had gone missing from the group.- He likes you better was the older man’s reasoning for sending the gambler to backtrack towards to the buildings.
Being trailed down by Hunters and the like taught the conman to be quiet, more so when he could see the thick blood caked onto those thick lips. The carcass used to be a deer but the sheer brutality of the wounds made it hard to tell. It was definitely feeding time and hands that usually held a shotgun now dug into the messy entrails looking for what seemed like the juicier organs.
That quarantine quickie should’ve been hint enough that the young man was more than he seemed. The feral sounds were too wild, the way he could take punishment was too willing, and Nick could’ve sworn he felt sharp points scratch along his back. Now he knew better.
_That deer could’ve been me, Jesus Christ, _he thought as he tried to sneak around the creature that used to be his fellow survivor. He didn’t get too far when he saw the pointed ears flicker at a misstep.
“I know yer there, Nick,” Ellis piped up from his meal, his voice still jolly under the snarls bubbling from his throat. Was it an unspoken rule that werewolves had to be shirtless? Did that rule apply to women too? And was Ellis this ripped?
“Yer not gonna eat me…are you sport?”
El let out a bark of a laugh, “Hell naw, at least not the way y’all think! You humans are too damn bony an’ not nearly enough meat on yer bones.”
“Even Coach?”
“Fucker, but I betcha y’all make one helluva wolf if I bitcha.”
I’m honestly a little surprised that I’ve never come across a ‘werewolf’ fic set in the Left 4 Dead universe - the concept of humans turning into monsters is perfect for that kind of thing. They used to be all the rage when I was first getting into the fanfiction game.
I may have written one or two werewolf fics myself, but we’ll just gloss over that.
“Oh, man, I know! That’s what I’ve been saying. If there is zombies, there have got to be vampires, wolfmen, mummies, aliens…all that shit, man. It just makes sense!”
Something I mulled over and wrote over the weekend...Dammit Phone Guy. This is purely self-indulgent and the fact that I didn't see any fics about him that I liked.
All Phillip Gray wanted was to have one night off from the night shift and apparently higher management allowed it. He actually trembled as he met Carl Summers, his replacement. They brought in one of their most experienced guards to fill in for the night, and gave him the lowdown on the animatronics. If Carl survived this first week, Phil could go back to his old position as manager of the Pizzeria and get the bots checked and fixed… One night off for him to be the twenty-eight year old man he was and not track down that damn serial killer.
That first night, Phil barely slept, he could still hear Freddy's Toreador March down the hall. His hands fumbled to find the music box or the camera viewer to spot the moving murdering machines. The worst scare came when he looked out the window and screamed as he saw Bonnie's eyeless stare in the window. It took him a while to realize he lived in a seventh floor.
"Good God, I need a drink," Phil murmured under his breath, struggling to get his breathing under control. He hoped that bottle of Johnny Walker was still good after a few months since he opened it. Normally, managing a family pizzeria or being a night security guard wasn't stressful enough to warrant alcohol but this was different. It had been a year since Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria had closed down, taking with it a set of animatronics. The restaurant reopened in a smaller locale but a looming shadow clung to every brick like tar, keeping the morbid history alive.
Phil's apartment was a study in contrasts: his living room and bathroom were a mess akin to a late-night frat boy's dorm, while his bedroom and kitchen were relatively pristine. It was fairly obvious where he crash-landed as soon as his shift was over. His fridge's contents were mostly fast-food containers of varying states of freshness, the good chinaware was nice and safe . Maybe he could use this time to get some groceries done, or clean the place up…
One glance at the clock and Gray realized how screwed-up he was: it was barely nine in the evening and with night terrors. He had one night off! He could go out with--someone! Granted he didn't know anyone in the area, most of his friends from high school and college had their own significant others or working their own shifts. Most people would think working at Freddy Fazbear's was career suicide, that he'd never be able to move up on the social ladder or get a lady. Plus there was that incident at Fredbear's when the day-manager was found with his mistress. Lucky for Phil, he was still a waiter when that happened and learned from it: never get laid during work hours.
That was another concept that seemed foreign for Gray as he grabbed his nicest looking sport jacket and fixed his button-up shirt: getting laid. He'd lost his virginity back in college with his best friend Miranda Santiago, and got one hell of a screaming match with the head nun for it when he was caught in her girl's only dorm. In his defense, she was a pre-med student who needed a booty and pizza call that night and he had just finished his shift at Fredbear's. It was only fair he'd bring pizza, cola and, when she asked, let him enjoy her dessert. The following week, Miranda thanked him for the food and the 89.5% she got on her test.
In fact, as he walked down the street to Jeb's Dive, Phil knew he was the type of guy that wouldn’t mind being called a booty call. He knew that being the night guard meant long-lasting relationships were going to be hard, more so now that he carried the Pizzeria's darkest secrets with him and the post-traumatic stresses that plagued him. He had five nights to try and release frustrations that had been building since the first child was murdered in the first restaurant.
Jeb's Dive was a block down from the pizzeria, three from Gray's apartment was a pleasant enough place to make the stop every once the while. Before Phil took on his shifts, he would have a beer as he called to check into the guard or leave a message. In fact, he asked to use the phone, and spoke momentarily into the answering machine, giving him a more condensed speech. "T-Talk to you tomorrow, okay?" His stutter was involuntarily as he hung up, he swore he heard Foxy's song in the background.
Phil knew he was supposed to be flirting with this woman, he wanted to truly let go of his worries if for one night as they shared drinks. She had a charming enough smile, brown hair tied up in a messy and teased bun. She looked like a regular at the bar, her flannel shirt and ripped pants told him she was a local. He gave her a few smiles and a laugh at some of her jokes (she was funny too), but all he could think about was Carl's preparation. As soon as that clock rang 12 am, Carl would be in for the first night. Phil knew those bots well enough that he spoke about them with management as if they were coworkers...murderous and revenge-happy coworkers. Carl was a new face, so Bonnie and Chica would step out and test his resolve. Her name was Jess, last name unknown…
She must've been bothered about him because as he ordered his third drink, she whispered, "Wanna blow this place?"
"Uh," Phil was caught off guard, "Shall I call a cab to take you home?"
As the words left his mouth, he realized her hands were on his while she bit her soft, thin lips. It took him ten milliseconds for the guard to realize what she meant. He was actually embarrassed it took him so long to read the cues, he paid for their drinks in cash and followed her outside. Come on Gray, this is good, this is healthy! He thought as she hailed them a taxi and let herself in. They were buzzed but not entirely gone from this plane of existence, she could still say no if he wasn't for her. He'd understand.
What he didn't expect was her hand on his thigh, and a grin on her face, as she said, "First time out and about, Phil?"
"N-night shift doesn't let me party too much, y'know? First break I've had," he confessed, mouth dry, "You?"
"Nah, I was bored at home, no one to be with…" she said as her hand moved up, relishing how his breath hitched, "You looked lonely."
Lonely, huh? His smile became softer as he asked permission to kiss her. Jess smiled and drew closer, letting him place his thumb on her chin. It had really been too long since he shared this touch and not have it be a daydream at the office or morning wood tenting his sheets. Her lips were pillows against his, even with the booze clouding his mind. Phil made a note that even if he never saw Jess again after this night, he would remember her and what they did.
They went into a hotel, she paid cash and Phil noticed the lightening on her ring finger, then chuckled to himself. Apparently he was a bit too obvious because Jess answered the question with a hint of bitterness to her voice, "Fiancée left me at the altar, don't read too much into it."
"Yikes," Gray made a face then shrugged, "It won't matter soon, now will it?" He spoke with a degree of assurance that an hour before he was still struggling to meet. For this night, as Jess took his hand and led him into room 402, he wasn't Manager and Night Security at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. He wasn't Witness #16 in the murder trial that plagued the animatronics. He was Phillip Gray.
The moment Jess closed the door, she resumed their taxi kiss, letting Phil wrap his arms around her waist. He wanted to take it slow, they were young, they could still take on the world. Every cock and tilt of their heads was to deepen their affection, tasting each other before the main show started. He began to lose himself, gently pushing Jess against the entrance wall, their hands above their heads. She smiled, gasping, "I like you…any way I can," her voice cracked when she felt his knee slowly part her legs, "I can find you again?"
Again? Did she say again? Phillip swallowed and exhaled heavily. Don't get your hopes up, this is your first, and probably only night off, he had to remind himself. Not to discredit Carl and his efforts but Bonnie and Chica were not like other burglars. Burglars, he could have a fighting chance. Not the bots. "Let's meet at Jeb's a-again," he offered, closing his eyes, trying to stifle an incoming stress episode. He needed this, he needed to have this one night of pleasure. Meeting at the bar would keep them anonymous, to let them meet in hotels.
When he opened his eyes, he nearly screamed in horror, he thought he saw something in the corner of his eyes, a familiar face with no eyes. No, no no, God no…
"Are you okay?" Jess asked when Phil let go of her arms and began to hyperventilate. She wasn't a nurse but she knew a panic attack when she saw one, "Lay down, take deep breaths, you're okay, you're here." She immediately cleared the bed and made sure the pillows were comfortable around the guard's trembling body. She didn’t know it but those words became life-lines for Phillip as he struggled to get out of his mind's recreations and away from Freddy's deep laughter or that scream. She kissed his head and whispered something about not being in combat anymore…Gray would've preferred to have been in war than to go back to the Pizzeria.
It took 30 seconds for everything to settle down and Phil blinked away the hallucination. Jess was there, not Chica or Freddy. She smiled slightly, "Welcome back, Phil."
When he realized what happened, the night guard rubbed his forehead in horror, "Goddammit, I'm so sorry. I-I don't have these panic attacks regularly. I'm sorry I ruined your night." He felt a hand on his jaw, causing him to raise his eyes. Jess had nice eyes, more so when she spoke,
"I dunno, it's still ten. Do you still want to do this?"
The man was incredulous at this: she still wanted to be with him, after that? He nodded slightly, unsure if this was a dream or not. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't let anyone in, and he suffered alone in his apartment until it was time to go and do errands or hit the track (he had to be quick). But something clicked in his mind and let Jess pull him into a new kiss while he unbuttoned her flannel. His jacket was tossed aside as well as his shirt, landing on the ground with a muffled thud. He didn't remember what color her bra was, but he did commit what was underneath. Freckled skin around her breasts, delicate and pebbled with goose bumps, nothing like Miranda's fair chest but he relished them with kisses and exploration. Jess kept comforting her lover, her lips on the top of his head until she felt too uncomfortable in her jeans.
"Help me," she whispered in his ear and offered her abdomen to Phil's roaming mouth. He silently obliged her, undoing her belt then gently pulling her pants down. Maybe it was the fact that she was the first woman Gray had been with for over two years but she looked beautiful. He didn't care what her underwear looked like, he kissed every part of her from the belly button, to her thigh and legs. He felt her shiver and he pointed at his mouth, to offer his thanks for the assistance. Jess blushed at that suggestion but nodded eagerly: this guy was the first one to do that sort of act without even asking for that in return.
Phil figured he had a mouth, might as well use it for something good for a change as he slipped back into her nether. He could taste her, she was real, more so when he buried his lips against her. He heard her gasping, her nails dug onto his shoulders and smiled. His tongue teased her, causing many labored sounds of Jess struggling to keep herself together. His need was secondary now but even as he devoured her and rubbed his groin to hold off, Phil could see a hint of rotten yellow in the back of the room, in a corner he couldn't quite see clearly. As ridiculous as it was in retrospect, Gray mentally ordered the robotic bird to stay out unless she wanted to see how mommy and daddy made babies.
The man kept pleasuring his lover as best as he could until he felt a weak tug on his hair. Nervous that his hallucination had caused him to make a mistake, Phil looked up, swallowing and licking his lips clean a bit awkwardly, "W-What's up? Did I hurt you?"
Jess, whose hair now cascaded along her frame, shook her head and tugged at his too-tight slacks, "I want you in me." He'd have to go bareback for this one time, Phil thought, he hadn't planned for this night be so wonderful. He was embarrassed to have a complete stranger look at his naked body, erection on display, before he felt Jess' hand stroke it. He guided her hand and the head against her, this was really happening all the while. He could hear her make so many sounds before his first thrust. He felt her wrap her arms around his neck, groaning in absolute ecstasy as he pulled her down. Jess was taking all of him one inch at a time, and yet, she caught him trying to hide from nothing.
"I-It's okay, no one's here but us…" she assured him with another kiss to the forehead, "Just you and me." Phil wasn't just trying to hide but to brace for the imaginary Foxy and Mangle. He felt safe in this room, he felt like his world was torn between fear of death and desire for more than this one night. That he could pursue Jess or anyone without terror rearing its head and paralyzing him or the seething hatred bursting out of him whenever he saw a news article about the killer. It was that man's fault, from Phil's job to the declining business...but worse, the atrocities he inflicted on those children. It was only when she hissed in pain that the man realized he was being too rough in his penetrations and eased up.
"Sorry…"
"Having another war flashback?" Jess offered, caressing his cheeks and let the small streaks of tears flow.
"E-Erm…" that was a great excuse if he ever had another panic attack, "Yeah, just have to center myself." More so now that he could've sworn he saw Bonnie's eyeless gaze in the window. He gently pulled her close, his mouth on her collarbone, to protect her from the darkness. They were alone, in this room until they couldn't and could only see stars in their eyes.
By morning, Gray woke up and stretched out…alone in his bed. He smiled at this and cracked his neck; one night stands were supposed to be like this. Maybe she rejoined her ex-fiancée, maybe he was that rusty or worse, premature? That made Phil truly embarrassed for himself: he had climaxed before her, he remembered. It'd been so long…goddammit, Phil groaned and ran his hand over his eyes The smell of coffee fairly close to his face snapped him out of it. To the night guard's surprise, Jess was still there, wearing only his jacket and a smile,
"Figured you'd like caffeine in the morning," she said, sipping her mug.
"I thought you weren't lonely anymore," Phil retorted, "I thought we were a-" He was pleasantly interrupted with a kiss.
"You said we could meet up again…does that sound like a one-night sorta deal?" the woman laughed then sat on his lap, delighted to feel a shift in his groin as his dick rubbed against her. The night guard had to admit, this was a nice arrangement and brought her into another sign of affection, "Nope." He set both their mugs on the bedside table and pushed her onto the mattress for a round two.
"Anders."
"Huh?" Phil was still resting, having a real woman on his chest was still strange.
"Jessica Anders, my name. So you can ask the bartender if I was there," Jess explained, "And you?"
Phil pondered the idea, its' consequences, and rubbed his hand over her shoulder, brushing away some of the chocolate strands, "Phillip Gray."
Carl survived night one…maybe he had a chance when Foxy came around.
Waking up beside a river wasn't that uncommon for Nicolas, he was a wandering sort of man. It was better than spending the night in a corpse pile, pretending to be dead in order to sneak and get his target. Or in his ex-wife's bed. The world had made him cynical, he was merely returning the favor. What he didn't expect was a pestering squeak that annoyed him to hell and back. As rare as people claimed dragons and other creatures to be, they never mention how needy they are.
"Get that vermin off me or I will roast it," Nick groaned, rising a laugh from Elijah. Of course the younger man was up earlier, he didn't have a care in the goddamn world compared to him.
"Funny you should say that," the younger man joked, "Would you believe I thought its' egg was a duck's when I found it?"
"Found it?" How can one find a goddamn dragon egg? They were massive compared to any fowls Nick knew.
"Found it, stole it, words' the same," El shrugged as he gently scooped the hatchling from his toy's side, letting it play with his hands, "Strange color for a duck egg so I traded it in for a smooth rock from this river. Went back to the brothel and tossed it into the hearth to cook it. I'd hope for a meal, no bird I've known hatched from fire…poor thing seemed out of it when it came out, making little rat-like noises."
The sellsword glanced at the wyvern again, eyes thinning at the implications, "Get rid of it." The young man was getting too attached to a potential target by the Royal Court, especially for the sadistic idiot king. Targaryen blood had cemented the Iron Throne for Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters, one more to polish the many weapons would add that morbid shine.
"Wha- Why?! I hatched it, it's mine!" Elijah shouted back, now shielding the creature.
"If people see you with it, they'll all assume you're bidding for the Iron Throne like the Khalessi and execute you as such," the older man argued against it. "That creature proves-"
"It proves nothing other than extreme luck…Ser," the man with no family breathed out, "No one else knows about this creature and-wait, why do you care?"
Nicolas shrugged, "Just a smart man looking out for you, a pretty boy. Do as you fucking wish but when I see your head on a pike, I will laugh at you until nightfall. You're an impulsive moron; I'm still surprised you're still alive.."
"If I were so impulsive, I'd taken your gold in your sleep. You rest like the dead," El laughed then gestured, "Come, let me take you home. You've earned your keep in my room for today. Longer if you promise to keep Tempest a secret."'
"What an honor, to sleep in a whorehouse," Nick's wit was relentless, "Of course you named the beast."
El smiled and let his pet crawl up his arm as he grabbed his old blue rag. He wrapped it around, creating a hood that succeeded in hiding not just Tempest but his own identity. It was a condition that his masters enforced, to keep their clients' names hidden and their safety. Nicolas could understand but it also made the younger man's eyes glisten with impish delight.
"Is it far then? I'd rather lay my feet on a soft cot than none," the mercenary sighed out.
"Past the marketplace and down the alley where you found me," Elijah answered, "Probably wondering where I'd been, poor Ro."
"Ro?" A man or a woman he could scam?
"Rochelle, she's the mistress…she knows where all her wards are. It's a small place, mind you," the strange young man added, "I just hope I don't get in trouble for runnin' off with you and not tell her. Betcha she'll give you a nice reward for helping me."
Oh he was in hot water when he came back. Nicolas rolled his shoulders and rubbed his forehead as he put away his sword and straightened his armor, "Do you ever shut up?"
El thought about that and shook his head, "I'll be silent when I'm dead. Come along, most of the clients come at night, don't need you thinking you're part of the selection!"
It bothered the sellsword just how fast Elijah could reduce himself to a slab of meat, a mere vehicle to someone else's pleasure, knowing the laws that could kill him and do it all with a smile.
Baked Alaska Sweethearts, Scare and Morning--bonus points if you combine them. +10 bonus points.
Ann screamed in absolute horror as she staggered back. Noel's beautiful eyes had gone blank as blood dripped from his mouth. The massive iron spike tore through his body, his fragile wings melted all around him. She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder then spun him around...
"Ann!" Noel hissed before he dodged a swiped, "WOMAN CALM DOWN!"
The young woman blinked awake and immediately embraced her lover tight.
"I-I thought...I thought you were dead! You were so warm..."
Noel chuckled and kissed Ann on both the lips and the forehead, "I'm here, Ann...I'm yours remember?"
"Water sir?" the waitress offered Baltan for the third time this evening.
"I-I'm fine, just," Baltan was adjusting his tie, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from his suit. He picked a steakhouse for his date, figuring he'd like a good cut of meat with salad on the side. This was one of those situations that a prodigy isn't ready for in any sense of the word. This was their first outing as a couple...and gods be damned if something went wrong.
"Baltan?" the voice started the blind man out of his body, "Have you been waiting long? I had to put Azzie to sleep."
The blond man exhaled then smiled, "Nah, I'm good. Sit, the menus will be coming up."
Eureka grinned, "Must be special if you're willing to spend money like this."
The wedding dress was tattered, and the tuxedo hung on Michael’s thin frame but they were happy with this. No witnesses, no priest or judge, but it would be validated by the simple rings they exchanged, along with their vows.
"I, Michael Walters, take you, Renata Morvay, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, til death do us part," the young man offered, his voice breaking a little. He’d been shot, tortured, and more but this scared him the most.
"I, Renata Morvay, take you, Michael Walters, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, til death do us part," Renata wasn’t faring any better, joyful tears streaming down her face and whispered,
"T-this is when we kiss…"
Michael nodded slightly and locked lips with his new wife. He never got to enjoy this moment in his life…but this was good enough.
Woodrow Burns verse
"Ripley, sweetie, shh," Renata hushed her two-and-half-year-old daughter as the pastor laughed. The infant was fussy in her flower girl dress, she didn’t like it! The small church only had her parents, their pack, Prince Noel and his own family, and of course their wolves, who were very obedient considering the event. Michael was so tense about everything, his breath jumped at every word that came out of his mate’s mouth.
Madelin gently took her and bowed to her alpha pair, “It’s okay, it’ll take care of her.”
As soon as the baby quieted down, the pastor continued the service, but he recognized that this ceremony was a mere formality; these two had long since bonded in every aspect, mind, body and soul. They had long since married, they just needed a paper.
Thrallverse
Mikhail saw just how mesmerized his oldest son was with their guests’ daughter. Today was a wonderful event as the Stormwailtes celebrated their union with the Morvays. With their marriage, the House that served King Robert Baratheon would have the commerce of the Summer Islands, a way that both families and lands survived any political outcome. The newly-weds danced along the ceremonial fires, showing a natural attraction to each other, ever since Renata stole a kiss from Michael in the Summer Isles market.“You’re still learning, Michael?” Renata laughed, wrapping her sash around Michael’s waist.
"I’m not keen to dance, but I suppose for today," the young lord smiled and twirled his new wife around, "I can try."
Lady Heather Maisson was bored, that much was a given, and the Court was disappointingly mundane. As a young courtier from the wilderness of her father’s lands and now the Red Bricked Castles built by the old Targaryen rule, it was boring! She kicked off her slippers while she grabbed a piece of sweetbread. Blood and Victory, the words spoken once when asked where she came from and it was the best deterrent to those who wished to court her and torture her with betrothals and the like. With her short blonde hair, her embroidered white dress, tangerine bracelets, she bore the triangle and the crossed spears of the small but brutal Sunderland-Maisson House on a yellow and red sash.
Allied to the Riverrun families, the smaller House resided in a hilly land covered in an impenetrable fog where the fish and water flowed freely. At fifteen and having bled long ago, the tempestuous young woman refused noble suitors left and right, none really pleased her or her lord father Harrold Maisson, Harry for short. Along with Lord James Sunderland, they laid wasted into the old religions that kept the people in terror. But unlike the other conquests that dotted the history of Westeros, both men chose to reign the silent lands together, to make peace with the old protectors, Xuchilbara the Red Guardian, Lobsel Vith the Yellow Maester.
A knock at her door, a particular set of notes and Lady Heather giggled, “You need not be so formal, Alesser. Come in, I’m decent.”
"Lady Heather, please refrain from such language," a man shy of twenty-five stepped in, his face covered in a telltale pink to his cheeks, "I don’t want to put you in a compromising position."
Alessander Shepherd was a stern young soldier in brass armor, whose face was rigid and short hair slicked back in fragrant oil. On his chest plate, he bore not just the symbols of his masters’ lands but also the Shepherd Trident and Swords, the enforcers of lore and the Masters at Arms for the town. They were joined by the Bartlets, the Finches, and the Holloways in this land, bound by the bloodshed their Order had caused. How unfortunate Alesser’s name was in all this, as his name perpetuated his father’s insult and his mother’s disdain. In fact, unlike Heather, Alesser seemed happy to be away from the River hills, and more so to be with someone who cared for him.
"Seems to be a common thing in this Court, lest the gods hear us," Heather laughed, "Sit, has my father sent any letters? I know it’s harsh for him to be alone this time of year but…" It was no secret that Harry loved his daughter so much, especially after losing his firstborn in a fire. A fire the fervent Dahlia, a fanatic with a grudge, would warn to be the old gods’ rage against the Seven of Westeros. Because of her youth and grace, Cheryl merited the most sacred of tradition in the fog: to have her ashes spread in the river and let the fog guide her to the next life.
Alesser kneeled before the young woman and shook his head, “Your Lord Father would hate to see you sad, my lady. He would understand if Queen Cersei or Queen Margaery kept you here a little longer. What we’ve been able to accomplish for our lands is great, but..”
"But what? Tell me, what have you heard from the other guards and captains?" Heather moved about her chair and bit from her bread, "All I hear is gossip about who Lord Tyrion had in his bed or how brutal Lady Sansa got beaten. Hardly news at all."
"The Lannisters do not trust the Tullys, that much is certain since the Red Wedding. But they believe that all who are allied with them must declare King Joffrey as their one and only King. And you know how stubborn both Lord James and Harry can be," Alesser explained as best as he could, he wasn’t one for politics, "It’s said they will send a representative to the Hill."
Ever the biting child, Lady Maisson snorted, “If the representative can make it past the godswoods, I’ll personally kiss him.” Her grin widened at the smile that cracked on Alesser’s face.
"I’d prefer they send Tywin," with that, the soldier finally handed the scroll, "But I suppose this will satiate your humor."
Heather squealed in delight, there had been a letter from her father! “You sneaky twat! When did it arrive?”
"No less than a day, I promise!" Alesser laughed, he enjoyed his lady’s smile more than he cared to admit or show. Of course, he had someone waiting for him, Miss Elle, Judge Holloway’s striking daughter. He wrote letters every day to her, telling her stories of his travels, of the wars he’d fought in. More than his own family though he knew Josh would read them with great anticipation. It’d been by his little brother’s pleas that Alesser had been spared from punishment, risking the lives of the Bartlet’s cattle to save him and Joey from certain death by trample. Appealing to their aunt Lady Mary’s good nature was a saving grace. "What does it read?"
The young girl smiled as she read, “It seems the gods and the guardians have heard Lord Sunderland and wife’s plight; they are with child! Though her illness has deteriorated somewhat, probably draining some of her strength. He also says that the Fog has kept the village safe though there have been more bodies around now, all bearing different banners. Henry’s in the Black now, or headed there. Your brother’s fine and I seem to catch a whiff of Cybil’s perfume.”
Her smile dimmed when she continued the letter, “Oh.”
"What?" the soldier asked, worried at this sudden change in demeanor.
"…The council has pressured my father. They want me to come back, to sort out courtship matters. I either find one here on the landing or they’ll find me one."
"But you’re a Maisson! Your hands are covered in the same gods’ blood as your father’s! Surely they understand that if the gods had marriage plans, they wouldn’t send such shit," Alesser growled in disdain. "Who do they have in mind?! The only men there are old and far past their prime or barely weaned! There is work to do here, favors that need to be gained!"
"No plans yet…" Lady Heather sighed and stored the letter away, "They want to send someone else to this Court. Though I doubt whoever they send, will appease the King. Has a fondness for violence, and if I hear another rendition of The Rains of Castemere, I will personally bash that person’s head."
The young Shepherd pondered for a moment then held out his hand, “Would a quick hunt suffice your needs?”
Heather’s humor recovered enough for a nod, there were many towns that dotted the Seat of the Seven Kingdoms…one missed meal with the other courtiers wouldn’t be that big a problem if it kept that fiery temper at bay. “It would.”
Original characters (c) jingle-king, reye-chan, themastereddo
, ryiosnaps
"Hear, Lord Noel has arrived!" the call was given, it was time for Chris to act as if he was truly safe. He was doing this for the good of the Robinsong name and for support in the North, his true home.
"Noel! I hoped you’d make it before nightfall!" the young man greeted. Dressed in silk and wolf pelts, with a crown made of blessed glass and a white dapple, Lord Noel’s steed trotted to the entrance.
"I would’ve broken time to see my baby cousin again…" the man spoke in a bellowing hush before embracing Chris.
Michael snarled from his room, “Great…the whelp’s family’s here. I’ll be in the hunting grounds if there’s need for me.” He hated the people from the North, from Winterfell, and to have someone like Christopher in his home to torment was a delight.
Renata rolled her eyes, “Greet him first. House Stark is fragmented, but House Greyjoy isn’t. Lord Nordwind still holds some power over the reaches of the Wall. Be sweet.”
"I’d rather run around naked in the Sacred Forest."
"We don’t need a repeat of that, husband dear," Morvay huffed, "Scared my mother back to the coast, go."
Michael groaned as he saw Lord Noel’s consort come off her steed. Dressed in lavender and rose, with a breastplate of Wall Steel, Lady Anne was a small reckoning to anyone who cross her lands, her forest.
"Anne, are you still wearing your armor?" Lord Noel chuckled at this, "We’re in allied lands."
"I don’t trust Baratheon lands, even if your family resides here," Anne shot back before curtseying Christopher, "Though it looks like the man’s been hardened by some of the happenings of the State. Pity he’s here with the stormy wrenches or I would ask his hand to accompany me in a hunt."
"My love, Christopher is a kind, meek soul," Noel remarked as two of his bannermen led their horses to the stable, "He’d rather see harm to himself than take the life of someone. So how’s your ward?"
Chris smiled genuinely at that, “My ward, the Younger Michael, he’s fine. Napping now, he had a long day dancing with iron. He’s become quite strong for a boy his age.” If there was any saving graces of Stormvalley, it was Michael the Younger, Mikai for short. Though he was the spitting image of his brother and Lord Regent Mikhail, Mikai carried himself with a sweetness that hid his ruthless nature. As a child of eight years, he was in no shape to leave his mother’s bosom or the hearth of his father’s home. And yet, he was allowed to partake in the council meetings.
"Good, at least one of us is having better fortunes," Noel admitted when he saw the acting Lord of Stormvalley and his woman, "You finally come out of your shelter, have you?"
Michael ignored the jab and grabbed his crossbow, “You’re welcome to make this your home, mother and father are on their way to King’s Landing and I’m going to hunt. Christopher, you lead them into the rooms and make sure the servants tend their every need.”
"You seem awfully proud of yourself for being in a lesser House," Anne immediately shot back, "Or might I remind you that last tourney? Your men were soundly defeated and your father owed House Nordwind 30 deer heads."
Michael was not his father or his little brother; he was the impulsive to their relaxed states. He dropped his weapon and seized the knife in his boot, “My family owes nothing to the likes of you beasts!”
Before fighting could break out, Chris stepped in with a hand on the hilt, “My liege, she’s merely riling you up. She’s a trickster and taunts those she deems worthy.”
"I know an insult when I see it, Robinsong, and you dare order me?" Michael forgot who was visiting and raised his hand to Chris’ face.
"N-no Ser but-"
"Enough," Noel’s voice boomed, having spotted the fear in his relative’s body. Chris hadn’t seen any battles, he didn’t need to, "Anne, stand down."
Anne growled at Michael before she straightened up and fixed her belt to join her lord, “Expect no apology from me, was merely stating the truth.”
The rage inside the young lord was palpable as he and his Castellan, Morgan Godswin, galloped away. Truly this was a House full of strife barely under the surface.
Lady Renata stood silent in all this, already storing the day’s events in her mind. She liked to keep important information about her allies, just in case. She then put her best smile and opened the oak doors, “Come, we have an exquisite boar for your welcome. I hope you enjoy wine. My lady-in-waiting, Miss Madelyn, has arranged for some entertainment as well!”
Another perspective! This turned out to become bigger than anticipated…
Original characters (c) jingle-king and @reye-chan
"The Lord will see me," Lady Renata Morvay stated, her striking red robes trailed behind her without a hint of the softness a woman of her position should have, "He trusts me more than any of his advisors. Fetch his wine and his meal, maid."
As a woman from Isles, Morvay wasn’t raised to be subservient to anyone, even a noble family like the House Stormwailtes, near Goldengrove and the Red Lake. Allied to House Baratheon, they enjoyed a tenuous security in Westeros with the Lannister’s gold mines. Lately, Michael had been too preoccupied publicly executing the deserters to pay attention to some of the economic routes. Morvay rolled her eyes as she stepped in, alerting Morgan and Matthew, Michael’s strongest and most loyal Hands. With a crimson dress made from the finest cloths sold and traded in the Summer Islands, and a ruby that never left her neck, the red-haired woman with a skin that had seen a lot of sun was a striking presence to behold in the manor. All held in a brooch that bore the Morvay Family symbol: the fox with two tails, the symbol of cunning and grace. She recited her family’s words over and over again “From the Ground, Rise,” the epitome of everything she knew.
"You two, out. Check on the Robinson squire and the younger. I need your Lord for a moment," Renata commanded, stepping on the map the men were talking over.
Michael’s eyebrow arched and dismissed his men, “Listen to the woman, go.”
As soon as the blond guards stepped out, the messy-haired lord, hair colored like sunbaked mud in a beach, and eyes amber, looked up to Renata and crossed his arms, “Is there a point to your theatrics? Your left heel rests on the Iron Throne.”
"Always. Your displays of blood and entrails have dissuaded some of my parents’ textile and fish merchants to come here. I’d rather avoid anyone comparing you to the King in cruelty, bad for business," Renata stated outright, "You promised you wouldn’t stake a claim on that which can never be yours."
Michael smirked and beckoned his consort to his lap, “Maybe they don’t have the stomach to enter King’s Landing, my darling. But if you do so wish, I can demand a mock trial, assure their minds Stormwailtes isn’t a Mad Lord.”
Renata went over slowly, making sure the map was stepped on completely, draping herself onto her man with a smirk, “You’re being sweet…what did you tell the twins before I came in? Did you send men to-”
"The word is prosecute, not execute. You have something else in mind. Christopher has proven to be useful enough, being Mickey’s handmaid and teacher," Michael purred, parting Renata’s curls to reveal her neck, "So why tell the twins to watch him?"
Renata kissed her man with the same ferocity as that day they met in the markets. “Because I don’t want them to know you have a concubine on the side. Who is she?”
Michael laughed along the sensitive skin, his hand climbed his lover’s thigh, “You think there’s another woman in my bed? That I would breach a woman’s walls that wasn’t yours?”
"That or I will personally cut your servants’ tongues."
"Renata, my wildflower," Michael whispered as his hand found the flimsy excuse of underwear, and enjoyed her tiny gasp, "These fingers have not ventured into unnamed valleys. These lips have not met another they didn’t already know."
The Lady of Storms and Fields knew exactly what her Lord was doing and giggled, “You’re a poet when you want to be. And a whore when you need me to say yes.”
"Yes to…"
"To your next execution. If I say no, what do you say?" Renata taunted.
"I would say that while you’re the Lady of these lands and own the roads…you’re still my consort," Michael joked, his fingertips teasing her now, "These are my lands and people, Morvay, not yours. Then again, it’d be a needless death anyways"
Renata held her breath and waited for whatever Michael came up with. What he did cemented her love for him: he pushed her down to the ground and pinned her wrists on top of the map he had.
The woman quickly reached towards the leather belt that held Michael’s pants as soon as he allowed it, knowing the forming tent was for her. She could feel her legs spread apart and she laughed. “Oh my, you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” Her bracelets and ruby necklace fell to her side.
"You know how much I love it when you wear red," Michael reminded her as the clothes dropped, "How these dresses of yours tempt my eyes, and your words my mind."
Renata pushed aside the vermilion robes and off the floor, as Michael undid the brooch that held it all together. They were laying on top of the world, her naked back on Winterfell.
Michael hooked one of Renata’s legs as far as he could, giving his prick enough access to make their tryst to be more pleasure than pain. Oh she was already wet for him, and he was hard for her, they knew each other well. He also knew she liked some roughness and pushed inside her.
"Slow, my love, I can be patient…" Renata breathed out as he intruded further. She felt his entrance, her body sheathing him, and firing her passion off in those starting waves. The world was their bed, and Michael claimed her whenever he wanted.
"Patience is not in me, Lady Morvay," the young lord grinned and began to rut as soon as he reached as far as he could. Oh gods be blessed Renata kept her vows! She hadn’t been claimed since their last time. Her breasts moved with the rest of her body, she could feel his mouth suckle one.
"One day you’ll share this body with a child, Stormwailtes…a child born from our carnal wishes," Renata said between thrusts. It had been her House’s goal for them to conceive, to make their business deals payable in the blood of a baby in her womb. But she let her lover take her, mouths agape in their breaths as Michael spilled his seed inside her.
"We’ll cross that bridge when we get there."
Bridges that would be cared for as soon as they were finished and cleaning themselves from their act. They did not partake in sharing warmth after fornication, Michael could smell their meal be served. He murmured against her neck with a smile,
"Is there anything you need to share before we head to the hall with my parents?"
"Oh yeah…Christopher’s cousin is coming in a day’s time," the lady stated, relishing a little at how fast Michael’s face dropped to an annoyed grimace.
"Perfect, we’ll get the Dornish wine then. Make sure they’re drunk and leave early."
Due to his lack of funds for a proper outing to a bath house (‘Three Gold Dragons for clear water?! Has the Master of Coin lost his mind?!’, he thought but never spoke) Nicolas had to make due and led Elijah across town, making sure the wyvern was hidden from prying eyes. There wasn’t a law against cleansing one’s body in the river, and by the gods, El needed a change.
"Please tell me this isn’t your usual state, El, or you make for a poor whore," the gambling sellsword remarked, taking a swig of his drink as he originally intended to. The small wyvern chirped and played with some of the reeds, hiccupping like a child hoping for fun or meat.
"If one is to beg for food," the younger man chuckled as he discarded his robes and undid the twine that held his hair back, "My state isn’t an issue. Though I’ve taken a break from solicitation as of late, not many have come forth to my work and asked for an escort."
"And? What’s your usual rate then?" Nick goaded on, looking at his sword as if it were both mirror and visage of his future. Covered in rusted blood while someone younger took the lead, just like the rest of his life.
"Two Dragons a night," Elijah responded with a grin while his feet met the chilly waters, "Though I can see you can barely afford a minute with me then."
"For a wretched man, you have an enormous sense of arrogance," the mercenary spat and turned around unceremoniously. Probably bullshitting to make himself feel better, Nicolas thought.
What he saw, in physical aspects, he realized that El was shortselling himself. The rags did the man no justice, his body toned as if he’d been a farmhand before the fall from grace. Skin covered in scars and burns, some gashes were still open but nonetheless, he was a stunning sight of a man. Nick could argue to be beautiful as long as he didn’t open his mouth.
"What?" Elijah’s voice snapped Nicolas of a lurid thrall, "You’re a slimy bastard." Without a regret, the younger man spat at the mercenary’s feet and seized two of the six gold coins from the small bag, "Mine." He immediately met the edge of the sword at the throat, only flinching from the surprise.
"I take it back, you’re worse than a wretch and a whore, you’re a thief," Nicolas hissed, "I should have your hands, or your neck. Add another notch to whoever has left a mark."
The mongrel stood his ground, “Do it and you’ll have to deal with my pet.”
"Even easier, boy," the bitter man added, "Though you’re probably one of few men that see a sword and don’t quake."
This prompted Elijah to laugh again, “If I had a copper for every time I faced a blade, I’d be as rich as a Lannister. This town is one of many to cater to the Landing’s needs.” He then pointed to the scar on his nose, “But I don’t fall easy, neither me or my friends.”
"Other whores as well?"
El nodded, “There’s no need for abandoned children unless they serve. Keith and Dave, they’re back at the brothel, working…like I said, I took a break.”
Nick’s sword lingered for a moment before he dropped the threat…”Clean yourself, your time away from the hearth has cost you. You’ve been nursing those gashes, have you?”
The young man followed the man’s hands as they trailed the furious wounds, “Aye, Ser,” the return of title was a hesitant one, “For a slab of cowmeat. I won though and I managed to steal a few more things. Ow!” Pressing on the wound made both blood and infection pour out, “Am I-“
"No, you’re not, might need a healer to check on it," Nicolas sighed, rueing his decision, none too happy about it. "But for now, deal with cheap wine and a bandage."
The mongrel smiled a little at that, “Much obliged. I suppose this creates a debt between us?”
"If you shut your mouth, I’d appreciate it better."
It was by the fire later that night, that El curled up alongside his beast when he asked, “Where’d you get that sword, Ser?”
"Hm? This? Won it on a bet," Nick answered, "man came with a full suit of armor, had to walk back to the grounds with just the clothes on his back."
"Have you named it?" the young man sounded mesmerized by the sight of gleaming iron, letting the nameless reptile wander around his hand, "Every blade needs a name."
"Every legitimate blade, very different." Those forged on the backs of artisans and ironworkers, those deserve a name. Like the Starks’ Ice, or the Oathkeeper, Kingslayer’s Blade, one made of Valryian ore and the other stained with the blood of the Mad King. Nicolas couldn’t remember if he ever owned a sword that was truly his and not product of his vices.
Noting he had no needle or spool, Nick sighed and placed the steel into the fire.
"What are you doing?!" El sprang to life, almost reaching into the fire to rescue what was probably the most valuable item either of them had.
"On your side. I need to pour my drink on your wounds. Fire will seal them shut," the experienced warrior explained, "Maesters are scarce in whoretowns, I take it?"
"Probably one and he’s an extortionist," the mongrel was still cross about such disregard, before he remembered he had not even a rusty knife to his name. He obeyed and breathed slow.
"Might hurt like a bitch but-" Nick warned as he poured the last of his drink into every open flesh he could. He didn’t enjoy the sounds Elijah made or the squeaking noise the wyvern alerted, "It’ll be worth it."
"T-taking your word for it!" El huffed, but to Nick’s surprise, didn’t complain as much when the heated blade touched his skin, "At least you know what you’re doing!"
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