#｟ study ｠ ⸻ ▻ she was warm despite the winter in her blood. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

niceminipotato · 1 year ago

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Was just scrolling and there was this prompt list and so my brain did the braining thing.

Forever

You had arrived at the castle on a cold winter evening. Everyone had warned you to stay away from the dark watcher of the village. You would have listened if anyone had actually accepted you as you were. If anyone actually had wanted you.

It had been too long since you had felt at home back in your small family’s shack. One too many times you had been ignored or called a disgusting nuisance. One too many times you had been beaten and dragged through the mud left to sleep out in the frigid weather just because of who you were. You had hoped and prayed that change would come but it never did and after years of misery you had enough.

Things in the castle weren’t all that good but for some reason it felt like a safe place to be at. Even with the sadistic and murderous lady of the castle and her daughters. At least in the castle you weren’t thrown out to the cold. You were given a place to sleep, fed, and warm. If you did your work and stuck to the rules you were fine and the head maid had already adopted you. So yes death could be lurking at every corner but you had found a little home.

Interactions with the lady of the castle were limited. It suited you well though sometimes you found your thoughts lingering to the beautiful tall woman. She looked like a goddess, of death but a goddess nonetheless. When in her presence you cursed at your traitorous heart for beating so wildly it could make you dizzy.

There had been such an instance when the lady had allowed you to come in and clean as she worked in her study. With mild irritation she had asked you if your fear of her was so great your heart wouldn’t calm. You will never forget the way her annoyance washed off her face and a smug smirk took its place when your answer had been you did not fear her. You could still feel the heat on your cheeks with the way she had looked at you. Hours later the head maid had asked if you had a fever to wish your only response was a shrug before scurrying away.

Then there were Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. Your interactions with the rambunctious bunch were almost nonexistent. The lady’s daughters liked to play. That was the first thing you had been told to watch for. When they grew bored they would play games with the maids and sometimes said maids would not survive such games. So the head maid had told you to watch your back and stay away. You had done fairly well with the rule to stay away but soon that changed.

Daniela, the youngest of the three, had decided you were just too interesting. She would search for you and watch you do your chores. She would talk to you for hours and after a while you began to talk back. Your conversations ranged from gossip she had heard to books you’d never read to the latest drama between her mother and her uncle or what she had recently fought about with her sisters. With time you grew close and even though the other maids always warned you against it you knew you could trust the girl.

On a day like every other you headed for the library to find Daniela. But instead of the redhead you found Cassandra and Bela. The two oldest were bickering amongst themselves until they took notice of you. Their eyes sparked a dangerous gold and you knew what you had been warned against would come to pass.

“How about a game?” Bela said before cackling along with Cassandra.

In a blink you were off and buzzing filled your ears. You ran as fast as you could up and down, down and up. There was nowhere you could go that the sound of buzzing didn’t follow. Then despite your time in the castle you got lost and ended up opening a door you shouldn’t have.

Stairs led down to a dark and eerie space. The scent of blood flooded your nose and you recoiled from it. The buzzing sound died out and despite being afraid for the place you had ended up in you felt relieved. That is until a large hand wrapped around your neck, lifting you from the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was a low growl in your face and you tried fruitlessly to shrink into yourself.

Lady Dimitrescu in all of her gloriousness stood in the dim light of candles with blood running down her face and neck. Her golden irises had turned a dangerous shade of red and something shifted behind her.

“Speak!”

Pushing past the lump of fear in your throat you tried to explain yourself. “I-I was j-just… I’m s-sorry. They were… and then—”

“Speak clearly!”

“Y-your daughters.”

“What?!” She seethed, making your heart race.

“A-a g-game, my l-lady.” You managed to form your sentence.

“Get out.” She tossed you and you landed hard on the floor, your foot bending way too much in the wrong direction. “Leave!”

You stood as quickly barely registering the pain on your ankle or around your neck. Running up the stairs you were met by fidgeting Daniela. The moment you made it to the hall she scanned you head to toe pouting when she saw the beginnings of a bruise on your neck and the scrapes on your hands.

“Come on. I’ll get you to your room.” Daniela said quietly.

When you winced after putting your weight on your ankle the redhead took it upon herself to carry you the rest of the way. She moved silently through the halls ignoring the maids the walked by and even her sisters when they came to check on you.

“Mother hasn’t been having the best week. She doesn’t like anyone seeing her when she’s feeding like that.” Daniela said as she placed you on the bed. “I’m sorry. I can talk to her. Maybe she’ll let you stay.”

“D-did she mean I-I had to leave th-the castle?” You shook as tears filled your eyes. “I-I have n-nowhere to go. This is my home.” You let out between sobs.

“I’ll talk to her. I promise. Just stay here. Everything will be fine.” Daniela said quickly patting you on the head as if trying to soothe you.

After that you were left alone she had burst into her swarm and left you closing the door behind her. You sobbed for what felt like hours until there was a knock on your door. You flinched and sat up as the door opened. The head maid stepped in with a bag and began to pick up what little belonged to you.

“I’m sorry. I think it would be safer if you leave now. The lady hasn’t said anything yet but if she finds you here after telling you to leave you’ll die.”

“B-but I c-can’t—”

“You have to. Why did you go to the cellars? You broke the rules.” Her stern voice cut through your words, making you whimper. “I’m sorry, dear. Can you stand?”

Giving her a grim nod you stood. A bit of pain made you wince but you could still stand. You followed after the head maid as quickly as you were able ignoring the solemn gazes from the rest of the staff as you limped by.

When you reached the main entrance the head maid turned to you and embraced you before handing you your small bag. You reigned in your sobs and pulled away looking to the door. She opened it and you walked past.

“You be safe. Hurry to the village before you lose light.”

With that the door closed behind you and there you were again in front of the castle doors on a cold winter evening.

Fresh tears slid down your cheeks as you were faced yet again with the fact that you were unwanted and you had no home. Briefly you wondered if you should just walk right back in and face the punishment. But the look on the head maids face and Daniela’s would be too painful to witness.

Letting out a bitter chuckle you pushed away from the castle you had begun to call home and headed for the village. You were sure of the welcome you would receive once you arrived. A beating for leaving and a beating for returning. But what else could you do when you had nothing.

You made it past the bridge when the last dregs of sunlight were beginning to disappear. Knowing what would become of you if you stayed out after dark you tried to hurry down the muddy road. However, no matter how hard you tried you weren’t making much progress, your limp becoming more prominent.

Suddenly the noises of the forest faded away, which unnerved you. There was no rustle of leaves in the wind nor the sounds of birds and other animals around. Everything was quiet and still. As if the entire woods surrounding you had decided to hold its collective breath. Your own breathing and the beating of your head in your ears sounded way too loud. It felt as if the trees surrounding you were pushing closer upon you as the last bit of sunshine completely ebbed away leaving only dim light behind.

A twig snapping to your right had you sprinting away. Your ankle sent painful jolts up your leg while you tried to get away from whatever unknown creature lurked in the trees. You ran desperately, your bag forgotten somewhere up the road.

The lights of the village shined in the distance and you felt a bit relieved. Not watching where you stood you stepped into a hole and lost your balance. You tumbled down with a yelp landing on your hands and knees. The unbearable silence still surrounded you until a chorus of snarls filled the air.

Scrambling to your feet you turned to find three lycans snapping at you. They stood before you with drooling snouts huffing and puffing. Your body shook as you stood there frozen. One of them advanced and you knew any attempt to run would be futile. Still as it slashed at you, your instincts had you moving to one side. Another lycan made to slash at you and you threw yourself out of the way landing painfully on your wrist.

You attempted to stand but your leg gave out and you went pommeling down to the mud once more. Turning again to face them you let out a whimper and closed your eyes, knowing nothing you did would help.

A growl unlike the ones you had been hearing filled the air. You kept your eyes closed but could hear a commotion before you. Growls and snarls echoed around you for a few minutes until the silence reigned once more.

The squelching sound of heavy steps on the mud had you letting out another whimper. You refused to open your eyes however until a voice you had thought you would never hear reached your ears.

“You stupid little thing. Who gave you permission to leave my castle?”

Your eyes snapped open and you beheld Lady Dimitrescu in her usual white dress now splattered with mud and her brimmed hat sitting perfectly atop her head. The red irises you had seen before swirled with orange and golden hues. Her claws were still out, blood dripping from them, while she stood among the now dead lycans.

“When I ask a question I expect an answer, dear.”

Her voice no longer held the edge it had in the cellar and you couldn’t help the sob that tore from you. The lady hummed and flicked her claws before retracting them and closing in on you. You tensed slightly as she reached for you and she hesitated for a second before picking you up bridal style.

“Hush my little thing. Everything is alright. You are safe.”

You turned to her chest trying to stop your cries as she carried you up the road and back to the castle. She walked slowly, not that she had to hurry when her steps covered three times what yours would. It was another few minutes before you had calmed enough to speak.

“W-why did y-you come? Why did you s-save me?”

“Why would I not save you?” She tilted her head and looked at you. “Why would I not come for you?”

“I-I broke the rules. I s-saw you and-and you don’t l-like that, m-my lady.” Your lips quivered as you watched for her reaction but she focused ahead.

“Tell me, dear. Do you find me repulsive now? Am I a monster in your eyes?”

“N-no. Of course not!” You exclaimed. “You need to eat. You’re not a monster.”

“Oh but I am my dear. I murder and torture and I enjoy every second of it.”

“I don’t care. If you are a monster then so am I. Sometimes I play with my food too.” You replied indignantly.

A velvety chuckle rumbled from the lady as she looked down at you and you felt your heart begin to race as it often did in her presence. She glanced down at your chest before looking back into your eyes.

“And still you ask why I would save you. Do you really not see why?”

Biting your lip you looked down. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the warmth you were receiving from her.

“My castle is your home is it not?”

You looked back at her, a gasp escaping you. She couldn’t mean that, could she?

“My home?”

“My, you truly are oblivious. Yes, your home.” She smiled. “I do apologize for making you think it wasn’t. And for making you feel as if you didn’t belong. My temper is quite hard to handle at times and as such I say things I may not mean. However when I told you to leave I had only meant the cellars not the castle, you foolish little thing.”

Trying in vain to keep the tears from running you tried to stammer out an explanation while turning away from her. “I-I just… I—”

“My dear, would you look at me.” The lady waited until you looked up before speaking once more. “This,” she nodded towards the castle, “this is your home. You belong here, with me.”

“So I can stay?”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled and leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. “For as long as you desire, draga mea.”

“And if I say forever?” Butterflies buzzed in your stomach as you tucked yourself under her chin, nuzzling her neck.

“Then forever it is.”

The prompt was “Why wouldn’t I save you?” Think I fulfilled that hehe. I need to stop writing things I’m not supposed to. I have three updates to work on plus I need to finish that last Pride fic. I’m a mess. Hopefully you enjoyed my mess though. Also this is the first sorta reader fic I’ve ever done so yay me lol.

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #little ficlet #alcina dimitrescu #re8 alcina #fluffy stuffs #maybe…

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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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much ado about nothing chapter 6 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

ummmmm HIII so sorry i know i still owe you guys a million drabbles and i haven't been posting as much but this chapter is just chock-full of drama and i'm so excited to share it bc hehehe it's a rollercoaster. also we should def stop listening to sasha. sneaky posting; have fun babies!!!! i cannot WAIT to hear your thoughts

specific cws: alcohol use, violence (like fist-fighting level not insane), mentions of drugs, swearing, incredibly awkward tension lol

“The course of true love never did run smooth.” A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare (Act I, Scene 1)

You’ve done a lot of partying in your days, but you never thought a hangover could float over your shoulders for damn near two weeks. Then again, maybe that rancid taste in your mouth is regret instead of the practical gallons of liquor you’d guzzled that night.

Historia tells you to delete the evidence, have a glass of wine with your friends, focus on your studies, put meaning back into the happy distractions that make up life. Sasha tells you to suck it up, download Tinder, do something other than wallow in your bed with nothing on but the fairy lights along your ceiling. Ymir tells you men aren’t worth embarrassing yourself for, maybe start swinging the other way, that she knows a few very pretty single ladies.

You meet all of their advice with a slow nod, sometimes a chuckle, put your head down, and go about your business, letting the shame follow you around like a little rain cloud from building to building around campus. Even your students have noticed something’s making you tick; Falco and Gabi left a package of Crumbl cookies in your office the other day, and for the first time, Zofia has begun to raise her hand in class. It’s heartwarming, really, but it doesn’t solve your problem.

Problems would be the better term for it. To start, there was your royal fuck-up with Eren. You had over-indulged and gotten a little too flirty to be “friends”, sure, it happens, but something had snapped in you when you saw Eren with that leggy blonde hanging all over him at the club.

Breeze. Even wearing naught but a skirt and some thin tights with the early winter wind whipping around your legs, just the thought of her name makes your blood boil. She was perfect, all bouncy and easygoing and cool, hippie clothes. To be fair, she was the one with the true claim on Eren; you had dug your own grave, far too confident in your ability to be just friends with someone so…so Eren.

Your friendship had been growing closer and closer by the passing day before that night, texting at nearly every minute of the day and spending time together wherever you could fit it in your full schedule. You had made plans to bake Christmas cookies together, even despite Eren’s protests that Christmas was a “capitalistic hellhole of a holiday season”, had acted out your favorite Shakespeare scenes in your pajamas, much to Eren’s amusement, and had made a habit of staying up late into the night watching and rewatching your favorite animes, heatedly debating characters. It had been butterfly-inducing, dizzying, perfect. Until you had indulged in one too many shots and humiliated yourself, that is.

Seeing Breeze all over Eren had made you realize the severity of your mistake trying to keep Eren in your life, realize the warm feeling blooming in your chest every time he grinned at you, all teeth and his little chin dimple, was decidedly much more than a platonic appreciation for a new friend. It turned out that you’d been right from the start; you weren’t his type, and to make matters worse, his actual taste in women had been thrust in your face unexpectedly.

When you had awoken the next morning, debating on whether to fall back asleep immediately or dash to the toilet, Historia had greeted you with a sorry smile, a cup of coffee, and a quiet word of advice to look through your phone. Knowing your drunken self, you pulled up your phone calls first, wanting to make sure you hadn’t accidentally Facetimed your mom to tell her how much fun you were having or something cringe-worthy of the sort. But no, of course it had to be much worse than that.

There was a phone call– to Eren. Your call log had recorded a one minute and thirty-six second phone call between you and Eren, one you obviously didn’t remember making.

“Please tell me you were with me when I called Eren,” you groan, so naive, “did I completely embarrass myself?”

Historia blushes. “Well, he didn’t answer, if it’s any consolation–”

“Oh, thank god–”

“But that didn’t exactly stop you,” Historia fiddles with the edge of her t-shirt, “you left him a voicemail.”

Even through your throbbing headache, you shoot right up out of bed at that. “What?! What did I say?”

“I don’t know,” Historia moans woefully, putting her hands over her face, “I’m sorry, I tried to stop you, but you ran off as soon as you started talking. By the time I caught up to you, you were already hanging up.”

“So, there’s a voicemail from drunk me on Eren’s phone, and neither of us have any idea what it says?”

“Correct.”

“My life fucking sucks.”

“It’s about to get a whole lot worse,” Historia says, throwing your sheets back and snuggling beside you in the bed, burrowing her face in your shoulder, “check your texts.”

And oh, had it gotten worse. Your drunken, foolish text sat in your outbox, unanswered, unread, and inexcusable. Six months later and you were right back where you started, begging a ghost of a man to explain why he couldn’t love you.

> hi luke, i’m sorta ficked up, but i misz you. why did yoi never call me???? you owe me at leasttg that. a fcking explanation,.

Storming through campus, coat tucked around your shoulders against the biting chill, you wince at the memory. You haven’t deleted the unanswered text yet, keeping it stale in your phone as a reminder of what happens when you get too attached to people you know aren’t good for you.

You thought you’d be more heartbroken over the text to Luke and its lack of an answer, but surprisingly, you’re not. It’s Eren haunting your thoughts, Luke’s just the placeholder for all of your anger at this point. Eren isn’t to blame for all of this, you are, and that’s why you can’t bring yourself to face him, can’t bring yourself to answer any of the hesitant texts he’s sent you since that god-awful night.

You’re not in college anymore, you have to keep reminding yourself. You’re twenty-four, and you’d like to think you’re past the phase of your life where you’re handing your heart out to anyone that passes like it’s a Costco sample. You aren’t even sure if you want Luke anymore at this point, if you could even speak to him if you bumped into him these days. He had, admittedly, treated you like dirt, wrenched your heart out from your chest and left it on the sidewalk to collect dust. At least you can hate him, hate what he did to you, hate that you’re stuck on him like a broken record skipping to the same chorus every few weeks.

You can’t hate Eren, though. You can be disappointed in him for entertaining his terrible ex-girlfriend, not aloud of course because he hadn’t actually mentioned her to you himself, but you can do it internally. Even that isn’t enough to make you feel better; not only had he not trusted you, not felt safe or comfortable enough with you to share the skeletons in his closet, but he was likely zooming full-speed down a dead-end street, the way Sasha tells the story. Your heart aches for him out of a painful mixture of pining and fervent concern.

Your only solution so far has been to dive headfirst into your coursework and your students; it hasn’t done much to distract you, but with finals on the horizon, it’s not the worst method of coping you’ve come up with in your days.

Your newly invigorated dedication to your work and your courses are the cause of you dragging yourself across campus to 104, desperate for caffeine and practically a corpse after two weeks of near-constant self-shaming keeping you up at night.

The smell of the coffee shop, earthy and warm, hits you almost as hard as the blasting heat inside, and you practically slouch upon entering, the weight of the cozy atmosphere cocooning you like a warm blanket. If there’s one place that will always feel like a hug, it’s 104 Beans, your coffee shop of choice (and obligation, considering the small size of your campus) for the last six years.

Pieck, your favorite barista, greets you in her typical dreamy manner. “Hi love, same as usual?”

“Hey Pieck,” you greet her with a weary smile. As you dig around in your bag for your wallet, the extent of your exhaustion versus the amount of work you have left to do surfaces in your brain. “Actually…no, not my usual. Can I get a quad shot Americano?”

Pieck pauses where she’s scribbling onto a paper cup with a Sharpie, eyes flitting back up to you in disbelief. “A quad shot Americano?”

“A quad shot Americano.”

“Jesus,” Pieck sighs, eyes wide, “work’s that rough, huh? Black coffee not going to cut it?”

“The shakes will be worth it,” you confirm, swiping your card through the machine.

“Can I please make it a cappuccino then? You’re going to need something creamy to get all that espresso down,” Pieck looks back up at you, eyes pleading.

“Fine,” you sigh, “but–”

“Almond milk, I know,” Pieck winks at you, sliding your cup down the assembly line of baristas working amongst the hissing of the espresso machine and the pleasant, folky music floating from the speakers. “We’re a little busy, so give me five and I’ll bring it over to you.”

You smile gratefully and collect your things, turning to scout out what’s hopefully a quiet table in the corner, when a pair of arms tossed around your shoulders stops you. The familiar scent of fruity perfume tickles your nose, and you slump against the tight grip in relief.

“You made it out of the house!” Sasha’s eyes glow with pride, as if you’d just run a marathon.

“It’s not like I’m a hermit,” you roll your eyes, “I have class five days a week.”

“You don’t go anywhere besides class or your house though, so you still get participation points,” Sasha grins, shaking your shoulders, “how are you feeling?”

“Well…”

Sasha’s expression crumples. “Still that bad, huh?”

“The Luke thing was pathetic of me, but honestly, it’s not haunting me as much as I thought it would,” you admit, pausing for a moment to allow Sasha to grab her coffee from the barista when her name is called, “the one thing that’s really sticking with me is the Eren issue.”

“Like, the voicemail? Or Breeze?”

“Both. I would give anything to know what that voicemail said, but whatever was going on between us aside, I just hope he’s okay, y’know? With Breeze back in the picture and everything.”

Sasha bites into her bottom lip and glances around the coffee shop, checking every face at every table. You know that face; she’s hiding something.

“What?”

“What?” Sasha cocks her head innocently. You nearly smack her.

“You’re not telling me something.”

“Uh…okay, yeah, I’m not, but I’m not sure if I should. I mean, you’re actually out of the house–”

“I leave my house plenty!”

“You know what I mean,” Sasha scoffs, “it’s just…if you’re feeling better, I don’t want to throw you back into the deep end.”

You have no words for that, absolutely despising the way that she is completely correct. Whatever information lies behind Sasha’s bitten lip could either make you feel a hundred times better or a hundred times worse, and you’re stuck debating on whether you should gamble or not when Sasha makes the decision for you.

“Fine, you wore me down,” she sighs.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you point out, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to,” Sasha says, annoyed, “you have this, like, fucking puppy dog look. Makes me sick. Get your coffee, I’ll find a table, and we can talk.”

Like clockwork, the moment Sasha steps away, Pieck grabs your attention and hands your coffee over along with an extra hot cup half-full of steamed almond milk. You look at her questioningly, and she merely shrugs.

“That’s a lot of espresso. I know you’re in, like, your depressed writer phase right now, but I figured a little extra milk would come in handy.”

“You’re the best,” you smile at her affectionately, thinking absentmindedly that you should invite her out to Scout’s sometime. Before she can respond, Pieck’s gaze lands on something just over your shoulder. You can smell him even before you turn around, musky cologne and a little hint of weed. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hey Pieck. Usual?” His throaty timbre cuts through the thick air, sharp as a knife. Pieck nods politely and gets to work on his coffee, forgoing a trip to the cash register. That tracks; Pieck’s hooded eyes are bloodshot more often than not.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, trying to sneak around him, but Eren’s quicker than you, side-stepping to cut you off.

“Hey stranger,” he smiles down at you, but it’s tense, nervous, “trying to run off on me?”

“Didn’t even realize that was you, sorry,” you lie, offering him a thin smile in return. You spot Sasha gaping at you across the cafe, waving her arms wildly and mouthing What the fuck?. You can’t help but feel similarly.

“It’s been awhile, how are you?”

“M’fine, just really busy with school.” God, you hate this, this awkward small talk barely parsing its way through the jungle of things left unsaid between you two. “You?”

“Fine,” Eren looks around awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Good,” you speak directly into your coffee, unable to stomach the emerald green peering down at you.

“You know,” Eren’s words come out quite like he can’t believe he’s saying them, “I kinda thought you were avoiding me.”

“Did you?” Your voice is caught in your throat, coming out in a pathetic squeak. Has he heard the voicemail? The startling turn the conversation’s taken must be visible all over your face, because Sasha’s flailing arms beckoning you over to the table grow more urgent.

“You haven’t texted me back, haven’t seen you in a couple weeks,” Eren’s incredibly focused on his shoes, kicking one Vans sneaker idly back and forth on the floor and making a squeaking sound, “so yeah, sort of.”

“I’m busy,” you deadpan, praying to any god you can remember the name of that you’ll just disintegrate right where you stand. Eren meets your eyes again, smirks disbelievingly.

“You said that.”

Something in his tone annoys you, something about his insinuation that he knows you’re blatantly lying, that he’s teasing you over your embarrassment, ignites a little flame in your chest. You scowl at him.

“I mean, you must be pretty busy too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Breeze just got back into town, didn’t she?” No going back now. Eren’s face blanches for a moment, features growing pale, but he manages to school his face back into that nonchalant pout that you want to slap right off his face.

“Historia told you?” He doesn’t sound surprised; in face, he sounds almost expectant, like he knew you’d find out at some point. It stakes the embers burning in your chest.

“She’s my best friend, so yeah.” This feels like an argument. It shouldn’t be an argument, but your clipped tone is pushing it in that direction. You’ve spent the last two weeks reminding yourself that you have no claim on Eren, no reason to be hurt or upset, but here you are, feeling that familiar rush of anger coursing through your veins.

“I mean, we haven’t been hanging out or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Who said I was worried?”

Eren’s eyebrows knit together, a little frown playing at his mouth. “I don’t know, I mean–”

“Look, Sasha’s waiting for me,” you point over Eren’s shoulder to the little two-top table, where Sasha has stilled within the blink of an eye, shooting Eren an innocent smile and a little wave. “I’d love to catch up, but maybe another time.”

“It was good seeing you.” Eren looks confused, albeit, a little bit hurt, and you hate it. Why is that so much worse, even worse than the sight of him with Breeze hanging off of his arm? His little pout puts a needle through your ballooning anger, and you deflate, sighing.

“I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Eren takes his coffee from Pieck and ambles towards the door, sparing you one last glance over his shoulder. Unwilling to hold his eyes any longer, you scurry to your table, just having realized that Pieck forgot to put a coffee sleeve around your cup and that it’s been burning your hand for the last several minutes.

“Ow! Shit!” You practically crash land across from Sasha, dropping your cups in synchronicity and shaking your red palms around in the air to cool them down.

“What was that?” Sasha hisses, leaning across the table so viciously that your drinks nearly topple over.

“He just showed up!”

“You didn’t have to talk to him.”

“I didn’t try to. He just, like, materialized behind me and started talking. What was I supposed to do? Run away?”

“Little shit,” Sasha swears, glaring at the door as if her anger can shoot through it like a laser beam, cut Eren down where he’s surely almost a block down the street by now, “what did he say?”

“He asked if I’ve been avoiding him," you say, twirling your wooden coffee stirrer through your drink idly and trying to look as if your heart’s not still beating at what’s sure to be a dangerous rate.

“Well, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. He got all smug about it,” you scoff, the replayed scene of Eren’s self-assured smirk wiping off of his face bringing you a little bit of petty satisfaction, “until I brought up Breeze.”

Sasha’s eyes grow wide, and she looks around the coffee shop again, as if Eren or Breeze might come popping out of one of the large potted plants in the corners. “That’s actually what I wanted to tell you. What did he say about it?”

“What did you hear?” You narrow your eyes at her, and she narrows hers back.

“You first.”

“He didn’t say much, just looked really surprised that I brought her up. Said they haven’t been hanging out.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sasha snorts, rolling her eyes. Something in your chest that had begun to glimmer, something akin to hope, feels like it just got a bucket of ice-water poured over it. You cock your head, furrow your brows.

“How would you know?”

“Because Hitch and I grabbed some coffee–”

“Hitch? I thought that was a–”

“Okay, don’t crucify me, I know,” Sasha holds her hands up defensively, “it was supposed to be a one night stand, but…I don’t know. She’s cool.”

“Cool?” Even through your desperation for anything Eren-related after a two week drought, you smile knowingly at her. Sasha’s not hard to read, especially when her face goes bright red from chin to forehead.

“Yes,” she hisses, “cool. Anyway, we came by a few days ago, and Eren was here. With Breeze.”

“I mean, I expected as much.”

You’re lying, you’re so lying. The only consolation you’ve had over the last two weeks that you’re not a complete moron is the hope that maybe, just maybe, Eren’s just as forlorn as you, laying around and wishing his phone would buzz with your name on it, wishing you’d pop up at his door with a bag of popcorn ready for movie night. Instead, your worst suspicions have been confirmed, and not only is Eren very much involved with Breeze again, but he had lied straight to your face about it. Ouch.

“They weren’t like, holding hands or anything. Honestly, it looked like they were fighting.”

“Well, what did Hitch say about it?” You don’t even know if you want to know, but with your brain short-circuiting inside your skull, your mouth has free reign to seek out information that will be about as soothing as lemon juice on a papercut.

“Eren won’t talk to any of them about her,” Sasha burns her tongue on her coffee and sucks in a sharp breath, “not even Armin, apparently. She said he’s been moody lately.”

“Wonder why,” you mumble, mulling all of this new information over in your head. Breeze is bad for him, makes him crazy, you already know that. But you didn’t think it would start this soon– you feel like if anything, he should be ecstatic that his long-lost love has finally come back to him. And he can stop trying to replace her, your brain adds helpfully, only doubling the watery ache swelling in your chest.

“Who cares?” Sasha rips open a granola bar, biting into it and continuing to speak with her mouth full. “That’s why you’ve got to stop avoiding him.”

“Huh? That seems like the opposite–”

“No,” Sasha cuts you off, an air of authority in her normally chipper voice, “you’re not going to cower in the corner just because Eren’s back with his shitty ex girlfriend–”

“It’s not just because of Breeze,” you correct her, “it’s because of that voicemail. I have no idea what I said. There’s a lot that’s contributing to my self-induced isolation, trust me.”

“Regardless,” Sasha mouths around another bite of her granola bar, “the only thing that will make you feel better is being around him.”

“That sounds a little contradictory–”

“Trust me,” Sasha interrupts you again, “the best way to make a guy come around is to be up in his face, flaunting how hot and single you are, and to not give him an ounce of your attention. It’s a tried and true method, I promise.”

It turns out that you are a beacon for those with bad ideas, evidently, because later that night, you’ve ended up at Scout’s, cuddled up against the bar with Sasha despite Historia’s fervent protests. If Historia shows up later, just to “check in” (read: see what’s come of Sasha’s terrible plan), you won’t be surprised. She’s prone to being the mom friend and the harbinger of gossip, but she hasn’t shown face quite yet. It’s just you, Sasha, and a handful of regulars, sipping unreasonably cold beers and trying to act as if the early December chill hasn’t rattled you to your bones.

“This is a stupid idea,” you murmur against the lip of your bottle, trying not to seem as unnerved as you are, even after an hour of waiting and sipping. Sasha scoffs beside you, picking through your near-empty basket of peanut shells in search of a full pod.

“It’s not. He’ll be here.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you dragged me out. It only took a week for me to start missing this place,” you run a thoughtful hand along the varnished wooden bartop, “but I’m just still not sure about this whole seeing-Eren-on-purpose thing.”

Before Sasha can answer, the door swings open to reveal the man in question: Eren, accompanied by Armin and Connie, as always, and sporting his standard uniform. Black hoodie, slouchy khaki pants that are tightened around the ankles, and his beat-up Vans.

You nearly sigh into your drink at how delicious he looks, only stopping when the little voice in your head reminds you that the voicemail you’d left him exists. Friends– no, strangers now? The concept of labeling your bizarre, gray-areas-only relationship with Eren brings a chuckle up your throat, one that spills onto the bar.

You can feel him watching you, but to your simultaneous surprise and disappointment, he gives you space, sidling up to the bar a few seats down from where you and Sasha are occupying a couple of bar stools. When Connie throws up a cheerful hand in greeting to you, you tentatively wave back, only for Armin to grab Connie’s attention and turn him toward the bar.

“Ha!” Sasha says triumphantly, looking at you with her eyes glowing like you’re supposed to have reached a revelation of some sort. “See?”

“Did you plot this with Connie?” You narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“No, I’m just a genius, that’s all.”

“I feel like your theory is being proven wrong, not right. He’s not even sitting near us.”

“Because you have the upper hand!” Sasha grins.

“The upper hand?”

“Yeah, he’s giving you some space so you can make the first move, get what you want out of him.”

“And what do I want out of him?” You nearly growl in your frustration, feeling silly sitting exactly four barstools down from Eren with him running through your mind as if he isn’t close enough to just hop up and hug. It’s a genuine question more than a rhetorical one; you’re not even sure what you expect out of him anymore. Another fuck? A fancy date night? A lifetime worth of radio silence, as if Eren isn’t the person you’ve connected better with than nearly anyone else in your romantic history?

Sasha’s brows furrow. “Don’t you know?”

“No! That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

“Oh,” Sasha frowns, rubs her chin, “we should have figured that part out before we came, I guess.”

“Sasha!” You whisper-hiss, ever mindful of what you’re sure to be prying ears only a few feet away. “So you have no plan?”

Sasha stumbles, stutters, and eventually, flushes bright red with a shrug. “Okay, fine, I have no plan. But at least it’s something to break up your routine of laying in bed eating chips and moping around the library.”

“You’re such a bitch.” You roll your eyes, but you don’t mean it, not really. Regardless of how things stand, at the very least you can sneak little glances at Eren, take in how good he looks– no, you correct yourself firmly. You hopped off that train of your own accord, and you’re better for it.

With some verbal manhandling, you goad Sasha into a lull of small talk, classes, anything that comes to mind. A pair of eyes finds you, not the emerald that keeps you up at night, but a pair of hazel old-and-new eyes draw to you, and you can feel the scratch of an unwelcome gaze on your skin.

“Floch’s here,” you state the obvious, sipping your drink and giving no physical indication that you’ve noticed him, staring straight ahead as you mutter to Sasha.

“Christ, this was not a good idea,” Sasha groans, face-palming.

“Wow, I sure wish that someone had suggested this was a bad idea, wouldn’t that have been nice?”

“Shut up,” Sasha says, peeking warily over her shoulder, “I think that’s Hitch in the corner, too.”

You frown, confused at the hunched, anxious change in her posture. “Why are you being weird? Go say hey.”

“I’m not abandoning you!”

“Oh, shut it. Why are you really being weird?”

“I, uh…” Sasha twirls her beer around on the counter, blushing, “I haven’t texted her back in like, four or five days.”

“Sasha! You like her, I can tell. What’s gotten into you?”

“It was supposed to be a one-night thing,” Sasha moans, letting her face fall dramatically into her hands, “and then it was movie nights and coffee and just…way beyond casual hooking up. I like her, but…I don’t know! I panicked.”

You chew on her admission for a second, selfishly comparing Sasha’s situation to your own. Was that what you were doing with Eren? No, surely not, but was that what he was doing with you? You knew he had loved Breeze, that she had wrecked him, but maybe…just maybe some small part of you wants to hope that he’s moved on, that the coffee shop sighting was a fluke.

You shoo Sasha in Hitch’s direction, demanding she run over to apologize and make nice with Hitch, partially to save Sasha’s first shot at a real relationship in years and partially because you want to stew alone with your thoughts. Before you can get too deep into your black hole of what ifs, a familiar presence is sliding into Sasha’s seat, grinning lewdly.

You sigh; it was only a matter of time before he sought you out.

“What do you want, Forster?”

“Last name only? Ouch,” Floch places a hand over his heart, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the countertop. You recognize his demeanor immediately: pupils blown wide, buzzing to the brim with nervous energy. Floch’s always dabbled in party drugs, part of why you could only stand to be around him in small doses back when you were hooking up.

“Are you coked out right now?” Mindful of Levi’s hovering presence behind the bar, you keep your voice to a low hiss.

“So you can’t call me by my first name, but you can ask such personal questions? Jesus, you really are full of it, aren’t you?”

“Floch,” you nearly groan in frustration, “I thought I made it perfectly clear the last time I saw you that I’m not interested.”

“Why are you being so mean to me, hm?” Floch snakes a hand around your shoulders, jostling you until your face is mere inches from his. You’re more than aware of a pair of green eyes nearly boring a hole in your forehead, and you feel a pang of regret that you sent Sasha away so quickly, remembering far too late that Hitch’s table doesn’t offer a great view of where you’re seated at the bar.

“I’m not being mean,” you try to push at him, but he’s locked around you, “I’m just not interested.”

“Stop being such a bitch, Jesus Christ,” Floch finally lets you shove him away from you, but he’s far from done, “when did you get so stuck up, huh?”

“Floch. Keep your voice down, and walk away.” You try to warn him; Floch may be a pain in your ass, but you’d like to believe that he’s not a bad guy, deep down. You’re too late, however.

Eren’s materialized between you and Floch before you can blink, before you can even get another word out. His sudden presence forces you out of your barstool, stepping around him to get a better read on what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Eren seems not to notice you trying to insert yourself between him and Floch, and the look on his face makes you step back momentarily.

He looks terrifying. Eren’s nostrils are flaring, eyes blown wide and jaw clenched tight. He’s taking full advantage of his height, glaring down at Floch with such menace that if looks could kill, Floch would already be laid out on the floor.

“Get the fuck out of here, dude. She said no.”

“What are you, her little guard dog?” Floch, infamous for never knowing what’s best for him, scoffs at Eren’s incredibly intimidating posture.

“Maybe I am,” Eren sneers, “I’m damn sure not going to sit there and let you speak to her like that.”

“Who’s this loser?” Connie’s to your right now, gesturing to Floch. You don’t miss the telltale clenching of Eren’s hands by his side, and it hits your dizzied mind what’s going on. Eren’s going to end up swinging if you don’t interfere, and Connie’s there for backup.

“Floch, please.” You reach a feeble hand up to Floch’s chest, trying to gently push him in the other direction.

In the blink of an eye, Floch’s grabbing you by the wrist hard enough to solicit a yelp from your lips, throwing your arm away from him with a look of disgust.

“Oh, so now you want to touch me, bitch?”

No sooner has Floch’s hand released your arm than Connie’s got his arms wrapped around you, yanking you out of the crossfire. Amidst a series of gasps, Eren grabs Floch around the back of the neck, pins him face-first to the bar.

“Jaeger!” Levi barks sharply, darting over to the scene of the commotion.

“Is that what gets you off, huh?” Eren’s nearly nose-to-nose with Floch, whose busted lip is twisted in a grimace and dribbling little bits of blood onto the varnished bartop. “Calling women bitches when they don’t want your little dick?”

“Let him go, Eren,” Armin tries to intervene, having already dashed over from his barstool. You want to back him up, but you’re frozen where you’re pinned to Connie’s chest, trembling in his arms. You know Eren’s a little rough-and-tumble, but this, seeing it in real life, is much more terrifying than you could have imagined.

“What the hell? Are you okay?” You can hear Sasha’s voice from beside you, close enough to touch but distant in comparison to where your vision is zeroed in on Eren’s grip on the back of Floch’s neck.

“Answer me!” Eren rears Floch back a few inches and slams him against the bar again. Floch curses under his breath, wriggles fruitlessly under Eren’s weight.

“Get the fuck off me, Jaeger!”

“You fucking wish,” Eren hisses, tightening his grip further, “now apologize to my girl before you make me do something I’ll regret.”

“Eren,” you find your voice again, shaking out of Connie’s grip. You fist your hands into Eren’s hoodie sleeves, tugging hard enough to get his attention. “He’s not worth it. Let him go.”

“Listen to her, Jaeger,” Levi’s already-deep voice is stained with warning.

When you pull at his sleeve a little harder, Eren turns to you, eyes still blown wide and teeth bared. It startles you, but you hold firm, setting your own jaw and shaking your head.

“Let. Him. Go. Now, Eren.” You’re not sure how you’ve managed to muster up the conviction in your voice, but you’re grateful for it, as it seems to shake Eren back into himself. Eren slowly releases Floch and in the same easy motion, he guides you behind him with one long, strong arm.

“You,” Levi points accusingly at Floch, “out.”

Floch’s jaw drops. “I didn’t even–”

“Out.” Levi’s tone leaves no room for argument, and Floch seems to understand at least that. He turns his glare back to you and Eren, scowling deeply.

“The next time I see you, Jaeger, it’s fucking over.”

“Get lost before you make me fucking embarrass you,” Eren says, voice dripping with venom. Floch shakes his head, lets his gaze land on you. A chilling smile breaks over his features.

“Next time, sweetheart.”

“Get the fuck out of here already, bro,” Connie snaps, pointing towards the exit. Floch takes his leave, sauntering towards the door with all the confidence of someone who hadn’t just been pinned against the countertop. A heavy, staticky silence falls over the bar.

“If I see you fighting in here again, it’s over.” Levi’s cold eyes fall on Eren, who nods curtly in understanding. Eren brushes his hands through his hair, rests a hand on the bun at the back of his head. Something strange is coursing through your body; something that tastes like anger, burns like heartbreak, falls bitter on your tongue like envy.

“Are you okay?” Sasha appears at your side again, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Floch’s such a psycho, I’m not even surprised he picked a fight.”

You nod numbly, eyes never leaving Eren. He finally looks back down at you, none of the heat having left his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” It takes you a moment to realize that it’s you speaking, you throwing those words up the inches from your mouth to Eren’s. Eren’s face contorts into a frown.

“What do you mean? He was bothering you, wasn’t he?”

“So you try to fight him?” You seethe. Maybe it is anger, this bizarre, foreign emotion tingling at the tips of your fingers. No, that’s not quite it, you’re not angry you’re just…confused. Hurt that Eren’s frolicking around with Breeze, doing whatever he pleases, and yet, he’s jumping into bar fights to save you from the tangible evidence of your past.

“What do you expect me to do when someone talks to you like that?” Eren hisses back, eyes narrowed.

Sasha’s backed away from the two of you now; you’re aware of your friends staring at you, noses scrunched as they try to figure out exactly what’s happening now. You wish you had an answer to give them, but all you can muster is this heartache shooting out of your mouth in the form of daggers.

“I don’t need you,” you spit, “I don’t need your protection.”

“It didn’t exactly look like you had that handled,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, and what are you? My knight in shining fucking armor? Don’t you have other damsels in distress waiting for you?” It’s too far, you know that as soon as the words leave your mouth, but the liquid courage Sasha had insisted upon is making your tongue sharper than you’d anticipated.

Eren rears back from where he’s hunched to meet you on your level, nostrils flaring again. Before you can utter another word, he’s got an arm thrown around your shoulders none-too-gently, practically dragging your stumbling feet towards the exit.

“Outside.”

#hehehehehe enjoy #i love plug eren so much it hurts my head #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger series #eren jaeger fanfic #eren yeager series #attack on titan fic #aot fic #much ado about nothing #much ado uni #much ado universe

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago

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Fooled Around and Fell in Love.

Machi Komacine x F Reader.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

Music blasts out of your phone’s speaker at a questionable quality. The bathroom’s acoustics perfectly contain the soundwaves as if it were a dimension entirely outside of reality. Nothing in exists besides Machi, you, and your eyeshadow palette that fits expertly in your hand.

Certain divots contain pigment that is more worn than others. Machi notes the colors that you must favor the most. A glimmering champagne color, soft pink, and nude pigments which range from light to dark. When you tap the eyeshadow brush on the side of the palette, fairy dust cascades, catching the fading light you swore you’d replace months ago. She makes a mental note to pick up a lightbulb and to it herself.

You’re close enough to breathe in each other's air.

She smells your perfume, delicate and fruity, dutifully dabbed onto your inner wrist and exposed neck. Barely faded love bites litter your skin from previous passionate exploits. You never try to erase the proof of her existence she leaves on you. When it comes to definitive proof that Machi actually inhabits this world, you’re the closest she gets. You turn a specter from Meteor City into a tangible being — made from flesh and blood.

You procure a pocket-sized mirror. “Well? Do you like?”

Machi studies her reflection for a moment, then her attention is back on you. “Yeah.”

“You barely looked,” you huff, scrunching your nose in indignation. Machi fights her lip’s urge to quirk up. “I’ll have you know that I’m a high-in-demand makeup artist, famed worldwide. I expect a minimum of three words praising my ingenuity.”

“It looks good.”

You throw your head back and groan. “The three word limit was a suggestion, not a hard rule.”

“And I followed it.”

Every time Machi prepares to enter your apartment, she resolves to tease you less.

Every time this tenet is put to the test, she fails.

“That’s it! I’ll be upping your charge as recompense for my wounded heart.”

She raises an eyebrow. “This was going to cost me? How much?”

You press a manicured finger to your cheek, painted the shade of Machi’s hair by the woman herself. According to you, her hands are far more steady than yours, making her an ideal candidate for the job. She never complained at a chance to feel your soft skin against hers. Unmarred by crime, clean from shedding rivers of crimson as deep as the Styx.

“Three, no, five kisses,” you insist. “It’s up to ten now.”

… Machi has no idea how you say these things without a hint of shame.

She leans forward, begrudgingly, as if the payment were a burden and not a delight.

You put a premature end to the process by hovering your finger near her parted lips. “Not yet. I don’t want to get my gloss on your lips, matte suits you better.”

Machi’s knuckles turn white from how harshly she grips the edge of the sink’s countertop. If she applied any more pressure, it’d crumble into a pitiful avalanche. Despite the restraint she’s exerting, her visage betrays nothing, giving the impression that she’d unmoved. In reality, she wants nothing more than to mix the pigment of your lips, forming a shade that’s uniquely you.

“Awe, babe, are you grumpy?” The knowing lilt in your voice makes her heart flutter.

“Just get on with it already,” Machi grumbles. The tips of her ears feel warm.

You give a dorky salute and an enthusiastic sir yes sir!

You run the brush’s tip over her smoothly, as a painter would on their canvas.

Her heart beats in a staccato rhythm.

Thump, thump, thump.

You move on to her next eye, utilizing the same care, precision, and expertise. More adrenaline pumps through her veins than in the thick of a heist. Her body gives into your thrall without a fight. You are the sun she orbits around, allowing her to experience seasons she never thought were meant for her. Winter’s biting chill of loneliness when you’re apart. Spring’s budding affections that blossom one after the other. Summer’s hot passion which leaves you both sweaty and satisfied. Then autumn’s relaxed tenure, refreshing in its briskness.

You didn’t just unlock the world for her, you’ve shown her the entire universe.

“Aaaaand voila,” you announce. When her eyes readjust to being open, she sees a sight so priceless, not even a thief would have the heart to steal it — your bright smile.

She twists her head to use the mirror behind her. “You did a good job.”

Her words are light, like bubbles rising to the top of a champagne glass.

Machi hears you grumble something about needing to buy her a thesaurus, but, nonetheless, you contentedly put your eyeliner away, humming to the current song on your playlist. You leech off her music subscription (your words, not hers), but she doesn’t mind. There’s something comforting about seeing what song or podcast you’re listening to when she’s continents away.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“I like it,” Machi says. Then, she swoops in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. Unbeknownst to her, the resulting lipstick stain will remain for the rest of the night. “Thanks.”

The look you give her can only be described as lovestruck. “W-Well, having such a pretty model certainly helps.”

Your little stutter makes her crack a closed-mouth smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After a moment of staring wordlessly at one another, your posture straightens, realization etching onto your features.

“I almost forgot! Eyelash curler and then mascara. I’ll let you do that part though. Applying mascara on others is tricky. I don’t want your eyelashes to look like spider legs.”

Quietly, she clears her throat. If only you knew.

“... Right. Wouldn’t want that.”

#machi makes me feel emotions previously unfelt #machi x reader #machi komacine x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #reader insert #my stuff

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voraciousvore · 4 months ago

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Giganterra (Chapter 51)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (50) | Next (52)

Content Warning: Blood and gore, violence, death

Word Count: 2.4k

------ Chapter 51: Hunting Expedition ------

Candy feared that the king was legitimately going to murder her in a fit of rage. His violence was escalating, to the point where he came close to mangling her beyond repair on a regular basis. The servants, along with his family members, avoided him as best they could, lest they become the unlucky target of his wrath. Nobody wished to be beaten—or worse, executed—for a petty error.

After being thumped hard on the skull when the king lost his temper, Leon suggested that he go hunting to blow off some steam and sate his bloodlust. To his relief, King Richard agreed with enthusiasm. He summoned Sir Maneater, his squire, and the dog trainer to his study and ordered them to prepare for a hunting expedition. Joey and Martin saddled up all the horses, collected their weapons, and set out into the woodlands surrounding the castle with the king.

The king, despite the sharper edge in his words and gestures, was in high spirits at the prospect of hunting. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the kill. Unlike some men of higher station, he relished the opportunity to personally skin and gut an animal, to soak his hands in blood. Ajax, riding alongside him on a gargantuan coal-black stallion, carried the king’s gilded bow and hunting knife for him.

Hardon chattered on to Martin about hunting techniques and the best game, with the knight giving brief and polite responses in turn. Joey rode on Martin’s right in silence, unsure what to say or if engaging in the conversation would be rude—not that he wanted to speak to the depraved king anyway. Ajax scanned the trees like a hawk for potential threats. The dog trainer urged the army of greyhounds ahead of the horses to seek a game trail.

“I’m hoping to snag a few red foxes,” the king prattled on. “They have such lovely pelts, perfect for lining a new coat for the upcoming winter.” As he spoke, he idly scratched at his chest inside his shirt and plucked out Candy, chained to his necklace. “I want to keep my little darling warm, after all! Assuming she makes it another season without pissing me off!” He snarled and snapped his teeth at her, eliciting a shrill shriek that made him laugh wickedly.

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind hunting rabbits or deer either. They make the most delicious stews. She could always stay warm in my belly too!” He chuckled while Candy turned dreadfully pale. She glanced over at Martin with pleading, watery eyes. He averted his gaze with shame. There was nothing he could do for her.

Candy broke inside, seeing the handsome knight of her dreams dressed in the king’s livery of silver and purple—the colors of the enemy, complete with the sable wolf adorning his breast. He wasn’t on her side, and he was never going to help her. She choked out a sob, prompting the king to squeeze her with irritation.

“Enough of that nonsense now. Unless you want me to give you a real reason to cry,” Hardon growled. He was growing weary of Candy’s near-constant melancholy, so different from Millie’s cheerfulness. She bit her tongue hard, struggling to hold back the rising tide of grief. Luckily, loud baying from several of the hounds distracted her tormentor. The dogs surged forward in a stampede; the riders spurred on their horses in excited pursuit.

“Tally-ho!” the king exclaimed gleefully. “Ajax, my bow!” The guard passed him the weapon with an arrow already in position and the king took a shot. The fox, its red fur standing out among the brown and green brush, darted to the side and dodged the arrow. Joey sent an arrow of his own in swift succession, piercing the fox in the nape of its neck. The creature squealed and collapsed on its side, thrashing and panting.

“Ah, a direct hit!” King Richard shouted victoriously. “Let me finish it!” The dog trainer stayed the hounds and the king leapt off his horse with a bloodthirsty, triumphant leer. He drew his knife and approached his dying quarry with confidence.

“Be cautious, Your Majesty!” Martin warned as he dismounted his own steed. “That fox will fight to its dying breath!” The king ignored his warning and approached recklessly. The fox yipped and feebly scrabbled at the dirt with its paws, but couldn’t get away fast enough. The giant crouched over the fox and raised his dagger to plunge the blade into its flesh.

The fox lunged forward at the threat, in a last-ditch effort to defend itself. Hardon recoiled in surprise. Candy screamed as the giant animal’s maw, bristling with sharp white teeth, rocketed towards her as she hung in the air from the king’s neck. The huge jaws snapped shut inches from her toes, barely missing her, as a strand of thick saliva splashed on her calf. The giant kicked the beast into submission and stabbed it in the gut with a splatter of garish crimson.

“Gotcha!” he gloated, dragging the blade up the creature’s belly to its collar as it barked in agony. A spray of scarlet sprinkled his hands and torso, including Candy. She wailed in an earsplitting tone, horrified by the carnage and still reeling from nearly being bitten in half.

The king winced. “Ugh, Candy. Do you have to make such a racket? That’s really annoying.” Candy tried to stop, but her body was wracked with heaving sobs. She choked and cried and gasped in a most undignified display, unable to hold in all her feelings and fluids any longer.

Hardon groaned. “Uggghhhh. Stupid human,” he muttered. He turned to Martin, who happened to be wading through the vegetation towards him. “Hold this whiny little rat for a second.” He unclipped Candy from his necklace and tossed her at Martin, who scrambled to catch her in shock. His breath hitched in his throat as he held her in his gloved palm. She looked terrible, with flecks of blood and saliva on her sickly skin, and snot and tears running down her puckered face. Her body was dotted with purple and gray bruises from the king’s violence.

When she realized she was sitting in Martin’s hand, her cries stopped. She sucked in a sharp breath and gazed up at him with desperation. She was too upset to speak coherently, but her eyes spoke for her. Help me. HELP ME. HELP ME PLEASE!!!

Martin’s heart stopped. He'd obsessed over this woman’s lamentable fate, schemed about stealing her away from the king, regretted his decision not to help her every night, and mentally flagellated himself for his powerlessness and ineptitude. And here she was, by an extraordinary stroke of fate, sitting in his hand: unguarded and ripe for the taking. He glanced over at the king, who was preoccupied with slitting the fox’s throat and tearing out its entrails. His back was to the knight, oblivious to the frantic machinations in Martin’s head.

Martin slowly backed away from the king, step by step, as he closed his hand over Candy protectively. He knew he was throwing away everything he had worked so hard for in a flash, but he had never been so certain of a decision in his life. He tried to act casual and inconspicuous as he mounted his horse. He stuffed Candy into one of the pouches on his belt to keep his hands free, in case he needed to fight. Joey tilted his head in a questioning gesture, not comprehending what Martin was plotting. Martin urged on his horse and trotted away.

At the sound of horse hooves, the king spun around, still clasping the fox’s liver in his hand. His eyes blazed with outraged recognition when he realized what Martin was doing. “Ajax! After him!” he bellowed, pointing towards the knight. Martin, hearing his order, spurred his horse into a gallop. Ajax kicked his own beast into pursuit. Joey froze up, eyes wide.

“You too, you damned fool!” the king yelled at him. The squire, flustered, hastened to catch up. The king swore explosively as he threw away the liver and wiped off the blood soaking his hands.

Martin leaned into his horse with desperation. The trees flew by in a blur as he rapidly crossed through a grassy clearing. The heavy hooves of Ajax’s steed pounded behind him, getting closer and closer, as loud as his own hammering heart. Joey brought up the rear, straining to catch up. He drew his bow and aimed it with a steady arm. He was not, however, pointing it at Martin. His arrow, hungry for blood, was fixed on Ajax, at a chink in his armor.

Joey let loose the arrow. His aim was true, and the projectile sailed directly into the flesh of the massive guard’s back. To Joey’s shock, the guard flinched slightly from the impact but otherwise was unaffected. The squire shot another arrow, this time into his neck, and the guard absorbed it like nothing more than a bee sting. He ignored Joey and continued his pursuit relentlessly.

Ajax was gaining on his prey. Martin glanced back to behold the terrifying image of the guard with an arrow tip sticking out of his throat, completely unfazed as a river of blood ran down his chest. He urged on his horse, but the trees were growing thicker and the horse was forced to slow down. Leaves and branches slapped at Martin’s face, obscuring his vision. He heard the cracks of wood breaking from behind him, dreadfully close.

A thick branch whacked him hard in the torso and knocked him off his horse. His skull collided with the ground, causing his vision to explode into a kaleidoscope of stars. The horse whinnied and darted off into the trees, disappearing in seconds. Martin groaned, dazed and winded, as the hooves of the gigantic stallion clomped down next to his head, followed by huge leather boots. Martin’s hand strayed to the pouch attached to his belt; fortunately, Candy hadn’t been crushed in the fall.

A beefy, hairy hand grabbed his shirt and hauled him into the air. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him. Martin tried to retaliate, but the world spun around him at a nauseating rate, and his head lolled down to his chest. He grunted incoherently and flailed his arms like limp noodles. The guard, with his singular eye, stared at him impassively before turning his attention to the approaching gallop of hooves.

Joey’s horse careened through the trees close behind. He saw the menacing shadow of Ajax’s figure standing through a veil of leaves. At first, he hoped to trample the man with his horse, but he was forced to curb his momentum when he saw Martin hanging from his hands before him. His horse stumbled over a thick root and Joey flipped backwards over its hindquarters, smacking into a tree trunk. He crumbled to the ground, but clumsily recovered his footing as his enemy lunged at him, tossing Martin to the side.

The squire heard the smooth schlink of a sword sliding out of its scabbard. He managed to draw his own sword just in time, narrowly parrying the blade thrust from his opponent. Ajax’s blade slid across his with a squeal of metal and impaled the tree behind him with startling force, sinking into the bark almost completely to the hilt. The giant strained with tremendous muscle to rip the sword out in a flurry of splinters.

He jerked back, momentarily off-balance. Joey saw his opportunity and darted in with intent to kill. He landed a direct hit in his broad midsection, stabbing him brutally below the sternum. Ajax didn’t slump over or scream, merely glaring at him coldly. Joey twisted the blade savagely, but despite a hot gush of blood, the guard still failed to show any indication of pain. Joey gaped, incredulous.

With a roar, Ajax retaliated and swung his sword. Joey hopped back, relinquishing his weapon to his enemy’s body, but he failed to evade the vicious slash that cleaved him diagonally from hip to shoulder. He cried out in pain as he lost his footing and collapsed against the split trunk behind him. Ajax raised his arm to deal the killing blow.

Martin jumped him from behind and wrenched back his muscular arm with a feral cry. Knife in hand, the knight swung it wildly at the guard’s face, hoping to perhaps blind him if the other fatal wounds wouldn’t stop him. He missed his good eye, instead thrusting his dagger into the empty eye socket covered by the eyepatch. To his surprise, his knife contacted an object inside the skull with a gravelly crunch, something very unlike flesh and blood but rather stone. The guard convulsed violently and dropped to the earth like a puppet with cut strings.

Martin pulled his knife from the guard’s eye socket with confusion. Stuck to the other end of his blade was a glowing runic stone, cracked in the middle. The blade tip had caught in the carved symbol and distorted it, diluting the magic within. Martin pulled the stone off his knife and threw it away, then rushed over to his loyal squire, who was lying on his back.

“Joey! Oh God, Joey!” Martin exclaimed, examining the sizable gash. Ajax’s sword had cut through his clothes and roughly cleaved his flesh apart. The wound oozed blood, saturating the torn fabric.

“I’m okay,” Joey gasped. “It’s not a fatal wound, and it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s a shallow cut. It just... really hurts.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I can move...”

A shroud of horror darkened over the knight as the howling of hounds sounded off in the distance. “Oh no! C’mon Joey, we need to go!” He wrapped his arms around the squire, fully intending to carry him.

“NO!” Joey protested. Martin recoiled at the vociferous protest. “Go without me! Now!”

“But Joey-”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll survive! I was chasing you, remember? Following the king’s orders.” He sucked in a sharp breath as a spasm of pain shook his frame. “The guard is dead. Nobody will know that I betrayed him. But you... if you’re caught...” He gritted his teeth as the excited barks and baying waxed closer. “There’s no time. GO!”

“Alright.” Martin brushed Joey’s sweaty face with his glove. “Thank you, Joey. If I never see you again… just know, I’m proud of you. You’ve blossomed into a good man.” Without any time to spare, he ran.

Chapter 52

Tag List: @yummynomms @maybeiamdownbad @tinycoded360

#giant #g/t #g/t writing #tiny #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t story #gianttiny #gt writing #gt story

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whxtedreams · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 4 - Blood Upon the Snow

Summary

You remember your first time meeting Joel back in 2004

CW // violence, blood, Joel is a little bit of an asshole. (let me know if i missed any)

Word Count // 12, 564

Before

Winter 2004

You grunt as you shift Annabel's position on your hip, her sleeping form still snuggled into the warmth of your body heat as the snow falls onto the ground around you. She makes a small muffled sound in her sleep as she shifts slightly, and you adjust her again, trying to ensure she's comfortable and safe. You take a few seconds to look at her and study her covered sleeping face to protect her from the cold, and you smile softly to yourself and give her a light squeeze.

You adjust the bandana over the bottom half of your face with your free hand to protect yourself more from the snowflakes hitting your face. You're careful to keep Annabel close and safe against your chest as you shift positions to make yourself more comfortable. The snow is still falling, and you can feel it clinging to your clothes as it falls. Despite the cold, you can't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment at this moment, having Annabel so close to you and feeling her warm and safe in your arms.

Your boots trudge slowly through the snow as you follow Dean through the small town of Bar Harbor, Maine. The streets are empty, covered in a light blanket of white snow, and the air is cold and crisp. It's quiet, and the only sounds are the soft crunch of the snow under your feet and your breath in the cold air.

Walking down the main street, you look at the broken and empty shops that line both sides of the road, wondering what life here was like before the outbreak. The windows have mostly all been covered up with boards, and the doors of the shops are all locked. The streets are mostly silent, the only sounds coming from your footsteps as you walk along and the occasional whisper of the wind as it blows through. It feels like the entire town has been frozen in time, and you can't help but feel a sense of sadness and longing for the past as you look around at this abandoned place.

"It reminds me of home," you mention casually as you walk past what used to be a cafe. The empty shop windows are all smashed, and the sign is covered in snow that had fallen over time and now lies on the ground.

Dean grunts in response without looking back at you. His focus is still set on what lies ahead, and his mind is stuck in thought.

You move on to the next store, and you gasp in excitement upon seeing it. "Dean! Look! We can get some books for Anna!" you cry happily, your smile broadening at the sight of the seemingly untouched bookstore. Dean whirls around with his shotgun pointed at you, startled by your outburst. Not caring about his reaction, you laugh cheerfully and begin to head towards the shop, eager to find books for Annabel.

"No, that's not why we're here," Dean warns you as you reach for the bookstore door in front of you. You look over at him and pause, the eager expression in your eyes slowly fading as you realise that you've let your excitement get the best of you and now have to step back from the bookstore and move on. His words of caution hit you, and you step back with a hint of disappointment. "Maybe later," he says, hoping to make you understand that you can enjoy the bookstore later rather than getting distracted from the task at hand.

"Yeah, right. Of course," you grumble quietly to yourself, your disappointment lingering after Dean rejected your suggestion to visit the bookstore. You fall in step with him again, your shoulders slumping slightly as you resign yourself to the plan and move on down the main street with him, your gaze fixed forward on the path ahead.

Annabel shifts on your hip and you give her forehead a quick kiss as she sleeps in your arms. After a moment, you pause and stop in front of a storefront with a massive sign of a lobster hanging from the roof by a single pole. The sign sways slightly in the wind, and it looks like it could fall at any moment. You stare at it for a moment, your gaze lingering on the large image of the lobster before tilting your head in confusion.

"Why are there so many signs of lobsters?" you ask, pointing out the massive lobster sign on the storefront to Dean. He turns back around to face you and looks up at the sign above, seeming confused for a moment. He looks back at you, as if wondering why you're even asking about the prevalence of lobster signs, and he shrugs.

"I don't know, probably a fishing town. " he guesses, pointing to the ocean at the bottom of the street and implying that the signs are just a part of the local culture.

You nod at his guess, accepting it as an explanation for the large number of lobster signs you've been seeing. You continue to follow him silently, your footsteps crunching in the snow as the two of you progress down the empty street and walk towards the blue and pink building in front of you. You gaze at the colourful facade of the building, which seems to stand out amongst the others on the street, and you're intrigued by the vibrant contrast it provides against the white of the snow and the muted colours of the empty stores and streets.

Dean points up to the top of the building, and you follow his gesture with your eyes as you look up. You smile at the sight of the massive moose made out of wire that sits high up on the tall building, its presence seeming somewhat whimsical and out of place yet also a perfect addition to the unique and charming atmosphere of the street you both walk on. A small chuckle escapes your lips as you continue your gaze up towards the imposing moose, appreciating its absurd silliness yet also its fittingness in the odd and intriguing landscape you now find yourself in.

“What the fuck.” You laugh and shake your head at the sight.

"Remember what I told you about landmarks?" Dean asks you, now speaking in a more serious and insistent tone. You turn to look at him and nod in recognition, your expression conveying that you understand. You've both been navigating the unfamiliar terrain using various landmarks, and this moose seems to be the first major and distinctive marker of the street as you both progress down it. Dean is reminding you to be on the lookout for these landmarks so that you can remember your route and find your way back if need be.

"This is where I'm leaving you and Anna," Dean informs you as he reaches the entrance of the building. He pauses and looks at you, his face expressionless and his voice serious. "I need to be able to find you quickly if needed," he continues, the implication of the need for a landmark to orient himself and return to you in case of an emergency evident in his words. He nods to you, as if checking in to make sure that you understand, and then heads inside the building, the chime of the bell above the door echoing out as he does so.

You close your eyes in disappointment at being left alone again, but you quickly open them when you realise that you need to follow Dean into the building and make sure that he's safe. You watch as he sweeps the pub for any signs of danger, holding his gun out and scanning the room for any possible threats. You slowly lower your bandana to your neck, letting in some fresh air and allowing your breath to escape as puffs of white vapour. You look around the pub, your senses alert and on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.

You take a moment to take in your surroundings, looking around the interior of the pub. The horseshoe-shaped bar takes up the majority of the middle of the room, its stools fallen and scattered around it. Tables line the walls, providing a sense of coziness and warmth, and lobster claws jutting out from the walls add a unique touch to the overall aesthetic of the pub. The interior is both inviting and strange, and you find yourself intrigued by the mix between traditional elements like the bar and booths with the more unusual and unexpected decorations, like the lobster claws.

This town is weird.

Once Dean is satisfied with his quick sweep of the pub and has decided that it's safe, he indicates for you to stand by his side, and you do so. You walk over towards him with a slight scowl on your face and approach him as he sets down his gun on the bar. You stare at him for a moment before asking, "So, you're leaving us again?" Your voice is tinged with anger and annoyance, as you haven't forgotten the last time that he left you alone with Anna and expected you to care for her by yourself.

Dean groans and pushes himself off the bar where he had been leaning, and he mutters your name under his breath in a warning. You shake your head in refusal, refusing to listen to his warning or to allow him to get away with his behaviour this time. You're not happy that he decided once again to leave you alone, and you're not willing to sit by and do nothing about it. You keep going towards him, despite his groans and the warning hidden in his whisper.

"Will you at least give me a gun this time?" you bite back in response to his groaning and warning. It's been over a year since the start of the outbreak and you three have been travelling across the length and width of North America, from Alaska and across the entirety of Canada to Maine. You've been through a lot together, and you've fought and survived countless dangers, yet he still refuses to trust you with a gun to defend yourself. You're not willing to let this go and to let him continue keeping you defenceless and reliant on him for safety and protection.

Dean glares angrily at you for a moment before he suddenly grabs hold of the baseball bat attached to your backpack and tugs it. He then swiftly pulls out the knife that is attached to your thigh and holds it to your face. In a voice that is dark and cold, he tells you, "These. You use these." His tone brooks no argument or disagreement, and you feel a chill run down your spine as you stare back at him and his cold and unblinking gaze.

You quickly and firmly snatch your knife back from Dean's grip, sheathe it back to your thigh, and retort in an unruffled and calm voice, "Yeah? And what happens when that's not enough?" You don't budge or relent, but your tone suggests that you're not trying to pick a fight or make the situation any worse than it is.

Annabel shifts on your hip and as you look down you find yourself getting lost in the deep green of her sleepy eyes. You carefully adjust her beanie and then lower her own bandana down over her face. You then tug the makeshift gag in her mouth until it is finally removed and put it into your pocket. She giggles and grabs your hand, her soft and tiny fingers curling around your own hand as she looks up at your face with a smile.

Dean sighs and softly caresses her cheek and and she snuggles her head into your chest as she takes his hand.

Dean sighs in apparent defeat as he softly caresses Annabel's cheek and she snuggles her head into your chest. As she does so she takes his hand and holds it in both of her small hands, looking up at him with her shining eyes. Her peaceful expressions and sleepy state makes your heart melt with affection and love, especially given the harsh and brutal world the three of you are fighting to survive in.

"I don't trust you with a gun. You're just a kid," Dean dismisses you, and you frown up at him from where you're holding Annabel. She smiles up at him as well, looking up at his face from where she is cradled in your arms, and you feel a wave of love and protectiveness wash over you once again. You want to lash out and argue back, especially since you've proven how capable and skilled you are with a knife, but you hold back. You don't want to make the situation worse, especially not in front of Annabel.

"When will you trust me?" You ask with a little bit of frustration in your voice, and Dean responds by kissing Annabel's forehead before looking back at you. Annabel's eyes turn back towards you and she seems to be watching the exchange that's occurring between the two of you, her expression soft and curious. She leans her head against your shoulder and nuzzles herself up against your body, and you have to remind yourself to hold back your anger.

"Maybe once you adjust to not having your meds anymore. I don’t need you having a gun when you get into one of your… episodes," Dean states calmly, providing the reasoning for his refusal to give you a gun. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you do your best to stay calm and not let your anger and frustration show. You want to argue back, especially since you haven’t experienced any of these so-called “episodes” in months and feel like you're well past and in control even if they were to happen again.

Dean sighs and wraps a hand around your head and pulls you into his chest, and Annabel giggles as she grabs onto his shirt as she's squished between the two of you. She seems to enjoy being caught between the two of you, her laughter giving you a small bit of relief and reprieve from the tension that had been building up between the two of you during the argument.

As you find yourself pressed close to both Annabel and Dean, and you realise that your anger and frustration are beginning to dissipate as the moment becomes comforting and cosy.

Dean is the one to loosen his grip first as you take a step back from him, and you look at him with a weary and defeated glance. You turn and take a step back away from him, and you ask in a flat and low voice, "How long this time?" You don't bother to try to argue with him or convince him to stay or take you with him, as it seems like you'll just waste your energy and your words will fall on deaf ears. He's seemingly not going to budge on his decision and you know that you have no choice but to accept it for now.

"Only a day or two. The group camped at the lake we passed yesterday is heading out to a lodge, said if I help them clear out the infected, I can keep some of the supplies as payment," Dean says, explaining the plan to you. He turns and picks up his gun from the bar, looking over it for a moment and checking the bullets.

"Fine." you reply flatly as you're left no choice other than to put aside your frustration and do what he says. You take off your backpack and place it on a table that's lined up along the walls. You sit Annabel on the table and hand her the ball from your pocket, and she shakes it enthusiastically. You take a moment to watch her small fingers squeeze the ball as she seems to get lost in the movement and motion of it, seemingly happy and entertained. You smile as well, despite your lingering annoyance at Dean’s abandonment.

"No fire. No loud noises. Barricade yourself in. If you hear anyone-" Dean begins his rambling lecture, once again repeating the rules and instructions that he's drummed into you for over a year now, and you tune him out in a show of passive resistance. You know the rules by now, there's nothing new that he can tell you that you haven't heard him say a hundred times before, and you just want to get this over with. You just nod as you look down at Annabel who is still playing with the ball you gave her.

"Yeah, Dean, I get it." You interrupt his continuing lecture and you don't try to hide your annoyance this time. "If I hear anyone, I hide and make sure we're not seen or heard. And don't let anyone in," you state in a dismissive tone as you look up from Annabel who has now stopped playing with the ball and is looking up at you with a big smile on her face and a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She wants your attention now, no longer distracted by the small ball, and you're having trouble ignoring her cuteness.

"Don't be a smartass." He points at you angrily and you roll your eyes in response, now unable to hold back your annoyance at his condescending treatment of you, as though you were an actual child. You don't say anything else, but you direct a dirty look at him before looking down at Annabel, who gives you a playful pout and a disapproving head shake at your attitude. You let out a little snort of laughter in response, amused by her reaction to your little jab at Dean.

You take the small ball from her hand and gently bounce it up and down on the table next to her, and she laughs and claps her hands together as she's seemingly entertained by your action. Her laughter and joy is infectious and you can't help but smile along with her. She looks like she's having so much fun bouncing the ball on the table, and you continue to bounce it for her as she happily watches. It's hard to stay annoyed at everything when you have Annabel smiling and clapping her hands, so you just try to enjoy the moment with her while you still can.

"Make sure you remember to gag her if she gets too loud," he states with a frown as he heads for the exit of the abandoned pub, and you nod in response without turning to face him. You don't seem willing to engage any further with his instructions or concerns, and just want to focus on caring for Annabel while he's away. "Just, be safe. I'll be back in a few days," is all he says before exiting, and you just nod in response, the two of you now alone in the empty pub.

Annabel takes the ball from you and attempts to bounce the ball, her uncoordinated attempt practically throwing the ball across the room and her little face scrunches up and lets out a small hmph at her failure.

Annabel takes the small ball back from you and attempts to bounce the ball, but her uncoordinated attempt only results in the ball being flung across the room, much to her dismay. She gives you a hmph of disapproval and you laugh softly at the adorable frustration on her young, tiny face. You turn from her and retrieve the ball for her, taking a moment to smile down at her before returning the ball to her and encouraging her to try again. In response, Annabel looks back up at you, her frustration now gone and replaced by a renewed determination in her gaze.

"Alright, baby. It's just you and me, yeah?" You say softly and with a hint of hesitation to Annabel, and you tug on her beanie a little to make sure it's still covering her head and keeping her warm. You smile sadly at her, feeling a wave of love and protectiveness wash over you as you remember just how young, small, and helpless she truly is, despite her determination and self-reliance. The contrast between her tiny frame and her big personality is adorable yet heartbreaking. You want nothing more than to keep her safe.

You take a step back from Annabel, searching the pub for anything to use as a possible barricade for safety, but you find nothing. Your gaze falls onto the small ball that had fallen off the table and you decide to pick it up and give it back to Annabel. "You keep playing with the ball while I make a castle, okay?" you say as you hand it to her, and she squeals excitedly. You smile at her reaction and then shush her, hoping to keep her excited reaction quiet so that no one or nothing is alerted to your presence.

"’Astle! ‘astle!" Annabel laughs excitedly as she looks up at you, and you put a finger to your lips as a gesture to get her to stay silent. You gently lift her off of the table and place her down on the floor, then take a few steps away from her and try to look for anything suitable to use as an appropriate barricade.

"Now baby, we're going to play a game of Goldilocks, okay?" you ask, crouching down in front of her. Annabel's face lights up as she nods her head frantically in excitement and anticipation as her eyes sparkle with delight. You manage to hold back a grin at her energy and enthusiasm and try to remain focused on the task at hand. "Do you remember how to play?" you ask as you scan the pub for anything you could use to barricade the pub to keep her safe and protected while Dean is away.

"We shhhhh. So big bear no see us," she whispers, placing a finger on her own lips as she demonstrates how she'll try to stay as quiet as possible and keep the both of you hidden from any unwanted attention. You give her arm a small and gentle rub to help comfort her, as well as a nod of approval and confirmation as you try to make her feel safe.

As you stand, Annabel bounces the ball again and you move over to a nearby table and begin to drag it towards the entryway. "Good girl," you grunt as the table scrapes over the floor, and Annabel flashes you a smile. "Because we're going to be just fine without him," you whisper, this time seemingly not just saying this to yourself but also to Annabel and to comfort her as she's seemingly enjoying herself by bouncing the small ball on the floor. You push the table in front of the door, successfully blocking off the doorway from outside interference.

After a long and seemingly never-ending night of guarding Annabel, the morning finally arrives. She wakes up with tears streaming down her face, calling out in a soft and pitiful voice. "Daddy" she sobs, not seeming to notice your presence or at least not acknowledging it as you rub a hand gently over her hair and soothe her as best as you can. She leans into you, burying her face into your chest and continuing to cry.

That night, while Annabel sleeps, you watch over her in the darkness of the pub, praying to any Gods that are left that nothing will happen or come looking for the two of you. After a long and seemingly never-ending night of guarding Annabel, the morning finally arrives and as you wake her, she immediately bursts into tears and cries out for Dean. You hold her close and try to comfort her by reassuring her that he'll be back soon, but she simply breaks down and screams, "I want Daddy now!"

In a moment of sheer panic, you grab the gag from your pocket and quickly wrap it tight around her mouth, trying to silence her screams of distress. Annabel begins to hit your arms in an attempt to get you to remove the gag, and her tears run down her face and wet the gag you put in her mouth. "We have to be quiet, remember?" You remind her with a mix of frustration and nervousness as you try to keep her volume at an acceptable level and hope that nothing hears her or comes running in your direction due to her loud screams.

"How about we go look at some books?" you ask in a soothing voice as you attempt to soothe and comfort Annabel by wiping away her tears, hoping that the small gesture of kindness will help to calm her down and lessen the panic that you're feeling in the moment. “Will that make you feel better?” You continue and Annabel frowns up at you in turn, where she lays beside you in your shared sleeping bag. For a second you think that you'll be unsuccessful in calming her, but she eventually gives you a small nod.

“Alright then, come on. Let's go on an adventure," you say with a faint smile as you climb out of your own sleeping bag and lift Annabel up with you.

You take her gag off as you spend your morning sharing a can of peaches with Annabel, who devours most of it with enthusiasm and little resistance from you since you're just happy to see her enjoy something. You begin to move some of the tables and chairs you had used to block the entry as Annabel eats.

When you set off for the bookstore down the street with Annabel tucked into your chest to keep her warm, it's already midday. Annabel looks up at you with excited eyes as you walk over to the bookstore you had passed the previous day. She looks like a child about to enter a candy shop, filled with anticipation and hope that she might discover something wonderful and interesting for herself.

As you step in front of the bookstore, you realise the impressive size of the store, stretching an entire three storefronts wide. Annabel squirms excitedly in your grasp, desperate to escape and begin exploring all the books that are hidden within. "This is a big one," you say with a grin as you cradle Annabel in your arms, her excitement contagious and you're eager for her to have a great time exploring just as much as she is.

“We’re still playing Goldilocks, okay? If you’re too loud again, I have to cover your face so you don’t lose the game, okay?” You remind her as you hold the handle of the door and she nods in understanding.

You open the door to the bookstore with caution, the bell ringing above the door and pause just inside the entrance area, waiting for any signs of movement or noise before you step in with Annabel. As you wait, you notice that books are scattered on the ground, seemingly untouched and undisturbed by whatever happened to the store. You try to remain alert as you move into the store, wanting to ensure the safety of you and Annabel, while also keeping an eye out for any signs of danger or potential threats.

After making a few loud noises to test the safety of the place and making sure the bookstore is clear of any infected, you let Annabel down on the ground and give her a moment to stretch her legs after being carried for so long by you. Before you completely let her go, you unzip the small bag on her back and take out the leash, which you clip onto a loop on her jeans before attaching the other end to a belt loop on your pants. You secure her to you and smile at Annabel as she runs and is tugged backwards to the ground as the leash stops her from moving too far from you.

You lift Annabel back up to her feet and lead her towards the children's section in the back of the store, following the sign that indicates where books suited for her particular age group are located. As you walk, Annabel looks around in wonder at the many shelves full of books, her eyes taking in every detail and colour as she gazes at the different covers and titles.

After letting Annabel pick out a mountain of books for herself, you follow her as she walks down different aisles of books. The two of you eventually settle on bean bags in a cosy reading section meant for children, and Annabel climbs onto your lap with the first book in her hands. You spend the next few hours reading book after book to her, the time quickly passing due to the enjoyment you two have from the activity. Annabel clings to you as you read to her, listening closely to every word you read to her as her eyes follow the text and she occasionally points out interesting details from the pictures.

Nothing seemed to be amiss until somehow, it all went wrong.

At the sound of the bell ringing as the front door opens, your entire body tenses up and all of your nerve endings seem to light up as you quickly gag Annabel and lift her up into your arms, moving to crouch behind a nearby shelf within the children's book aisle. A moment passes in complete silence, and your ears perk up at the sound of footsteps approaching. Your grip on Annabel tightens, your instincts at full alert and scanning for anything that might pose a threat.

"Saw your footsteps in the snow," a man's voice states coldly from somewhere outside of your field of vision, and your eyes widen in fear at the realisation of your mistake. "We know you're in here," the voice adds with a hint of menace, and you feel your grip around Annabel tighten even further as your instincts kick into overdrive. The thought flashes across your mind that the man must have figured out your exact location based on the snow you trekked in from outside, and you're not sure if you should stay hidden and silent or try and make a run for it.

You look back to where you were sitting with Annabel and notice the faint trail of snow and you know he will follow your trail. You sit down from your crouched position and wipe the remaining snow to make your footprint invisible as you continue to move through the store.

You look down at Annabel in your arms, unsure what to do next. You know you can't run as fast as normal with her in your arms, as Dean normally carries her when you need to sprint out of a dangerous situation. Right now, you wish you had stayed in the pub, away from the dangers of the outside world.

You manage to move down the aisle silently, your footsteps completely unnoticed compared to the intruder's that becomes louder as he moves closer. You move quietly, your grip on Annabel tightening even further, knowing that if either of you make the slightest mistake, it could be the end for the both of you. You try to maintain your composure, staying as silent as possible as you try to make your way out of the store without detection.

You poke your head out to check the path between the aisles is clear, and you listen for the footsteps that you heard previously. You come to the conclusion that the footsteps you heard are located far enough away to give you enough time to hopefully move between aisles, until you hear another set of footsteps to your left.

Shit .

You move quickly and quietly down the aisle in front of you, taking a deep breath and trying to calm yourself. More footsteps approach, and your heart sinks as you realise that there are multiple people in the store, far more than just the one individual you had assumed. You hear footsteps approaching from several different directions, making it difficult to determine just how many people have entered the bookstore, but you estimate it could be somewhere between three to five. Your grip around Annabel tightens once again and she remains utterly silent, not making a sound as you make your way to the front of the store.

You freeze at the sight of movement between the books in the adjacent aisle, unsheathing your knife from your leg to prepare yourself for a possible confrontation. You wait silently for the man to move past you towards the end of the store. As you wait, you hold your breath and listen hard for any other movement that might indicate the other intruders' locations..

“Where the fuck is the little cunt?” the man in the aisle next to you grits out. You wince at his loud words, praying that Annabel doesn't make a sound that draws his attention. Annabel remains silent, though, and you find yourself hoping that she stays that way. Your heart pounds in your chest, your entire body filled with dread and anxiety.

"Gotta be in here still, no tracks leading out," another voice responds from what seems like the next aisle over. You feel a lump in your throat and swallow hard, not daring to make a sound.

You move to the end of the aisle and stick your head out once the two men pass. You quickly duck your head back behind the shelves when you see a man with an axe facing away from you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before looking out again to see the man walking away from you and down a different aisle. Taking the opportunity, you step out of your aisle and quietly move towards the next one, hoping that the man doesn't change his mind or turn around. You walk as quickly as you can through the aisles, your heart pounding in your chest as you continue to make your way to the front of the store.

“Anyone got eyes on the kid” You hear someone shout from across the store before a series of No’s come from throughout the building. eight no’s, so maybe nine people total? You could take down maybe two, but nine? You’re in deep shit.

You make it to the front store and behind a display table, and take a moment to collect yourself and calm your nerves. You feel relieved for a moment, as you’ve made it this far undetected, but your relief is quickly interrupted when you notice that someone is standing guard at the front door.

Okay, distraction, need a distraction.

You blindly reach for a book from your crouched position behind the table, intending on throwing it in the opposite direction of yourself as a potential distraction, but the moment you do, the glass door shatters and a bullet rips through the man guarding the front door’s skull and he falls to the ground.

A man steps in through the now shattered glass door and fires another shot as the man with the axe runs at him from the aisle in a violent rage. Both of the men fall to the ground, dead. You stay huddled down and cower in fear as the gunfire and the sound of multiple bodies hitting the floor fills the room. You feel Annabel begin to squirm more in your arms as the gunshots send shards of glass flying across the floor and the sound of bodies hitting the floor echoes through the store.

The window beside you shatters as bullets fly past you, and you immediately grab Annabel and hold her close to your body as you run and jump through the large window. You roll as you land, absorbing the impact with your shoulder and knees as you try to lessen how hard the fall is for Annabel in your arms.

The moment your feet make contact with the snow, you scramble from the ground and sprint back towards the direction of the pub as fast as you possibly can. You want to get back to the pub and quickly barricade yourself in before you're discovered by anyone else. Your legs burn and ache as you keep running in the cold, your breath steaming out and your body filled with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

The door to the pub hits the window beside it with a loud thud as you slam open the doors and quickly rush inside. You pull the door closed behind you and hastily move a table back in front of it, struggling with one hand as you hold Annabel tightly in your arms.

You jog to the back of the pub, going through the kitchen and into the storage room where you slept last night. Taking a quick look around to make sure it's still empty, you grab a box from the bottom shelf and pull the lid off with your foot and then place Annabel inside, unclipping the leash connecting you. "We're going to play hide and seek, alright?" you tell her between breaths. "I need you to stay in here while I go seeking. Can you do that for me?"

Annabel smiles and nods as she lays in the box. You let out a sigh of relief and cut a few holes in the side and put the lid back on. “I’m going to lift you now.” you warn her as you lift the box and put it back on the shelf. “I love you baby, I’ll be back to get you after I win the game.” You weakly smile as you tap the box twice and she taps back.

Annabel smiles and nods, seeming to understand what you mean as she lays in the box. You let out a sigh of relief and cut a few holes in the side and put the lid back on. "I'm going to lift you now," you warn her as you lift the box back onto the shelf. "I love you, baby," you say weakly as you tap the box twice and she taps back. "I'll be back to get you after I win the game," you add with a smile, hoping that she stays quiet and safe in the storage room until things settle down.

You hate to leave her like this, but you know that it's the only option at the moment until the danger passes.

You quickly set your bag down from your back and take your bat. You take a deep breath and close the storage room door behind you and walk back out to the main area of the pub, feeling the weight of the bat and knife in your hands.

You really wish you had a gun right now.

The gunfire from the bookstore dies down as you push more tables and chairs back in front of the doors, hoping the makeshift barricade is enough to keep anyone out. As you continue to barricade the pub, you keep one ear out for any signs of danger or potential intruders, and feel a slight bit of relief once the gunfire ceases. However, you know there's still a chance that someone is approaching or is attempting to break in, and you remain on edge, waiting to see whether or not the danger is actually over.

Of course, it is not over.

A brick flies through the window beside the door and you freeze in place as you look down at the brick. You blink at the brick a few times and frown.

Okay. Well they can’t jump through the window, the tables are in the-

Another object is thrown through the window and you tilt your head as it rolls to your feet where you stand beside the barricade.

Oh shit.

You turn on your heels and jump onto a stool to boost yourself up and over the bar.

As you land and roll, you cover your head the best you can as a loud explosion rocks the bar. The ground shakes beneath your body and you hear the sound of the barricade falling from the force of the blast, sending shards of wood and glass through the room. You remain curled up in a ball, your heart pounding in your chest and the ringing in your ears making it difficult to hear anything else. You don't know whether to move or stay put, and fear slowly rises within you at the idea that you might not make it out of this alive.

But you have to, for Annabel.

You push yourself off the ground and flinch as the front door swings open, the sound of the wood scraping against the floor sending chills down your spine. The broken pieces of the barricade are pushed across the floor.. Your heart pounds in your chest and you find yourself shaking nervously, waiting for whoever or whatever opened it to enter into the pub and potentially attack you.

Boots crunch on the wood as someone treds over the bits of the shattered barricade that have fallen to the ground. You crawl quickly behind the bar and towards the opening in the counter at the back, trying to hide and remain out of sight as best you can.

"There you are," the man says as he leans over the bar and smirks at you, raising his gun towards you. Your eyes widen with fear and you quickly try to scramble backwards to put something, anything, between you and the gun.

You jump to your feet and bolt towards the gap in the counter, as the man levels his gun at you and pulls the trigger. The bullet flies past you as you dive behind the counter on the other side. You hit the floor with a loud thud and roll to the side, scrambling to get to your feet again as quickly as you can.

The man swears as he misses and his boots quicken as he runs after you. You round the corner of the bar and trample over broken stools as he shoots again. You duck your head as you hear the click of the trigger and he misses.

Every emotion disappears from your body and your uncontrollable rage filters through you like fire. You’re going to enjoy hurting this fucker for shooting at you, even if Dean’s voice in the back of your head tells you to just run.

You crouch at the corner of the bar and wait, clutching your bat tightly in your hand and a smirk on your face. As soon as you see his leg move around the corner, you use all your force and swing the bat into his knee, causing him to stumble backwards and grunt in pain.

“You fucker!” you yell as you take advantage of his stumble and jump from your crouched position and swing your bat again into his chest, hearing the air leave his lungs as he grabs your bat and pulls you forward. You're pulled into his chest as he grabs onto your jacket and throws you forcefully into the wall, ripping the bat from your grip and leaving you dazed and stunned by the sudden impact as your body falls to the ground.

"We weren't going to kill you," the man taunts as regains his breath. His expression is cold and smug as he limps towards you slowly and tosses the bat across the room. "But your buddy went and killed all my men," he grits as he takes another step towards you. You swallow hard, anger rising in your throat and your heart racing in your chest.

"He wasn't my buddy," you scoff as you lean against the wall to stand back on shaky legs.

“Even if he wasn’t, I'm pissed off and I think killing you will help.” He shrugs as he raises the gun towards you.

A loud, sudden gunshot fills the room, but instead of piercing your skin, you see blood splatter from the man in front of you as a bullet cracks his skull from the side. His head lurches to the side from the impact, and he falls to the floor in front of you. You freeze for a moment, your brain struggling to process what happened, and you feel your heart racing in your chest as fear and shock wash over you. Your ears ring from both the explosion and the gunshots as you stare down at the man in front of you.

He was about to shoot you .

He was shot.

You're yanked back to reality as you feel a hand grab onto your jacket and find yourself looking up at another man. You grip his arm tightly and stare at him, your mind spinning as you try to make sense of everything that has just unfolded. Your head spins and you feel disoriented as the events of the past few moments replay in your mind.

“Get the fuck off me” You spit at the man and try to shake his hand off you.

"Relax." The man commands as your eyes dart between his. His voice is stern and gruff. You take a deep breath and try to relax, your thoughts still racing a bit as you try to process everything that has just happened. You look up at the man and try to gauge his intentions. "Dean sent me," he adds. You frown and your grip on his tightens, trying to determine whether or not you can trust him.

“Bullsh-”

"Pack your things, I'm bringing you back to him," he ignores your question and stares you down. You nod frantically to show him that you understand and comply with what he says. You're still a bit shaken up and not quite trusting of this stranger.

He releases your jacket as you release him from your grip, and you quickly move to retrieve your bat from where it was thrown across the room. You take a moment to study the man as he leans over the body of the man he shot and collects any loot from him. His expression appears to remain stern and unchanging, a permanent frown resting on his face. You're unsure of what to think of him, especially how quickly took the life of the previous assailant, and you feel yourself on edge while you observe him.

"Stop staring and pack before I take you without anything," he grunts, his tone still stern and rough. Without waiting for a reply, he returns to looting the body that lies at his feet. You quickly move into the storage room nearby to retrieve the items you left there, realising that it's best to comply with his demands and pack quickly.

You pull the box from the shelf and open the lid, taking a moment to collect yourself before lifting Annabel out and pulling the gag from her mouth. She wraps her arms around you and hugs you tightly as you smile and ask her "Hey baby, you okay?" Annabel nods and hugs you tightly, her expression still filled with fear but also relief at being free and being reunited with you.

"You're such a big girl, hiding like that," you tell Annabel in a reassuring tone, trying to soothe her and her fears. You set her down on the floor and begin quickly packing your items into the bag, trying to get everything in as fast as you can.

“We’re going to go on another adventure, okay?” You say to Annabel, rubbing a hand over your face as you try to think of what to call the man outside. Annabel looks up at you with big eyes as you make up a story to reassure her. “We’re going with a prince who will help us get to daddy.” She claps her hands excitedly and smiles at you.

"And we princess?" She asks, sounding excited and eager about the adventure ahead. You clip your bat to your bag and zip it closed, then throw the straps over your shoulders.

You chuckle and smile as you clip the leash back onto your pants and agree with her. "Yes, we're princesses." You scoop her up and carry her back to the main area of the pub. Despite your own worries and struggles, you try to keep your tone light and playful, wanting to make things seem as fun and harmless as possible for Annabel.

"What is that?" The man grunts as you walk through the door separating the kitchen and the pub. You stop in your tracks for a moment, your mind racing as you try to process what he's asking about. You look around the room to see if there's anything that might have drawn his attention.

“What’s what?” You ask as you look back at him where he’s pulled a stool to the bar, his arms leaning against it as he sits.

He points to Annabel in your arms, and you raise an eyebrow at him, your tone sarcastic as you respond. "I’m surprised you haven’t seen one before. This is a child."

He shakes his head and sighs, not seeming to appreciate your sarcastic response. "I know what a child is. You're a child. That ," he nods towards Annabel, "Is a baby, and babies get you killed." He spits his words out aggressively and you can sense the tension rising between you as the conversation continues.

“I’m not a child.” You scoff and glare at him as he turns to face you.

“Sure as hell act like one.” He grumbles under his breath.

“I’m sixteen.” You fight back and he hums in response.

“Anyway, she’s quiet so you don’t need to worry about her.” You assure him as Annable squeals and points at the man.

“Prince!” She giggles and the man raises his eyebrows at the child, as if to say, yeah, right… quiet.

You hush Annabel at the man's words, hoping to keep her quiet so as not to aggravate the situation further. The man stands from the stool and picks up two guns from the bar.

You sigh in defeat and pull her gag from around her neck and back over her mouth, feeling a bit defeated at the realisation that you'll have to keep her gagged in order to keep her quiet. You pull her bandana back over her face as well and adjust her beanie in preparation for the cold weather outside.

The man offers you a gun as he walks towards you, his expression still stern and rough. "You'll need this," he says, offering the gun to you. You stare down at the gun in his hand and open your mouth to reply before he continues. “You do know how to use one, right? Or did that dad of yours never teach you?” He asks with a frown.

"He's my brother, and no. He doesn't let me touch a gun," you say in response to the man's question, looking up at him as he places the gun in your hand. The man raises an eyebrow and stares back at you, seeming slightly surprised by your answer.

The man points to a switch on the side of the gun and explains to you, "Switch this when you want to shoot, and only when you intend to shoot someone." He looks up at you with a serious expression and you nod to acknowledge his instructions. He then points to the trigger and tells you, "Then pull this to shoot and aim. Hopefully you won't need it." He then steps back, leaving you alone with the gun in your hands. You look down at the gun and try to process the instructions he just gave you. You double check the safety is on before you tuck it in the back of your waistband away from Annabel.

You move toward the front door, and as you do so, the man's hand reaches out and grabs your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. He stares at you firmly as he speaks, "If you're coming with me, I have rules." You roll your eyes in response to the statement but nod your head in acknowledgement for him to continue.

“One. You don’t make a sound. You don’t talk unless spoken to.”

You sigh.

“Two. Whatever I say, goes.”

You roll your eyes.

“Three. Don’t be a smartass.”

You groan.

“Four,” He points to Annabel, “Make sure she follows the same damn rules.”

The man stares down at you with his eyebrows raised, his expression remaining stern and rough. You tilt your head in response, confused by his look, and he shakes his head at your lack of response. "Do you understand?" he asks impatiently.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t know I was allowed to talk," you reply in a sarcastic tone, your voice dripping with mockery. You feel your mouth twitch into a slight smile, and as you look up at the man, your eyes flicker with annoyance towards him. He shakes his head at your response and his expression appears to darken. You realise that your sarcasm probably wasn't a good idea given the current circumstances.

When he continues to glare down at you and grip your shoulder, you sigh and nod begrudgingly, hoping this will appease him. "Yeah, I understand," you say, your tone more compliant than before. He doesn't let up on his glare, and his grip on your shoulder tightens slightly as he continues to keep you close to him. You feel a twinge of pain in your shoulder but don't dare retaliate in any way for fear of angering him further. He studies your reaction to his actions for a moment before releasing your shoulder and gesturing for you to follow him.

He leads you out of the bar and into the cold air, and you instinctively lift your own bandana over your face, shielding it from the wind. Your breath creates small plumes of mist as you exhale. The air is crisp and you can feel the breeze ruffle your hair. The man doesn't speak as you walk alongside him.

You stop in front of the bookstore where you were moments ago, standing right in front of a large pool of blood that has stained the snow beneath you where a body lays motionless from where he tried to run from the store. The windows are shattered, and the body of another man hangs over the windowsill in front of you, his blood dripping slowly down onto the snow below.

You pull Annabel close to you and shield her eyes as you step around the body and continue moving forward. She presses herself into you, her face buried in your chest as she tries to hide herself away from the gruesome scene. You take a moment to pause and steady yourself before continuing forward, and Annabel wraps her little arms around you and hugs you tightly, her face still buried in your chest as she clings to you. You feel a pang of sadness and pity for this poor little girl, knowing all the horrible things she's been through in such a short time.

"Thank you," you say softly as you look back at the body hanging from the windowsill, still shaken from what you've just gone through. You take a deep, calming breath and then continue forward, walking with Annabel still tightly in your arms.

"Didn't do it for you," he responds quickly, his voice rough and seemingly unconcerned with the death he just caused. His tone is cold, and he continues to walk forward without acknowledging the bodies left behind.

“So why did-”

“What did I say about talking?” He interrupts you, his voice unyielding and stern as he adjusts the strap over his shoulder the rifle is attached to. The tension between you is palpable, and you can't help but feel intimidated by the man and his behaviour. Your eyes travel to the rifle slung over his shoulder, and you try to think of a way to try to lessen the tension between you. Your thoughts are interrupted as the man continues to walk ahead, not bothering to look back and make sure you're following, just assuming you are.

You roll your eyes in response to his strict adherence to his own rules, but you decide it's best to simply follow his guidance and not cause any more trouble. You catch up to the man and fall into step behind him, making sure to give him plenty of space and trying to avoid doing anything that might further aggravate him. He doesn't seem to notice that you're there or care, and you silently follow along without saying anything else.

You continue to follow the man for an hour in complete silence before deciding to try and break the tension with a simple question. You walk along a highway littered with broken down cars all around you, and the sound of the ocean from your right slowly fades away while the birds chirping in the forest to your left continue to grow louder. The sound of nature fills the still air and you take a moment to listen to it before you turn to look at the man again to ask your question. You clear your throat to get his attention.

"So, what's your name?" you ask the man, looking up at him with a frown. He stares back at you and scoffs at your question, rolling his eyes and seeming annoyed that you've chosen to speak now after all that time.

“Name’s not important.” He grumbles in response as he climbs onto the bonnet of a car and slides over it where it blocks the road. Once over, he reaches out and waves his hands towards him. “Pass her over.”

You stare at him for a moment, seemingly unsure if you should listen to his demand or not, but after a few seconds of contemplating the situation, you decide it's best to just do as he says. With a heavy sigh, you hand Annabel over the car to him and then climb over the car yourself, doing your best to keep up with him. You're unsure of where he's taking you and Annabel, and you don't dare ask him, given his rough demeanour and unconcerned attitude.

You move to take Annabel back from him but he turns away from you and continues walking down the highway, taking her hand in his. Her little hand grips tightly around his fingers, her whole hand wrapping around two of them. Annabel giggles behind her gag, seemingly enjoying being held by him and not bothered by the fact that she can't speak. Despite your uncertainty and uneasiness about where this man is taking you, you find yourself relieved that Annabel seems happy in his arms.

"What's her name?" he asks softly, his tone significantly more gentle and caring than it was before. You look at him in surprise for a moment as he asks you about Annabel's name. His shift in tone took you by surprise and you don't know what to say in response. You look down at Annabel in his arms and wonder if maybe he does have a heart after all despite his rough exterior.

You break out in a smile and decide to bargain with him. “I’ll tell you hers, if you tell me yours.”

“It’s Joel.” You nod at his reply and shove your hands into your jacket pocket now that your arms are free from carrying your niece. You look down at Annabel still in his arms, and she looks up at you with a small smile, her eyes sparkling as she rests her head on his chest.

"She's Annabel." You tell him, noticing as he adjusts her beanie where it's shifted, trying to find a comfortable position to lay her head in his arms. He seems to be a little more gentle in how he treats her now. You also notice that he's not holding Annabel as tightly as he was before, and his rough exterior seems to have softened slightly.

After another moment of silence falls between you, you decide to break the tension again by speaking up. "She's about two now I think. But I'm not sure anymore," you say, hoping he'll ask you more questions about Annabel and engage in a conversation with you. The man stares back at you with a look of surprise on his face, as if he's shocked to hear that Annabel is only around two years old. You notice him take his free hand and gently stroke Annabel's head with his thumb, his gaze on you.

"I think," you say quietly, frowning as you softly kick a small rock on the road as you try to think of how to word what you want to say next. "I think, if anything happened to her... I think I'd go crazy. Like, lose my mind, kind of crazy. She's just so small and every day could be her last," you blurt out as you sigh and tighten the hair tie that holds your hair in a ponytail.

Joel nods and the silence between you grows once again. You don't think he's going to say anything else, but after a long moment of silence he finally speaks up. "You will lose your mind," he says after a beat, his tone more serious and genuine than it's ever been so far. "But it's worth it," he adds quietly.

His words hang in the air and hang silent for a moment before the sound of the ocean comes back to replace them. Your footsteps and those of the man sound loud as you walk side by side along the highway. His words echo in your mind, and for a moment you forget all about the tension and uneasiness you felt prior. You start to wonder if there's more to this grumpy man than just the person he appears to be. What has he gone through, and who is he really underneath it all if his defences were to be lowered?

You take a moment to properly look at him, noticing how the snow has settled in his hair and how it highlights his dark brown hair. You notice that he shakes his head every few minutes as if to shake off any snow that has somehow landed on him or in front of his eyes, but you also notice a distant look in his eyes like something is preventing him from fully engaging with the moment and the environment around him.

You think you should give him your spear beanie.

You're pulled back into your surroundings as Joel stops walking beside you and hands Annabel back over to you. As you stand in front of the entrance to a building in the middle of the forest, the sound of the ocean seems to slowly dissipate and you notice a green sign on the entrance that says 'Sand Bay Inn' above it. The wooden exterior is rotting and green moss has settled around the bottom, clear it was uncared for even before the outbreak. A turned over buggy lays abandoned by the entrance, gardening tools spilled on the ground around it.

You look at Joel and notice that his expression has turned to one of slight annoyance and impatience as he stares at you. The air is filled with tension once again, and you wonder if you've done something wrong.

"I don't know if my brother has cleaned up the mess, but there could be a lot of blood and bodies around," he warns, and you raise an eyebrow at what he's saying, wondering what exactly happened in his residence that left blood and bodies everywhere. You don't dare ask him outright at the moment, so you just take his warning into careful consideration and mentally try to prepare yourself for the potential sights that you may see once you enter the inn. You look at Annabel who rests in your arms and tugs her beanie over her eyes.

Joel pushes the glass door open and holds it for you to walk in. As you enter, you see to your surprise that there's already a body slumped against a wall. His head is bent over at a strange angle, and you can see that blood has splattered onto the wall behind him where he was shot in the head.

Joel walks ahead of you without a single glance in your direction as you follow him inside. He steps over the bodies of both humans and infected, his actions seemingly without any hesitation or consideration for the bloody mess he's creating as his boots leave behind bloody footprints in his wake. He leads you towards where you assume your brother is and as you get closer to the room he's in, you start to smell the stench of death mixed with the smell of blood which lingers in the room.

"What, uh... what happened here?" you ask, hesitating for a moment as you take in the sight of the body of a woman impaled into a piece of railing upstairs. You keep a firm grip on Annabel as you move further up the stairs, and notice that Joel seems completely unfazed by the sight of death.

Agreed to help a group clear out this place in return for some of the supplies here. They double crossed us," he huffs out in response, still acting unfazed by the bloodshed and death you see all around you. You follow him to the guest room to your right and as he opens the door.

As you walk into the room, your eyes are drawn to the sight of Dean tied to the chair by the window with blood trailing down his leg. You stand frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do while Joel walks over to your brother and unceremoniously rips the tape off of Dean's mouth.

Dean hardens his expression and stares up at Joel as he speaks, his jaw clenched. "If I find out you've hurt them in any way," he threatens, his tone serious and the intent in his eyes clear despite the tape that was just removed from his mouth. Joel only stares back at him in response, his expression showing zero reaction to Dean's words, as if it's something he's heard countless times before.

"Where's my brother?" Joel asks, ignoring your brother's threat as he turns and leans against a dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Dean stares at him, his eyes narrowed as he says nothing in response to the question. Dean then looks at you, his expression changes to a mixture of worry and concern.

You jump in shock at the touch on your shoulder and turn your head to see another man smiling at you. His hand moves off your shoulder and he steps into the room, settling next to Joel and looking over at you. "See you found his kids, looks like he wasn't lying then," The other man nudges Joel in a playful manner and Joel grunts in reply.

Dean's eyes are still narrowed at Joel, his expression not changing from its previous look of irritation towards Joel. You see that he seems to be paying more attention to Joel than the other man that has just entered the room.

"You stitched him up." Joel mutters, looking down at the wound on your brother's leg as he stands against the dresser.

“Well, yeah. Couldn't let him bleed out if he was telling the truth.” The other man scoffs and pushes himself off the dresser.

You look between Joel and the man next to him and make the assumption that this must be his brother he was talking about before. You glance over at Dean, trying to gauge his reaction to the conversation between Joel and the man. Dean's eyes remain glued to Joel even as he still seems to be angry and irritated by him.

Joel’s brother turns to you and smiles. “Dean’s gonna be just fine,” he reassures you as he notices you looking at his blood stained jeans. “I’ve stitched him up, and he should be fine to walk after a few days,” he informs you, and you nod in response.

“Did you get the supplies?” Joel asks his brother in a tone that seems as though nothing unusual has just taken place. You raise an eyebrow at his casualness but make no comment. His brother nods in response.

"Yeah, most of it anyways. Left some for them," the man responds with a nod, gesturing to you and Dean. Joel opens his mouth to say something but his brother raises his hand, stopping him before he can utter a word. "I'm not leaving them without anything," his brother says, his tone firm and resolute, and you see a look of surprise on Joel's face as if he is not expecting his brother to stand up to him like this. You notice that Dean's gaze is still firmly fixed on Joel.

"Wow, you might actually be worse than me." Dean mocks, his smirk only taunting Joel even more. You notice that his words have the desired effect as Joel's expression darkens and he looks at him with a look of annoyance and irritation.

"Dean, shut up," you order firmly from the doorway and all three heads turn to look at you simultaneously. You notice the surprised expression on Dean's face followed by the irritated look on Joel's face. The expression on Joel's brother's face, however, only seems to be that of curiosity as he stares at you.

You're lucky I didn't kill you on the spot," Joel growls, his expression threatening and his voice harsh. Dean just stares back at him, looking almost amused by the threat, clearly not seeming afraid of Joel in any way.

Joel's brother lets out a frustrated sigh and places a hand on Joel's shoulder before pulling on him gently. "Come on," he suggests, his tone somewhat softer and his expression more relaxed than Joel's has been. You notice Dean still staring at Joel, his mouth set in a small smirk that annoys Joel more with every passing second.

Joel shakes his head and points a finger at Dean, his expression still hard and his tone warning as he says, "You're a lucky man." Dean just stares at him, his expression now changing from a small smirk to one of mild amusement as Joel continues his tirade. Joel then pushes off his brother's hand and strides past you and down the stairs, leaving the room silent once again except for Dean's quiet chuckling at Joel.

"I'm sorry about my brother," the man apologises as he walks out of the room to follow Joel, leaving you alone with Dean.

Dean's attention finally falls on you and Annabel as you walk towards him. You place Annabel down on the floor beside Dean, ensuring that her leash is still attached to you. You lift up her beanie from her eyes and then turn to Dean, starting to untie the ropes that have been used to keep him tied in place. He watches you work in silence as you gently free him from his restraints.

Your eyes widen in realisation, and you let out a gasp as you unlatch Annabel's leash from your pants and attach it to Dean instead. He stares at you in confusion as you stand up and remove your backpack. You quickly dig into your bag and take out your spear beanie.

“What are you-”

"I'll be back," you tell your brother, and you see his eyes follow you as you head out the door. Knowing that he cannot immediately follow you due to his injured leg, you start to jog out of the room to go in search of Joel.

As you leave, you hear Dean calling out after you and you hear him fall to the ground as he tries to move his wounded leg and swears loudly in frustration.

You sprint down the stairs and leap over bodies as you follow his path through the inn, hurrying to catch up to Joel and his brother. As you near the lobby area, you come to find the two brothers standing in the middle of the room. Joel looks up at you as you approach, his expression hard as he stares at you.

You hand the spear beanie out to Joel, who stares at it for a moment before raising an eyebrow in your direction. He doesn't say anything in response but he seems to be confused about what's going on and why you're handing him a beanie.

"I– I noticed that you weren't wearing a beanie, and you get annoyed when the snow settles in your... in your hair," you begin to say, but you trail off and feel your skin flush in embarrassment as you offer him the spear beanie as a gift. He simply stares at you for a moment, his expression unchanged.

"And I guess I wanted to say thank you for what you did before. I know you said you didn’t do that for me, but I still wanted to thank you." You continue speaking and this time, Joel's brother gently takes the spear beanie from your hand. Joel still says nothing, instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on you, a blank expression on his face. His facial expression makes it hard for you to figure out what he's thinking.

"Thanks kid, that's awfully nice of you," Joel's brother thanks you, nudging Joel and raising his eyebrows when he frowns at him. Joel looks at his brother for a moment and then he finally turns his attention back towards you.

"Right... thanks," Joel mumbles, and you acknowledge his response with a nod and a step back.

"Well I should head back before Dean kills me for running off on him when he can’t walk," you say, huffing out a laugh as you turn around to leave the room.

"Stay safe out there kid." Joel says, prompting you to stop in the doorway. You look back at him and at his brother, acknowledging his words with a nod.

As you step over the bodies, you find your mind wandering, wondering why your body was not among those he left behind and why Joel decided to rescue some random kids. You try to push the thought to the back of your mind, but it remains in your head as you continue heading back to where Annabel and Dean are still waiting for you.

The first time you met that ferocious wolf you came to know as Joel, you were naive enough to think it was a dog. It's still a mystery how you didn't become its meal that day.

Chapter 5

Notes

this took me forever to write. I just got a new puppy and he's been sitting in my lap while I write and it's been both cute and very distracting.

A look on how the reader was before all the shitty things happened to her, and also how Joel was before.

I didn't plan on this being a 12k chapter, but it kind of just kept going…

If you're wondering why the reader couldn't really remember what happened, its because of trauma and how you memory can go foggy. But I'll explain more of that in the next chapter

I was going to write this from Joel's POV since he is telling her what happened, But then i decided to write it as if she was remembering so I hope that makes sense as to why I wrote it in her POV even though she said she couldn't remember.

I hope you liked this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it! Let me know in the comments!

Divider by the beautiful saradika

Pub Layout below

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou #tommy miller #joel x y/n #joel x fem!reader #joel x reader #joel fanfic #ellie williams #ellie tlou #tlou tommy #tlou2 #tlou joel

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gamerbearmira · 10 months ago

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Venom! Mira and 42! Miles. (I tried to be as visual as I could with this)

It was early morning in Brooklyn, the air was cold and the sun was slowly peeking through the skyscrapers and buildings. The sky had a nice warm orange glow to it despite the cold nipping at everbodies a$$ this winter.

And despite those blood sucking, money taking, and dream stealing businesses that sat high above everyone else. Goblins palace, Electro Corp, Scorpion’s club, Octa Enterprises…ugh. The way the buildings sat above you made you feel like they thought they were better than you in more ways than one.

A few people were walking about along the sidewalks and cars driving in the streets. It was already a bustling city and it was only 6 o’clock in the damn morning. Some shops & cafes were opening up or employees were clocking in at work to set things up. Nice smells of food were flowing in the air and sounds of dog barks and chatting could be heard amongst the people.

In a certain building though, there were two people who were NOT ready to be awake at all. In a neat and organized room laid a boy in his bed. His braids safely tucked in a purple bonnet as he slept quietly and still.

One would think he was dead if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional twitch. The young man did sleep peacefully but…his face was still left in a light scowl with furrowed brows. Bags hung under his bottom eyelids and a few healing scuff marks were prominent on his otherwise clean skin.

A few feet away from his bed was a girl in a teal blue sleeping bag. The most you could see was her head and hair as she laid on her side.

Behind her head was her green framed glasses, sitting neatly there so she could just wake up and put them on. The young girl's hair was messy and full of curls, nothing to protect it when she tossed and turned throughout the night.

She had eyebags as well as a few scuff marks and scars on her face just like her friend. Both children have had a hard night of work and are currently sleeping it off.

Why were these two in the same room? Project sleepover…which turned into a heist mission for medicine because it’s too expensive for hospitals to purchase…which turned into these two barely studying at all and just going to sleep. No matter, the project was due in three weeks so they had enough time to study.

Both of them had a chance to sleep in, seeing as it was only Saturday and they were taking up everybit of rest they could get.

The sun risen more as the hours went by and it was now-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Miles’ alarm clock went off at 9:00pm…which was not a time they planned on being awake.

Mirabel stirred as she heard the thing incessantly beeping and groggily opened her eyes. She sat up and looked at the blurry black block that sat on Miles’ dresser. She didn’t feel like getting up…

“Miles…Gonzalo…Morales! Turn it off for god sake!” she mumbled as she plopped back down

“No”

Mirabel breathed a deep sigh, sat up, and put her glasses on. She looked to the left of her and her bunny slippers were sitting right there where she expected them to be. She grabbed one…and threw it at Miles. It landed right on his face…

Miles sat up quickly once he realized what just happened and glared at Mirabel. Mira snickered and cackled when she saw his face.

“What? Something wrong?” she pretended to be innocent but her giggling wasn’t helping that.

Miles got off the bed and slowly walked over to his dresser and turned the alarm off. Mirabel laid herself back down on her sleeping bag and got all comfy again. Miles took this chance and threw her bunny slipper right back at her…accidentally with too much force.

He heard how hard it hit her head and before he could face her wrath he made a break for the door. Miles slightly laughed as he heard Mira call his name and made his way to the living room, thankfully Mama Rio was already awake and sitting in the kitchen.

“What did you do this time?” she slightly yelled from the kitchen

Miles sped over to it and sat at the table with an innocent face. “I don’t know what you speak of mama”

Mirabel clutched the slipper tightly and slowly made her way out of her sleeping bag. The symbiote in her was very much irritated as well. They wanted to sleep too. In a fit of small rage the creature gave Mirabel’s right arm a bit of extra strength because it knew what its host was about to do.

Once out of the sleeping bag she ran out of his room and dashed straight for the kitchen.

The hand that held the slipper was far behind her as she was about to strike. She made it to the kitchen and there he was…the guy who ruined her sleep. Standing right next to his mama like she was going to save him…silly boy.

In a matter of seconds time stood still. She raised her hand up…and threw the slipper.

When I tell you that thing hit his face so hard. It made a bullet sound damn there. He fell back to the floor with a groan and the slipper landed right beside his head.

“That’s for throwing it at me!”

Rio raised a brow and looked down at Miles who was still gathering himself.

“You threw a slipper at her?” Her voice was calm but Miles could tell there was some irritation in her tone. He knew that tone and he knew he better start speaking now to save himself.

“She threw it first!” he said as he quickly stood up to defend himself. There was a visible red slipper shape on his face. It was taking everything in Rio not to laugh.

“Not as hard as you did!” Mira put her hand on her hips while glaring at him.

Rio sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early for this…“Both of you apologize”

“QUE?!” They both stared at her in shock.

“Now!” she said sternly

Both teens glared at each other for a few moments. Mirabel sighed sharply and rolled her eyes, “Lo siento”

Miles smirked and crossed his arms, “yo tambien lo siento”. Mira wanted to smack that smirk off his face…but knew a more simpler subtle way to do it.

“No problema, hermanito” Mirabel slowly said the word hermanito to Miles. She knew he hated that nickname and always used it to irritate him.

The teen boy’s eye twitched at that forsaken nickname. He hated being seen as anything close to little.

Rio rolled her eyes, “both of you sit down, I’ll get breakfast ready”. She sat her mug down but before she could slightly lift herself off the seat she was quickly forced down.

Mirabel had her hand on her shoulder as she smiled kindly, “It’s ok mama rio, I can do it”

“Heck no, you're not burning MY portion of the breakfast like you did last time” Miles tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her.

“I told you that was an accident”

“Sure it was”

Yeah so I tried to make Mirabel and Miles seem like siblings a little bit. They did grow up together and had sleepovers/play dates often (with Camilo usually there). Now that Mira’s parents are gone she’s a little more clingy with Rio and Aaron because they are the closest thing she has to parents.

She's closer with Rio though.

SIBLINGS DYNAMICS SO COOL 💪💪💪

I mean she is being cared for. Miles and Aaron, a drip, they’re so cool for that. And Camilo too, can’t forget about bro, they are really chill for looking after them 🌚🌚

Rio trying to cook while she hears Mirabel and Miles in the other room beefing over an alarm:

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto Camilo #miles morales #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse

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colorsunimaginable · 1 year ago

Text

the spare // chapter sixty-six // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 4.1k warnings for this chapter: none, but Christmas??? if that triggers you at all

my lovely beta reader 💕 banner credit @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Six:

Christmas day starts just like any other winter day here at the cottage. Thomus and I keep each other warm under the covers at night, so in the morning the first thing I do is start the fire in the living room. Then it’s over to the kitchen to make my family’s usual Christmas day breakfast of cinnamon rolls, although I have to make them from scratch because the Wizarding World has yet to discover the magic of canned dough. I put on a Christmas compilation record, hoping it’ll put me in the holiday mood.

Thomus gets up later than I do, and he finds me shoving cookies into little Christmas themed plastic gift bags I’d found in a drawer when I first tore through the kitchen. Cookies into one bag with the cherry pie bar in one of its own, both twist-tied together.

He pours himself some coffee and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he studies my spread. “How many of those are you making?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I only mean there’s not that many of us.”

I look down as I finish bag number 7. I’m only half way done. “Something tells me you’re forgetting the House Elves under your quote unquote ‘employ’,” I say. “I don’t want to leave them out.”

He sits down at the table, sliding his mug into the only available space. “You have a real knack for making me feel like a self-absorbed git.”

I shrug. “That, my friend, is empathy, probably laced with a bit of guilt, too.”

He snorts softly and shakes his head, raising his mug to his lips. “And a Happy Christmas to you, too.”

I give a tight-lipped smile, still not actually feeling very happy today - despite the music. “Happy Christmas.”

“Did you open your gift?” he asks, and that makes me pause.

“What gift?”

Thomus gets up from the table and brings back the box he’d placed next to the tree last night. As he hands it to me, I notice my name scribbled in a corner. I lift away the lid and pull back some tissue paper to reveal an Olympus OM-1 film camera. It’s bright and shiny, the body small in comparison to its lens.

I slowly run a finger over the silver plating and glance up at him shyly. He's patiently watching me, waiting for a response, and I'm anxious because I'm not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t be,” he says quickly, seeming genuine. “There isn’t much you could give me.” He nabs my favorite cookie, popping it into his mouth, and groaning after a few chews. “Actually you should make me a batch of these.”

I can’t help but let out a small smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He stretches an arm to the island counter, where the cinnamon rolls are, and plucks one off the plate. “I got an owl from Astor this morning. He’s invited us to a gathering tomorrow.”

“A gathering?”

Thomus nods, taking a bite. “You know, for Christmas. A small one.”

I internally sigh. “I’m assuming he wants me to serve?”

“No, actually. According to his letter, you’re a regular guest.”

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief and my tone doesn’t betray any actual excitement. “How nice.”

~*~

When I get ready for Christmas dinner at the Manor, I make sure to cover the dark veiny lines around my eyes with foundation underneath my winged eyeliner. Thomus said he told Narcissa that I had my sight and voice again, but I’m not sure how much truth she actually has.

I dress in a burgundy blouse with an open black sweater and meet Thomus on the landing. He’s wearing a black suit jacket with a dark green sweater underneath. I don’t resist my urge to reach out and touch the fabric. It’s soft and feels so good on his chest, especially when I snake my arms under his jacket and press my cheek to it in a hug. His arms go around my shoulders and squeeze me against him. I breathe in his apt smell of pine and cedar.

I don’t feel so alone when I’m hugging him, listening to him breathe and his heartbeat steadily under my ear.

“Darling?” he murmurs after an admittedly very long moment.

“Hm?” I hum without moving an inch.

“Narcissa doesn’t easily forgive tardiness.”

I sigh, letting out the faintest whine before pulling away. “Okay.”

Before we leave, I dig through my backpack for my little bag of jewelry. It mostly holds my stretchy plastic chokers, but I pull out a silver locket. It’s small and oval with a floral design etched onto the front. Thomus doesn’t question me about it as he watches me put it on.

When we step into the Manor, I feel a little awkward with the basket full of Christmas treats. I’ve never been good at gift-giving. My anxiety tends to tell me that whatever gift I’ve thought of, won’t be good enough. But those thoughts vanish when we meet Narcissa in a small dining room. After a hug in greeting, her face lights up when I give her a bag of the baked goods.

“Thank you, dear,” she gushes. “You baked these yourself? They look delicious.”

I pull another out and set it on the table for Hermione. “I’m going to visit the kitchen.” I don’t look at either of them and book it out the door before Thomus can protest. I find the elves hard at work, busy completing the finishing touches for our dinner.

“Miss!” Mippy says, bouncing over to me in the doorway. “Happy Christmas, Miss!”

I smile down at her and hold up the basket. “Happy Christmas to you, too, Mippy. I baked for you guys.”

Mippy lets out a delirious squeal and her voice shakes like she’s going to cry. “M-miss b-aked for M-mippy? And Remmy? And -”

“Yes,” I blush, a bit flustered by such a reaction as I place the basket on their table. “There’s a bag for everyone.”

Murmurs of excitement burst around the room and Mippy’s the loudest of them all. “Miss is so kind and generous and thoughtful -”

“I hope you enjoy them,” I say quickly, and send a smile to the room without making too much eye contact. “See y’all later.”

Hermione's arrived when I return to the dining room and we pull each other into a big hug.

Dinner is an almost somber affair. Thomus and I sit next to each other, while Hermione is across from me and Narcissa is at the end of the table. Not for the first time, I can tell Narcissa’s putting on a smile for us and as I eye her, I notice her clothes fit a little looser than they had the last time I saw her.

“Have you heard from Draco at all?” I ask her, hoping it’s not too sensitive of a topic. Immediately her face saddens and I regret ever speaking.

She answers me anyway. “The last correspondence I received from him personally was to inform me he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year, so he and a select few have been asked to remain on guard.”

“I’m sorry he can’t be here,” I say. “It must be really hard without both of them.”

“I do miss them terribly,” she says, a tear beading in her eye. “However -” She reaches over and grabs my hand from my lap and covers Hermione’s on her other side. “I’m grateful to have all of you here.”

I squeeze her hand in return, nodding. “It’s a nice little… distraction,” I say, and speaking of… “Thomus told me you’re planning a New Year’s Eve party?”

This new topic launches both her and Thomus into a tangent, the kind that feels as if I’ve just popped in during the middle of a conversation. There’s something about a particular pureblood seamstress being booked up, or the elves having trouble procuring ingredients for certain dishes that before the war would have been readily available. Then there’s the matter of security - of which Thomus is taking the lead. Apparently with so many Death Eaters and their ‘elite’ society in one place, guests have expressed concerns about being vulnerable to an attack. Hermione and I sit in silence, absorbing all of this information.

“Thankfully we don’t have to secure the perimeter for the Lots,” Thomus comments. “I don’t even want to think about the logistics for that feat. We only have you two to worry about that night.”

I nearly choke on my apple cider. “I’m going?” Then I look at Hermione and gesture between us. “We’re going?”

When I bring my eyes to Thomus, he looks hesitant. “Granger is yes,” he says. “We believe it best to have her out in plain view where we can keep an eye on her.”

I nod. “Okay, yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with me?”

“On that particular issue, Thomus and I disagree,” Narcissa says, giving him a stern look. “But the issue is tabled for now, especially on Christmas.”

“If it makes a difference, I don’t think I’d like to go,” I say with an apology on my face. “I’m sure it’s going to be very grand, but if I have the option…” I shake my head.

Narcissa smiles at me and lifts her gaze to Thomus. “I believe you have your answer.”

My eyes turn to Thomus as well, curious. He meets them briefly before dropping them down to his dinner plate. His mouth is turned down in a sour expression before a muscle in his jaw ticks and the look is gone. Why does he want me to go?

I take another sip of my drink, desperately wishing it was spiked with something.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” Narcissa says and my eyes bounce up to Hermione before I realize she’s talking to me. “Is it a locket?”

Reflexively my fingers go up to the locket, feeling the texture of the design. I give a soft smile and nod. “A friend of mine gave it to me a few years back.” My other hand comes up to pry it open, careful not to touch the tiny portraits inside. “It’s a picture of that friend and my family.”

“That’s lovely,” Narcissa murmurs when I press it closed with a little snap.

My throat feels tight and I try to swallow around the lump in it. “Yeah,” I croak, my breaths suddenly shaky and loud. I speak softly to hide the emotion in my voice. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you have nothing to apologize for, dear,” she says. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them, I take it?”

I nod and sniffle. “Yeah, about… three years, I think.” I force myself to take a steady deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. You know how it is.”

She nods, looking ready to ask more, but I interject with, “Is there still a lot to do for the party?”

If she can tell I purposefully changed the subject, she doesn’t show it. Narcissa launches into a whole list of tasks she and Thomus have left. I try to focus on what she says, but if I’m being honest, it just goes in one ear and out the other.

While she speaks, Thomus slides his hand over to the one in my lap. His hand is a bit cold and I turn my palm up to clasp his fingers between mine.

~*~

After dinner, we walk back out to the main hall. Thomus and Narcissa are discussing their immediate plans for the Gala while Hermione and I trail behind them. I loop my arm under hers and slow our pace.

“How’s your research been going?” I ask, my voice low.

Her brown eyes are alight with excitement. “I believe I’ve cracked it.”

I squeeze her arm, angling my body towards her. “Really? That’s awesome.”

“I’m ready to run tests, only…” she looks down, then up at Narcissa and Thomus, ensuring they’re paying us no attention, before leaning in to whisper, “Would you happen to have your wand?”

Regret rises from my belly and spreads all over my face. “No, I don’t.”

She sighs, disappointed. I am, too. “I saw you had your necklace, so I’d hoped -”

“I know,” I murmur. “I thought he’d go through my bag, so I left it in my vault. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

Hermione tilts her head. “Does he know your necklace is a…?”

I shake my head.

“So was it you or Thomus who broke the curse?”

“Well, technically it’s not broken,” I explain as we come to our destination. I keep her close and whisper. “Its effects are just being suppressed by my magic. The suppression potions don’t work on me anymore.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? That would -”

“Alder, let’s go,” Thomus calls from across the room. “We have one more stop to make.”

I sigh heavily and give him a look, he’s standing by the front door. “Really? On Christmas?”

“Especially,” he snaps. “Let’s go.”

I pull Hermione into a hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay?’

She nods and hugs me back before we let go. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I rush through a goodbye to Narcissa, feeling pressured as Thomus stands with his hands in his pockets.

We get outside and I shiver, not prepared for the frigid air. “You couldn’t have told me we were going somewhere else? I don’t have a jacket.”

It’s dark out, so I don’t see him pull out his wand and summon his cloak. He settles it around my shoulders and I pause, knowing he’s going to expect to fasten the clasp himself as he usually does.

“It’s like I have you trained,” he remarks once he finishes and pulls the hood over my head.

“Well, what can I say? You’re getting predictable,” I tease.

Thomus chuckles as his palms encase my cheeks, holding me still as his mouth descends on mine. His quick kiss tastes of the coffee he had with our pumpkin pie dessert.

~*~

Thomus Apparates us to a secluded woodsy spot behind a playground. It’s snowing here and there’s already a blanket of it covering the ground. With the snow and street lamps, it’s not quite as dark as the Manor. Thomus takes my hand and guides me down a residential street that branches off with rows and rows of identical townhomes. When I think of searching for a street name, in an attempt to discern where we are, the only one I see is Privet Drive - which tells me nothing.

He pauses under a street lamp with a bus stop and a phone booth. It’s not the classic London version, but a more modern design with unpainted metal and long window panes.

“I assume you know how to operate one of these,” he says, his hand disappearing into his pocket. He pulls out a small leather pouch and places it in my hand.

“The bus stop?” I ask incredulously.

His hand comes up to the back of my elbow as he steers me towards the booth. “No, the telephone.”

My heart begins to race. “W-what? Why?”

He reaches for the handle of the collapsible door and pushes it aside. “To call home.”

I turn to face him, nearly panting with shock. “What?”

“Consider it a Christmas gift,” he says. I feel his hand at my back, urging me inside, but I plant my feet.

“Just like that?” I ask. “No conditions?”

“I assume you know the obvious one.” He gives me a stern look, meeting eyes. “Don’t give any hints or clues about your… reality.”

I press my lips together and nod, trying not to panic about what I’m even going to say.

I step inside the booth and Thomus closes the door, leaving it open a few inches as he leans against the frame, hands tucked into his pockets.

With shaking fingers, I start pulling out the No-Maj coins from the pouch he handed me. Calls to the US are expensive, so I put in every single one. I pick up the handset and press the cold plastic to my ear, listening to the slightly deeper dial tone. I’ve only had to do this once, when I first arrived and my phone didn’t work.

With a deep breath, I punch in the numbers and wait.

It rings and rings. My eyes wander around the booth, taking in the area code poster and emergency numbers, some call for a good time markings up the metal frame. I should’ve known they won’t pick up the phone for a number they don’t recognize.

But then there’s a click and I hear my mother’s voice. “Melisa?”

My throat is tight again and I force myself to breathe out. “Hi, Mom.”

“I wondered who else could be calling today - already had a chat with your Aunt Susan, and with grandma passing away last year - as soon as it said Surrey, I knew,” she says. Fat tears spring to my eyes just listening to her talk, hearing her voice. I put my hand over the receiver as I fight for control over my sobs. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, honey.”

I sniffle and force deep breaths, making sure my voice won’t shake before I pull my hand away. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. My phone shattered and no one I’m around uses them and I just haven’t gotten around to replacing it. I’m calling from a payphone near my apartment. What time is it there? I’m not calling too late, am I?”

“Oh no, it’s only about 7 o’clock here. Your brother and I have just been watching the new Doctor Who season - “

“Is that Melisa?” I hear my dad say in the background.

“Yes, dear. Your dad wants to talk to you, Melisa.”

“Okay,” I say. I hear her attempt to pass the phone, but my dad mumbles something about putting the phone on speaker.

“Hey, Melisa! How are ya'?” he says and my heart squeezes hearing the excitement in his voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” I say, repeating the same spiel.

“That newspaper must be working you like a dog if you can’t find time to call your dear old Dad,” he says and I manage to chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m crazy busy, but I love it.”

“Well that’s good. They paying you enough? They should, for all that hard work you’re doin’.”

“Yes, Dad, I’m doing just fine,” I say. “How’ve you been? How’s Ben?”

“I’m doin’ alright,” he says. He starts listing various projects he’s had to work on about the house and the latest issue with my mom’s truck, something about the transmission. I use the time to focus on calming my shaking breaths.

I hear Ben’s voice give a faint “Hi, Melisa”.

“He’s almost saved enough for that down payment on the house he’s been looking at,” my dad says for him.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What kind of house?”

My brother definitely responds, but he’s talked over by an electronic voice announcing I have one minute left.

“I have to go,” I say, failing to keep the sadness out of my voice. “I used all my coins.”

“Well, Merry Christmas, honey,” Mom says.

“And we miss you,” my dad chimes in. “You need to call us more.”

“I’ll try, but it might be a while,” I admit. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mom says. “Talk to you lat -”

The call ends and slowly I put the handset back in its place. Mentally I’d been transported back home - I could picture my parents sitting in their usual spots at the kitchen table, my brother on the couch in the family area. If you stand in the right spot, you can see down to the living room through the kitchen, the Christmas tree all aglow. I can see every detail in my mind’s eye and the overwhelming longing to be home brings a fresh round of tears. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as I let out a silent sob.

Once the emotion has been poured out of me, I feel raw, but… better. I use the sleeve of my sweater to dab at my eyes, knowing my makeup is probably ruined regardless. When I turn back to Thomus, I find him watching me with a wary expression.

“Okay!” I say brightly, pushing back the door. “We can go.”

Wordlessly, he grabs my hand and we Apparate on the spot.

~*~

We get back to the cottage and I immediately go to the kitchen, cranking on the record player. I'm finally in the mood for music and have just enough energy to make the batch of cookies Thomus asked for.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me and bombard me with a bunch of questions, which I honestly half-expected of him.

Singing along to every Christmas song that plays, I don’t pause until the last tray of cookies are in the oven and the dishes have been washed. When I pass through the living room, I spot Thomus on the couch, leaning against the back cushions with his eyes closed. I run upstairs to take off my pants and bra, getting ready to settle in for the night.

Just as I finish brushing my teeth, the timer goes off and I rush downstairs to pull out the last tray. Once they’re on the racks to cool, I shut off the music and return to the living room.

Thomus hasn’t moved. The fire is going and with the kitchen light off, the only other light is coming from the tree. Hesitantly I step closer to him, wondering if he might be asleep, but notice his face isn’t exactly relaxed.

Acting on pure impulse, I crawl onto his lap. He stirs when he feels my legs straddle his, eyes fluttering open in surprise to watch me. I support my weight with my hands on the back of the couch, gently lowering myself until my front is fully pressed against him. He lifts his head as I close my arms around his shoulders and smoosh my face against the side of his. I’m hyper aware of how much bigger I am than him, so I refrain from relaxing completely.

After a moment, his body softens beneath mine and he lets out a long sigh. His arms go around my waist and he hugs me tightly, hips flexing down enough so they’re nestled perfectly between my thighs. Slowly I relax, tension lifting from my body.

“I’m not too heavy, right?” I ask softly, almost shyly, in his ear.

His face moves side to side, nuzzling his nose by my ear. “No, this is…” He runs his hands down my back, smoothing around the curve of my hips down to my thighs before gliding them back up my sides, caressing my rolls. “I love this.”

His sincerity makes my heart soar. It makes me feel so whole, so completely accepted physically. My grip around him tightens, not wanting to let go. I can’t deny how well our bodies just… fit.

“Thank you for my Christmas presents,” I murmur. “This wasn’t… the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, his lips nestled against my neck. “Hasn’t been too bad for me either, come to think of it.” His hands travel to my undie-covered ass where he squeezes hard and gives it a little shake. “And look at you, a present already half-way unwrapped.”

One of his hands shoots to the underside of my foot, dancing his fingers along it. My leg jerks and I let out a sudden squeal, trying to push myself away from him. He’s quick though, one arm latches around my waist to keep me sealed against him even as I wiggle in his lap. I’m laughing, smiling so hard my cheeks already hurt.

I’m breathless and only manage to say his name like a plea. By the time I break free of his hold, he’s grinning too as I swing myself off of his lap to collapse on my back in the remaining space of the couch.

His hooded eyes are locked onto the space between my thighs and I only have a moment before he pounces. Thomus settles between my legs and spends the rest of Christmas slowly unwrapping me as if I really am his present.

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northsborn · 5 months ago

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informations about sandborn, her direwolf:

sandborn real name is in the old tongue (based on scandinavian/norwegian) sandfødt.

he understands both the common tongue and the old tongue.

sandborn came to her when she was little, twin to shadow, cregan's direwolf and they are both big enough to ride, sandborn specially grew much in size as he sees sara to be protected.

sandborn, like most direwolves bonded to a stark, reacts to them and their emotions, and often while she might not show an emotion, sandborn reacts, usually to defend her and barking and growling to let others back away.

once she knows a few valyrian words, she teach them to sandborn.

sandborn is the first one who finds out if she is pregnant or not as he grows overprotective of her.

she goes everywhere with them.

#｟ study ｠ ⸻ ▻ she was warm despite the winter in her blood.#｟ sandborn ｠ ⸻ ▻ the wolf and the girl were one.

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figthefruitfaeth · 2 years ago

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written on a lonely, friendless day. nancy wheeler x-files au character study taken from s3ep15. angst ahead.

It’s raining when Nancy wakes up. It pitter-patters weakly against the window, barely heard under the creak of the waterlogged floorboards as she dresses.

White blouse, dark blazer, clean cut and sharp. Snappy sensible heels and curls teased high and delicate. Thin gold chain around her neck. The clasp is loose, by age, by damage—snipping at the hair on her neck, digging into sweaters and leaving holes. Barb’s. Before.

It’s raining as she pays for her coffee, as it slips down her throat and a hiss of pain whistles past her teeth. More than a drizzle, less than a storm. It doesn’t beat against her skin, doesn’t leave her soaked. It sinks into her hair, catches the heel of her sock. They’ll be frizzy and wooden respectively by lunch.

The train is quiet. Her car is only half full, other sleepy commuters unrestful in their seats. She can’t hear it this deep underground, can’t hear it over the rush of wind and grinding of steel as they all hurtle deep into the dark. All, but not together.

She can’t hear it, but she feels it. Hot, humid. The warm wet squelch of her shoe against the linoleum floor, the uneven drip down the line of her back, a pinprick of cold sinking into her skin just as quickly as it appeared. The car and its sleepy passengers all drying at once, all trying to shed water and only getting halfway. A compromise of liquidity, of body and temperature.

It’s not like home. Summers hot and clawing, winters that bite and draw blood. Virginia—DC—it’s mild. Rain which falls but does not thunder, heatwaves and snow days which creep in and pass quickly. The Goldilocks zone. That’s what she’d said, voice low over the phone, a false cheer Nancy could feel wrapped in the tangled cord even a thousand miles away. It’s supposed to be a relief. A compromise.

The office is a nagging buzz, no breaking case or celebration, just a few people milling around chatting. This might be the usual for them, she doesn’t know, doesn’t care. It’s not her department, not her floor. The only reason she’s up here is for the coffee maker. They’ve got their own, down in the basement. Old, paint chipping off at the bottom. But Robin’s been out sick since yesterday, and it doesn’t work for anybody but Robin. Not really theirs at all.

Her second coffee drips, drips into the mug. Pitters against the ceramic blue base, stains the beige countertop in dark liquid. Sputters and spits mostly tap water.

“Agent Wheeler.”

She turns around.

Owens. Standing in the doorway, one hand at his hip, the other in a pantomime of a knock. It’s a strange little thing, a tired whisper of a joke played when you don’t know someone very well or when you’re trying to keep twitchy fingers occupied.

Owens knows Nancy very well.

“Can I see you in my office?”

It’s not a question or a request, even though it tilts like one at the end. Not a demand either, despite her lack of choice in the matter. A lukewarm duty.

She nods, grabs her coffee. Freshly brewed, but barely hot enough to warm her stiff fingers. Tastes like dirt, like rain. Choking on mud.

Her heels don’t clack along the hallway, a sharp echo announcing where she’s going. Instead, they’re muffled, mixed in with the whirring of a nearby printer, lost to the jangle of Owens’ keys, and then altogether silenced in the carpet of his office.

He offers her a seat, which she doesn’t take. She’s never taken a seat in here and he knows that.

“Alright, straight to it then. A memo came across my desk last night. Thought I should call, but I figured, better to hear it in person.”

“Is this about the ship?”

Their most recent case. A salvage vessel off the coast of San Diego with big claims of dragging up a UFO and no explanation for the crew littered in radiation burns. A case, whether extraterrestrial or not, Nancy could sink her teeth into.

“No, no,” Owens shakes his head, shifts his weight to the right.

Nancy squints. He’s dragging this out, taking his time with an uncomfortable truth instead of just telling her. A misplaced care for her feelings turning whatever bad news he has for her into a pity performance.

He runs a hand through his hair, tries to lean against his desk which Nancy can tell is further away than he expected—stumbling half a step before he hits wood.

She doesn’t have time for this.

A tight smile, “I’ve got my hands full today, Owens. So if you just wanted to talk about last night’s game, then—“

“It’s about you. And, Barb.”

Barb.

A drop hits the top notch of her spine, slithers down a few inches, bleeds into her blouse.

He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at her. Looks, like it’s the last time he’ll see her. Looks, like she’s already gone and buried.

Barb.

Sudden and violent is the urge to slap him, to feel the sting of the terrible secret he’s got red against her palm. Needs him to yell, to scream, to do anything but try and coddle her. To look at her like she’s breakable. Like she’s already broken.

But her throat won’t work, tongue heavy behind teeth that won’t open. Her hands won’t move, won’t pry free from their place on her mug. Indiana State University. Barb’s blue mug.

“It’s been five months and neither the DC police team or the Bureau have found any new leads or evidence for her murder. I’ve been told—I’ve been told the case is to remain inactive until further notice.”

Inactive until further notice. A polite way to say over. A bullshit, sugar coated way to say it’s another cold case file shoved into a cabinet left to rot.

Nancy wants to laugh, wonders what would happen if the little bubbling tendril inside escaped. Would it come out right? If she could speak, tongue pushing speech past the bite of her mouth, would it sound human? Would it even make any noise at all?

She takes a sip of her coffee. It’s not hot, and the day is too warm, too wet to have it go cold just yet. When she sips, there’s no sensation, no punishment in either direction. It’s just an action, just a movement without meaning. The grit of mud between the grind of her teeth for nothing.

Her hands are trembling, she realizes, ring clinking against her cup just enough to drown out the rain tapping against the office windows.

Barb.

He sighs, scrubs at his face.

“I don’t like it either, Nancy, but I don’t think there’s anything behind this. With all the other shit this department is handling—badly, I might add—I think it’s simply just a case of not enough people for the job.”

Nancy blinks.

Nothing behind this.

As if Nancy’s placement in the X-Files wasn’t just a thinly veiled excuse to spy on Robin. As if she didn’t start getting turned away from resources and contacts because she wouldn’t outright call Robin a crackpot. As if case after case of concrete evidence of a government conspiracy going up in smoke was just coincidence.

Nothing behind this.

A fucking platitude, that’s what Owens is selling her. Does he think she needs this? That she’d be happy with half assed excuses and empty promises? That she needs her hand held? They’ve worked together for two years and somehow, she finds he doesn’t know her at all.

He’s saying something else, talking about going to Brenner’s office and talking some sense into him, getting the case back open, but she can’t hear him, not really. The world zeros down to the sharp clink against her mug, vibrating in her hands. Zeroes down to her borrowed necklace tight on her throat and dripping hair and the white hot, blind rage curling in her gut.

Barb, Barb, Barb.

“Nancy—”

She stops, half out the door unaware she’d ever started moving. Her coffee is half empty, and she’s not sure whether it’s splashed across his carpet or lying in the pit of her stomach.

“Right. Because that makes sense.”

Her voice works. Quieter than she wants. Softer than she feels.

“It makes total sense, that a man can blow up a building halfway across the country and we can still pull enough evidence to put him away for life. Right? That makes sense to you. But in the case of a woman, my—”

Friend. Pinkie promises in twin sized beds, lingering glances on double dates, and phone calls with more said in the static of a bad connection than ever in person. Nothing behind this.

“Barb. Barb, murdered in cold blood in a well-lit, reputable hotel with multiple, reliable witnesses and fingerprints clearer than the ones you get at the fucking bureau. All that, but we can’t even put together enough to keep anybody interested. That tracks, right?”

He sighs, “I don’t think this has anything to do with interest.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” This time she does laugh, and it’s human, and unlike anything inside herself.

“You can’t believe that, I know you don’t. Tell me you don’t.”

Tell me you haven’t left us here to rot. Tell me you have and let me crawl my way out.

Owens holds her gaze, then looks away.

That’s her answer, isn’t it? Right.

“This has everything to do with interest. Just not yours, and not mine.”

Her heels are silent against the hallway, as is the swing of the women’s restroom door, and the lock latching into place.

She slams the mug against the sink, rips the necklace from her throat and watches it clatter against porcelain.

Compromise.

The last five months spent either on a case or on her case, scrounging data reports and paper trails and eyewitness accounts. Bed and fridge empty as she spent every night calling contact after contact, dead end after dead end.

Nothing behind this.

The case that could’ve meant the end of the X-Files or the end of Them—but didn’t. Where nobody died and nothing changed for anyone of consequence.

Barb.

Her first visit to the city since the sticky, wet summer after training. The phone call Nancy had made, telling her, I want to see you. And the phone call when she finally landed, Stay. Stay in the hotel room and order room service by herself while she tried to save the X-Files, while she tried to save Robin.

Stay. And then she hung up, rushed out the door by the whirlwind nature of it all. Line gone cold, last word hanging in the static.

Nancy is never going to know what Barb might’ve said.

She lets the curling, festering thing in her gut grow, lets it eat at her, lets her body bite and bleed itself dry and full, wet and hungry until all that’s left is rage. Hot and fast, water evaporating from her body and finding nowhere to escape, clinging to the lining of her jacket, the creases of her palms. Her mouth opens, parting for a blood curdling scream, a cry of injustice and retribution, for something, for fucking anything—

Nothing comes out.

On the sink, the mug stares at her, blue and unscratched. The chain lies stuck in mud.

It’s raining. A weak pitter against the vents. It’s raining as Nancy hunches over a bathroom sink, and weeps.

#nancy wheeler #my work #my writing #stranger things fic #nancy wheeler fic #noviakart's xfiles au lives in my head rent free 25/8 #thinking about a part 2 idk though we'll see

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zorkaya-moved · 9 months ago

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❛ i won’t let them kill you. i won’t let them even touch you. ❜ [ and i close my eyes and image yuuna gingerly holding zarina's face with crimson stained hands like you know ??? ]

@merotm

The scent of iron is nauseating to those who aren't used to it, but Zarina finds the scent of burned bodies and flesh far worse, or those who drowned. And so, the crimson staining Yuuna's hands do not cause her to step away or to look away, instead she concentrates on her lover's face and studies her expression. She is determined, radiant despite the blood staining her pretty, soft hands and her green eyes shining with such power that none would be the wiser to step between them.

There is a moment when breathing stops for a second, the sticky blood comes in contact with her skin. It feels wet, a bit uncomfortable, but the warmth of Yuuna’s hands make her blink in surprise that she didn’t mind the sensation as much as she thought. If anything, it’d be a bitch to get off later, but maybe she can use this to drag her beloved to take a shower together to wash off the blood, relax together, and spend more time without interruptions. Her golden gaze softens at the words spoken by the blonde, understanding the severity within them as much as a blessed promise in the moment where blood is shed.

This is loyalty and devotion. Will Yuuna allow the same worship of her from the side of the beast drowning in languor? Will she approve of her being obsessed with these words and remembering them for eternity? Zarina finds herself smiling at Yuuna despite the tense situation and despite the blood that colors her pale skin, matching the color of hair red lipstick yet still brighter.

“You look like the Queen of Hearts,” she chuckles, bringing her hand up to Yuuna’s and placing it on top of it. The blood smears, leaving a wet trace as she readjusts her lover’s palm. It feels warm. Some would say it feels sickly warm, but the winter maiden concentrates solely on the woman in front of her: the valkyrie, the warrior maiden, the goddess of ambitious future. “So fierce, my love, the Sun will be jealous of your heat.”

How could she still look so blessed? With blood on her hands and clothes, with hair a mess and clothes disheveled after a fight. She could, Yuuna always could, and Zarina knows it all too well. Perhaps, by seeing this ‘imperfect’ appearance - she is far more beautiful than the pretend game of perfection. She may be acting to be liked, to be the heroine, but she looks much better like this. Untamed, powerful, intelligent, dangerous. There is no leash that can hold her and the gaze full of ichor shines with respect and appreciation over her.

“I’m flattered. I have my own lady knight now,” her words are spoken with warmth despite the playful smile. “I love you, Yuuna, thank you.”

#merotm #two girlfriends covered in blood #will they kiss ? they might!#❄ ― IN CHARACTER. ╱ you breathe by the sun，i breathe by the moon.#blood cw #gore ment cw

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the-true-brat-princess · 1 year ago

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You're in the Wind, I'm in the Water (HOTD Fanfic)

You're in the Wind, I'm in the Water - princess_Angelina - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Aemond Targaryen x OC Velaryon

Summary: "Brave girl...they never say that to a lucky person, do they?"

Saera Rhae is the third child of Ser Vaemond Velaryon, her mother is an unknown Targaryen woman, removed from history shortly after Saera’s birth. On her third birthday, she was sent to King’s Landing to live with her elder cousin Laenor as his ward; she studied alongside the royal children, quickly being adopted as a sister and a daughter by the royal families.

As they grow older, and her family fractures and cracks around her, Saera learns that life will continue, the tides will still rise and fall, the day will always turn into night and back again, despite the tragedies that befall her.

Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Canon Rewrite: The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era, Canon - Book: Fire and Blood & House of the Dragon (TV) Combination, Period-Typical Sexism, Loss of Innocence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Family Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Doomed by the Narrative, Survivor Guilt

Chapter 1

Evening came quickly in autumn, leaving her small room bathed in warm, flickering firelight and the pale glow of the moon. It was nearing fullness, soon winter would come to King’s Landing. Bathing everything in a frost, and sometimes if she were lucky, a full blanket of snow would cover the ruddy bricks and thatched roofs of the city.

She sat on her hands, trying not to wiggle out of her maid’s grip on her curls. She watched the woman wind dozens of tiny braids into her head, her dark eyes narrowed in the low light and her humming coming to a slow stop. “Don’t move, Saera Rhae,” she said sternly when the child tried to twist around to look at her. “I mean it.” She walked over to the candelabra and carried it closer to the vanity, illuminating Saera’s silvery hair and misty purple eyes.

Her hands found her head again, resuming her braiding. The child watched her through the silver mirror, a pout pulled on her cheeks. “Jaylessa?”

“Yes, my songbird?” she glanced at her with a reassuring smile.

“How much longer will it be?” the child asked with a sweet grin. “I want to visit Laenor before bed.”

Jaylessa clicked her tongue. “Remember your manners. It is Ser Laenor, even to you. And a lady does not make demands, only requests.”

Her sweet face dropped into a frown. “I wish to visit Ser Laenor before I go to bed.” She pulled her hands out from under her, reaching for the books on the table. The braids slipped from her maid’s fingers. “He told me he had a letter for me from my father.”

“Did he?” Jaylessa entertained her, capturing her head and finding the end of her braid again. “What else did he tell you?”

“He said that he wanted to hear about what I studied, and how my lessons were,” Saera Rhae excitedly started, flicking open her book. She pointed to her handwriting on the loose pages, shaking symbols of High Valyrian etched in black ink. Her maid nodded along while she talked; her fingers worked furiously through the child’s curls. “And he is going to write back to my father for me! I’ll get to help, I always do. And if I am doing well in my training, my father promised to come visit me. He missed my last nameday, so I do hope it is in time for my next one.”

Her maid wiped her hands clean on her apron, tucking the final silver braid behind her ear. She smiled at her through the mirror. “I will let Ser Laenor know you are coming, my lady. Can you get into your nightdress while I’m gone?”

She nodded and slid out of her chair. Her maid listened to her little feet scurry across the room to her wardrobe before slipping out of the heavy door. The candles in the hall barely illuminated the shadows of the Crown Princess’ apartments. A few guards stood in the hall, blocking some of the doors. Jaylessa passed by Princess Visenya’s room, it was silent. Then Prince Jacerys’s, which still had some childlike activity behind it.

She rounded the corner, finally reaching Laenor’s. His guard stood in front of it, stone faced. But he looked down at the maid with a small smile. “Lady Saera Rhae is requesting an audience. Is he…”

“Not alone tonight,” his guard said. He paused for a moment, listening to the faint laughter behind the door. “But he is able to receive his cousin. I shall let him know. Bring her here.”

She watched him slip through the door, surprisingly quiet despite the armor he was covered in. The laughter grew louder when the door opened, orange candle light streamed into the hall before the door shut in her face. She turned back down the dark hall and hurried back to Saera’s room.

She opened the door, fighting off the shiver that had sunk beneath the sleeves of her dress. The little lady stood in front of her mirror, her face twisted in concentration while she struggled to tie the ribbons at her throat. Jaylessa pulled her hands free from the purple ribbons. “Ser Laenor is going to receive you. But he has guests, so you must be?”

“On my best behavior,” she promised. Her fingers twiddled with the light fabric of her nightdress, crinkling it between her knuckles. “Should I not be in my dinner gown then?”

Her maid shook her head, helping her arms into a heavy blue dressing gown. “You are young, they will not notice for a few more years.” She clasped the pearl buttons closed, hiding the white nightdress. “But we can make you look a little dressed up, so you don’t feel out of place. Would you like that?”

Saera’s face lit up and she nodded. Jaylessa guided her back to the vanity, pushing tiny pearl earrings into her dainty ears and tying her braids away from her brown, freckled cheeks. She gathered her book in her arms before Jaylessa escorted her down the hall to her guardian’s door.

Laenor’s room was warm, and he sat in front of the fire. He turned and grinned at her, his lips were tinted purple from the wine he had been drinking. Saera noticed the other two men in the room, she had only seen them in the halls but suddenly could not remember their names. She pinched her eyebrows together; wondering if they had been introduced.

Laenor motioned her in. “Hello, little cousin,” he put his glass down, opening his arms to her.

She smiled and gave him a shaky curtsy before coming to him and letting him lift her into his lap. He let out an exaggerated groan. “You’ve grown again,” he pouted. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “I thought I decreed you weren’t to do that anymore.”

“I can’t help it,” she giggled. She wrapped her hands around his neck, the book forgotten in her lap. He held her tightly.

When she pulled away he took a deep sip from his golden cup, his dark purple eyes scanned her face. “You’ve changed your hair,” he mused, touching the braids. “I say…are you trying to match mine? You’ll have much further to go.” he teased, catching his own locs in between his fingers. She let out another round of giggles, making him smile impossibly wider. “You remind me of my sister when you laugh like that.”

“You always say I remind you of her,” she retorted, making him poke her nose again. “When is she going to visit us, Laenor?”

He tried not to let his smile drop, his eyes darted over to his companions. “Soon, Saera Rhae.” He took a deep breath before motioning the two men over to them. “Where are my manners? This is Ser Cador, my friend. And this is Ser Garth, he just arrived in King’s Landing a moon ago.”

She bowed her head to them.

“Ser Garth, Ser Cador, this is my ward and younger cousin, Lady Saera Rhae,” he said with a proud smile. “My uncle’s only daughter.”

Garth stepped forward, his light brown hair turned orange in the dim light and gave her a deep bow. “It is an honor, my lady,” he smiled at her before returning to his plush seat across from them. She mumbled a reply, earning a glare from her maid who hovered by the door.

Laenor adjusted her in his arms, placing her book on the table beside him. “Tell me of your lessons,” her cousin prompted. Cador filled his cup again before finding his own chair, crossing his legs in front of him.

Saera thought for a moment before folding her hands in front of her and starting her review since the last they had spoken. The three men listened to her carefully, nodding at the right moments and asking questions at others. “And my High Valyrian is progressing quite well, the maester thinks I’ll be fluent by the time I am ten, though I’d rather I know it all by my eighth nameday.”

She pointed at the book, watching Laenor flick through her practices with a proud smile. “Visenya and I speak to each other for at least one hour to practice, she wants to be fluent as well. You must practice with us more, Jaylessa says that is the only way I’ll retain it,” she pouted.

“Nuhi riñi syri issi (My girls are so wise),” he mused, closing the book and leaning back in his chair. “Jemot kivio ñuhe tepan (I give you my word). And how is your training?”

Saera’s bright grin dropped. Her brows wrinkled together. “Criston-”

“Ser Criston,” Laenor corrected gently.

She rolled her big eyes and let out a huff through her nose. “Ser Criston and Ser Harwin do not pay me the same attention they pay the princes. Aegon and Aemond have moved on to blocks, Jace is at their heels. Yet, I have barely been taught how to hold the blade,” she pouted, holding open her hands to show him the calluses forming on her hands. He traced over them with a hum, flipping his own hand over so she could see his. They were well worn into his skin, unlike hers, the ridges were less cracked and obvious.

“And they do not help you?”

She shook her head. “Not even once. I chased a butterfly for nearly an hour two moons ago, and they didn’t even notice. I am entirely left to my own devices,” she crossed her arms and looked into the fireplace.

Laenor’s hand had been smoothing circles on her back while she spoke and came to a slow stop. “I will speak with them,” he promised.

She looked at him with a frown. “Could I not train with you and Ser Garth? ”

He looked over at his friends, opening and closing his mouth like he wasn’t sure what to say. “We will attend your training tomorrow and,” Garth said while he leaned forward, vaguely gesturing with his goblet.

“And we will observe,” Laenor finished. “And if I see the problem you claim, I will be able to speak with them. Yes?”

Saera Rhae had an expressive face. He knew it wasn’t what she wanted. “Very well. I accept,” she gave him a resigned sigh. Laenor smiled and reached for the letter waiting on the floor beside them. “Is that from Driftmark?” she asked excitedly, her sour mood completely changing when she saw the seahorse seal.

He held it just out of her reach. “It is late. Especially for little girls like you,” he said in a mock serious tone. She saw through him, squinting playfully. “We will read this together, then you will go to bed. We will write back to Vaemond before supper tomorrow.”

He waited for her to nod before handing her one of the rolled up parchments. She unrolled it eagerly, holding it open so they both could see. Laenor rested his chin on her shoulder, scanning the letter quickly.

To Lady Saera Rhae:

Ñuha Numio (My Pearl),

I miss you greatly. The halls have been too quiet without your laughter here. Your brothers send their love, they wish to visit you after the winter’s thaw.

Stay brave and true. Listen to Laenor more, I hear you’ve developed a rebellious streak. Do not let it grow too wide, or you may say something you regret. I will be sending a gift for you soon.

Your Father

Saera smiled, looking at her guardian. “Did he write to you too? He does on occasion.”

He unraveled his own message, tilting it away from her prying eyes.

To Ser Laenor:

I am glad Saera Rhae is progressing in her native tongue, and that you respected my wish for her to study the blade in accordance with our traditions. I look forward to hearing how she is progressing in the coming moons.

Her long fingers wrapped around the edge of the page; Laenor gently guided it away, chastising her quietly. “He is pleased to hear you have taken to your studies,” he said. His hand wrapped around her waist and he adjusted her so she couldn’t see the rest of the message. She kicked her feet lightly but eventually stopped squirming, resorting to a resigned pout. His eyes narrowed when he continued.

However, I am disappointed to hear she still has no dragon. Not even an egg. Remember your vow to me. You told me yourself it is much more difficult to claim a dragon the older the rider becomes. Fix it.

Vaemond.

Laenor sighed after he finished his own message and placed the letter on the side table, just out of her curious reach. “To bed.”

“I am not tired,” she pouted.

He lifted her to her feet and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his temples with his hand before draining his cup. “Saera, a lady who goes back on her word is not the company I want to keep.”

Saera Rhae’s brows puckered together, her nose crinkled up like she was about to defy him again. Then her maid came forward, snapping her from her stewing bad attitude. “Goodnight, Ser Laenor.” She curtsied to him before looking at the other two men, who raised their cups to her. “Ser Cador. Ser Garth.”

“Sleep well,” Garth bade her. “We will see you on the morrow.”

She curtsied again before Jaylessa took her hand and left the room with her. The men started their conversation once again when the door shut behind her. Her ears pricked up, trying to hear what they were saying. But all she could hear was Laenor’s voice dropping lower into his chest and deep laughter coming from one of his companions.

The curtains of her bed were yanked back, bathing her in early morning sunlight. Saera buried herself deeper in her pillows and blankets. She heard Jaylessa pouring water into the metal basin for her and birds singing outside of her open window. A brisk breeze poured in, chilling her warm skin. Her lilac eye popped open and landed on her maid.

“Ah, there you are. Time to get up, my lady,” she said chipperly. “Do not be so cross, it’s bad for your eyes.”

Saera Rhae rolled over; her silvery braids wrapped themselves around her neck and slipped beneath the collar of her nightdress. “I am still sleepy.”

The warm blankets ripped off of her, exposing her to the cold morning air. Jaylessa made her way to the fireplace, slowly coaxing the flames back to life. “The Princess Rhaenyra is expecting you at breakfast, Queen Alicent for supper. And several lessons for today. Your Septa says that you’re working on the history of The Seven, isn’t that exciting?”

Her small feet winced on the cold stones and she hopped over to the table. “Not particularly. Ser Laenor is attending my training this afternoon, Ser Garth too. Perhaps even Ser Cador, though he did not say,” She let Jaylessa dampen the cloth and rub at her face until it blushed. “And Visenya and I are going to Helaena’s room after supper to see the new spider she found.”

Her maid smoothed the braids away from her face with a gentle smile. “I’m sure the princesses are very excited.” Then she started humming again, twisting Saera’s braids into shape, winding a deep blue ribbon through them and tying it off with a bow. “And you will do your best to behave today? No child’s play with Prince Jace and Prince Daeron?’

The child wiggled into a blue and gold dress, tugging on the puffed sleeves with pursed lips. Jaylessa turned her to the mirror and started fastening the tiny gold buttons up her back. “I will try. Though if Aegon teases Visenya again, I intend on cutting his ridiculous hair off,” she said, tracing her fingers over the gold lace around her ribs.

Her maid jerked her slightly with a scandalized gasp. “You will do no such thing, Saera Rhae.”

She giggled and pulled from her hands, stepping into her leather boots. “Maybe he will miraculously fall during training,” she mused. Her pink tongue darted out from between her lips, feeling the way her toes pinched against the front of the shoe. “His feet have gotten rather big. Sometimes he stumbles.”

“You are such a mischievous child,” she said with a light pinch to Saera’s side. “I wonder if your father knows the wicked thoughts you have, or if he believes you are still the sweet toddler he left three years ago.” The child grinned at her and let her wrap her arms around her and peck a kiss on her smooth cheek.

Jaylessa finished securing her gown and smoothed her hands down her small shoulders. Three strong knocks echoed through her chamber, making them both look to her carved door. It popped open, revealing Katryna, Visenya’s maid. “Is the young lady dressed?” she asked in a sweet voice. “The little princess is requesting an audience.”

Her maid looked down at her. “Well… are you?”

Saera stood up straighter. “Yes, I can receive her,” she said in her most dignified voice.

Visenya, a year younger and significantly shorter, came pushing around her maid’s legs. Her petal pink day gown swished around her ankles and exposed her tiny white slippers. She had a white fur stole over her arm to beat the autumn chill, one end dragged on the stone floor behind her. Her bright white-blonde hair was tied away from her flushed face with pink ribbons. She ran over to Saera and threw her arms around her shoulders. The two girls hugged like they hadn’t spent the day before together.

Her brother followed behind, much slower and calmer than his sibling, trying to imitate the mannerisms of the elder princes. He bowed to his cousin as she freed herself from Visa’s grip. Saera Rhae smiled at him before hugging him too. Jace’s hands wrapped around her tightly. “You’re late. Mother sent us to collect you,” he said into the sleeve of her dress. He smiled at her, his two front teeth were missing. “She’ll be cross.”

“She is never cross with me,” Saera teased. “Only with you, when you forget your lessons.”

Visenya’s chubby hand wrapped around her’s, sticking her tongue out at her older brother. “Even I remember more Valyrian than you,” she mocked. “Bona drēje daor iksis (Is that not true)?”

“Pirtirys (Liar),” Jace pouted, pushing his sister’s blonde head playfully. “I remember my Valyrian well, but I also have more lessons than you, sister.”

Saera raised her eyebrows. “Jace, I am a part of all of your lessons. Se nyke īlva muño ēngos ȳdragon (and I speak our mother tongue).” She grinned at him while his face flushed. “But you will catch up one day.” He lunged at her and Saera danced out of his range with bright laughter.

“Children, the Princess is waiting,” Jaylessa called from her bedside. Jace grabbed Saera’s wrist, yanking her away from his sister. Visenya let out a high pitched whine and stumbled over her skirt to catch up.

The three of them bickered and giggled all the way to Rhaenyra’s rooms; which were already alive with energy despite the early hour of the morning. Rhaenyra was holding a very excited Luke in her lap, speaking in hushed tones to her lady-in-waiting. Maids bustled around, turning the sheets and laying out gowns for her to choose from. Others placed the silver breakfast trays on her table, steaming meats and lemon scones were unveiled, alongside a few winter apples and a silver kettle of mint tea. It was Rhaenyra’s favorite.

Her purple eyes softened when she saw the three of them. Saera grinned at her before giving her a graceless curtsy. “Good-morrow, Princess,” she said sweetly. Visenya ignored her manners and ran over to her mother, hiking up her pink skirts to her knees.

Rhaenyra smoothed Visenya’s blonde hair away from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Luke finally managed to free himself from her grip, and came stumbling over to Saera and Jace. “Come, eat. You three have lessons to get to,” the older princess bidded, motioning the children over.

Saera Rhae climbed into the carved chair in between Visa and Jace, a maid stepped forward and served her tea with a lump of sugar nestled at the bottom of the cup.

“Where is Ser Harwin?” Jace asked, scooping the veal onto his silver plate. “And father?”

Saera looked at Laenor’s empty seat across from her. It was rare he joined them to break their fast. I stay up until dawn, he told her when she had asked one evening. To make sure all of you little dragons are safe while you sleep. She sipped her tea, not entirely sure she believed him.

“Your father is sleeping, he is tired,” Rhaenyra said, pulling Luke into his chair and gently wrestling his carved dragon toy from his grip. “And Ser Harwin is-”

The door opened again, making all the children turn around. Harwin Strong filled the doorway; his armor had been polished overnight and his gold cloak was folded over his arm. “Ser Harwin is at your service, Princess,” he said with a bow.

“Late,” she said with her quirked smile.

“My apologies. I lost track of time,” he came behind her chair. Saera didn’t miss the way the princess relaxed deeper into her cushions when he arrived. “Jace, how is your arm?”

His mother looked at him, suddenly concerned. “What of it?”

Jace blushed to the tips of his ears. “I took a tumble in the training yard, it is a bruise.”

Saera hid her smile with the lemon pastry. She wasn’t quite successful. “Tell the truth, lad. No shame in it,” Strong urged.

“Saera glanced my arm while I was distracted,” he admitted. He looked at her, hitting her with his elbow. “Though it will not happen a second time.”

“Or so you think,” she shrugged.

Harwin let out a deep laugh. “You completely lost control of your blade, Lady Saera.” He watched the older boy nudge her arm, sticking his tongue out at her through the gap in his teeth.

The princess rolled her eyes. “I am always grateful you learn with wooden swords at this age. Jacaerys is too young to lose an arm.”

Her lady rushed back into the room and whispered in her ear. Rhaenyra’s uncharacteristic frown curled on her lips. “Very well, thank you,” she whispered.

“Muña (Mother)?” Visenya leaned forward.

She shook her head. “Eat, darling girl. Ser Harwin will take you to your lessons,” she gave her a reassuring smile before kissing Luke’s curly head and leaving into another chamber of her room. Her maids followed, plunging the room into a strange quiet.

Visenya looked at Saera, her brows were wrinkled in the middle of her pale forehead. Saera felt like she could hear her thoughts. She never leaves us this early, her pout seemed to say. She shook her head, attempting to dismiss her younger cousin’s thoughts, and turned back to her plate.

The tip of her sword dragged back and forth in the dirt. The sun had risen high in the sky, but was hidden by the grey clouds. She wished for rain, though Ser Criston made them train no matter how terrible the weather was. She drew a star by her dusty boot, barely restraining the heavy sigh brewing in her chest.

She looked up at the balcony, watching the King lift Visenya onto his lap. He nodded along to her rapid storytelling. She watched the wrinkles by his eyes deepen and when he laughed, it echoed over the field loud enough to drown out the sword clashes behind her for a moment. She wished she were up there, still in her dress, playing with her friend. Rather than in the trousers and tunic her father insisted on, though she did like how far she could run in her “boy’s clothes”.

Did Laenor forget? He isn’t here, she thought to herself, resuming her shapes in the dirt.

“Lady Saera Rhae,” a low voice pulled her back into the moment. She looked at Prince Aemond, his freckled face was pinched into its usual displeasure. His stiff formality had dulled her since the day they had met. Always greeting her with her full title, full name. Sometimes he called her Velaryon but only when she managed to make him especially cross. “You are blocking the table.”

“Prince Aemond,” she leaned on the handle of her sword. “There is quite a lot of table. You could go around.” His eyes were a bluer violet than hers, darker as well. And when he glared at her, she could see them darken to a full purple.

He lowered his brow. “Ser Criston will be here any moment. I need my sword.”

“Did you see Ser Laenor as you came this way?” she asked, looking around the yard again. “I have not.”

Aemond let out an annoyed huff of air and stepped around her. They were nearly the same height, he barely had to look down his nose at her. He snatched the sword from behind her. “Ser Laenor never is in the yard.”

She pouted. “He told me he would come,” she said wistfully. She could see Aemond look around the yard out of the corner of her eye. She looked at her feet again, playing with one of the pearly buckles of her sea colored tunic. Alicent’s children wore emerald green, Rhaenyra’s wore black and red. She was the outlier in teal.

She was their in-between child, the one that could be sat between Aegon and Jace to keep him from pulling at his brown hair and mocking his voice, or dance with Aemond when Aegon partnered with Helaena and Jace with Visenya. Laenor had said that was her role to play at court, just as he was to be Rhaenyra’s husband. Where is -

Aegon kicked her designs away, his arm flung itself over her shoulders. Saera groaned and tried to push him off of her. “Ew, Aegon,” she complained when the smell of overripe wine and sweat touched her nose.

Her older cousin burped loudly in her ear with a mean laugh, shaking her a little roughly. “Little Lady Saera,” he teased. “I worried for your head after the way you hit Jace yesterday. My half-sister is not known for her gentle temper.”

She looked up at him with a playful frown. “She did not even notice until Strong mentioned it at breakfast. My fate is still undecided,” she leaned on the table again.

“Then I’ll have to make sure Criston partners us together then,” he said into her ear. She sneered and pulled away. She felt his fingers ghost over the braids in her hair, like he was about to yank on them. “Hate to lose the chance to beat a girl. Tell me, is it as easy as they say?”

She looked up at the King’s chair again. Otto had joined by his side, frowning down at the children. Saera took a deep breath, puffing her cheeks out. “Ser Criston won’t pair us together. You’re far too tall, Aegon,” she said in a sweet tone. She gave him a tight lipped smile before finding Jace in the small crowd.

Harwin stood with him, helping him curl his hand around the handle of his wooden sword. She watched them closely; her hand shifted on her own hilt into a matching pose. The weight shifted in her grip, her long fingers were finally able to touch each other. She looked down at her hand, silently taking note of how much more natural the weapon felt in her grip.

A loud clap jerked her from her exploration. Crison Cole, in his white training uniform stood before them. In the dim light, his hair was nearly as black as his eyes. At his hip was his longsword. Nearly as long as she was and a bright shiny silver that gave warped reflections of the walls around them. She didn’t really listen to what he had to say, looking around for her guardian again.

And she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face as he and Garth finally arrived. Laenor found her immediately, his violet eyes brightened when she waved at him. He gave her a nod, and hung back by the stairs with his companion. They were speaking quietly to each other; she noticed how serious Garth looked when he was amongst the other men. The joy that normally colored his cheeks pink had been replaced with an icy soberness. Even his dark eyes were like steel.

Aemond tapped his sword against hers, drawing her attention back to him. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Ser Laenor arrived,” she said. “Just like he said he would.”

He looked over at her guardian, watching him speak to his companion. With a quiet and unimpressed “hmm” he turned back to her and slid his feet into position.

“What is this?”

His blonde hair blew in the cold wind. “Ser Criston partnered us together. Ready?”

Saera shook her head. “I work with Jace.”

“Well today, you work with me,” he sneered. Before she could protest again, he began his attack. Saera flung up her sword, barely blocking his blow. They circled each other; every strike echoed up her arm and shook in her chest. Finally, Aemond found a way in and knocked the wooden blade from her hand, aiming the weapon at her stomach. She stumbled and landed on her back; dust clouded around her when she landed.

“Excellent, Prince Aemond,” Criston came to their side. Saera’s breath was heaving in her chest and her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “Remember to keep your undefended side away from your opponent.”

Aemond nodded and walked away, bouncing on his feet. She looked up at Criston, hoping he would say anything to her. But the knight barely spared her a glance before walking away. Saera huffed and brought herself back to her feet, dusting off the dirt on her dark trousers. Her partner turned around and once her sword was in her hand, he rushed towards her again.

The girl was better prepared this time, parrying and blocking his attack. She managed to stop herself from making the same mistake and stepped forward into his attack. Aemond took a step back. The swings became faster; she watched his shoulders carefully.

Then, he cracked his sword across her knuckles. Pain bloomed across her hand, and Saera let out a pathetic and loud cry. She dropped her weapon and cradled her hand against her chest. Hot tears welled in her eyes. The training field had suddenly gone silent. Aemond froze, his mouth hung open. He took a step towards her, but Saera cringed away.

Laenor came sprinting up to her, his hands fell on her shaking shoulders. “Let me see,” he urged softly. Her hand was glued to her chest, the tears spilled over. He wiped her tears from her cheeks. “Let me see your hand, Saera.”

She slowly uncovered her knuckles. Already they were an ugly shade of purple, the tips of her fingers were bright red. Her guardian sighed and pressed his lips together. He wiped her face again, shushing her gently. “Does it hurt?”

She nodded. Her jaw was clenched so tightly she couldn’t open it to speak to him. Laenor took her injured hand, his brows were puckered with stress. “I need you to try and open your hand all the way,” he whispered.

Aemond had appeared at her side, looking at the bruise growing on her hand. His freckled face had gone pale, his eyes were wide. Saera ground her teeth together, her fingers shook with effort trying to splay open. She whined in her throat, but they finally straightened before curling around themselves again. Laenor stood, keeping Saera behind him as he turned to glare at her instructor.

“Ser Criston,” he called.

Everyone was staring at the sobbing girl, watching the young prince hesitantly pat on her back, whispering platitudes to her. Criston folded his arms, turning to Rhaenyra’s husband. “Ser Laenor. I don’t believe I’ve seen you in the training yard in some time,” he said back, not hiding the mean smirk on his face.

“Is this what you teach your pupils?”

Criston looked at the girl. “I do not know what you mean, ser.”

Laenor motioned to her. “My ward has been injured.”

The dark haired knight looked down at Saera, watching the tears cut down her face. “Unfortunately common in a training yard. Comes with the territory.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Laenor to speak again. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “She bruised Prince Jacaerys just yesterday.”

Laenor took a heavy breath, like he was trying to calm himself. “That was a glance on the arm. Had it been a real sword, my son would’ve walked away with a small cut. Saera would have lost her fingers.”

“Then be grateful we have not begun training with real weapons yet.”

He looked back at Saera, his anger bubbling over. “We will speak about this later. Both of you,” he hissed at the instructors. Harwin, who had been standing by the wall, looked up at him. His dark brows were puckered together, and his eyes fell on Saera.

Laenor put his arms around her and lifted her onto his hip. With a final glare at Aemond, he carried her back to the Keep.

Laenor paced the Maester’s office while he gently flexed her fingers. Grand Maester Mellos studied the bruises carefully, poking at the swelling joints despite the girl’s tears. “She is lucky. None of the fingers are broken.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “That is good news, Maester.”

“We will have to bind her hand,” he said, reaching for the bandages.

Saera wiped at her blotchy face. “Will I be able to train again?”

Mellos tapped her leg, giving her a kind smile. “You will have to wait for the swelling to go down. Your hand will feel stiff, but that means it is healing.” He smoothed a minty salve over her bruises then began wrapping cotton gauze over them. “Leave this for two days, then come back to me so I may replace them.”

Saera dutifully nodded and slid off of the chair, careful to hold her injured hand close to her chest. Laenor’s arm wrapped protectively around her, guiding her out of the warm room.

“Try not to agitate it during your etiquette lesson with the Queen,” he said as they walked through the chilly halls. “No sewing. No holding books.”

“Yes, ser,” she said; his list continued, firm but she could hear the anger still behind his voice. Guilt chewed at her throat and grew in her chest like a wild animal.

She stopped walking, her guardian turned, only a few steps ahead of her. “I’m sorry I am not as talented as the princes. I know both you and my father expect more from me,” her voice cracked and fresh tears slipped down her face. “I will do better.”

Laenor sank to his knees in front of her and pulled her into his arms, shushing her gently. His hand smoothed over her hair. “You have done nothing wrong.”

She felt her feet lift off the floor as they stood; her legs wrapped around his hips and her face stayed buried in the muscle of his shoulder, dampening the fabric of his grey doublet with her tears. The warm weight of his hand settled on the back of her neck; his voice reverberated through her. “You did nothing wrong.”

Laenor sat in a carved chair, his foot bobbed up and down. He simmered, counting the seconds by the raindrops smacking his window pane. His fingers were pressed over his mouth, keeping himself from losing his temper too quickly. The door opened, his violet eyes shot up.

“Ser Criston Cole and Ser Harwin Strong,” Garth said, bowing his head to him.

Laenor dragged his fingers down his jaw; shoving his anger further down. “Send them in.”

He stood when they came through his door. Harwin had the decency to bow his head to the prince consort, his brown eyes connected with his own. He saw his white brows furrow. He hadn’t seen Laenor this upset in several years.

Criston lacked Harwin’s awareness. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. He had returned to his armor, and likely was moments away from returning to his post by the Queen’s side. He raised his eyebrow at Laenor, challenging him. And Laenor was ready to bite.

“Ser Criston,” he said stiffly. His hands fell to his hips, resting on the hilt of his sword. Laenor traced the curve of the handle to calm himself, but he didn’t miss Criston’s eyes dart down warily. “I was disgusted by the display this afternoon.”

“Were you?” Criston smirked.

“Ser Criston-” Harwin warned, his hand resting on his companion’s arm. But it was shrugged off with a disgusted glare.

Laenor took a deep breath. “I wish to understand why only Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron get the attention of their instructor, when you have been tasked with training all of the royal children.”

Criston’s tongue darted out from between his lips, like a snake preparing to strike. “I do not know what you mean, Ser. All of the royal children do.”

“I do not believe I heard you correctly.”

The Dornish knight leaned on the back of a high table, his eyes not leaving Laenor’s. He was smiling like he was barely containing sadistic laughter. “You did, Ser. Saera Rhae is not a royal. She is barely even a noble.”

Laenor’s nose flared, his violet eyes filled with a fiery rage. “Lady Saera Rhae is my ward-”

“But not your daughter,” he interrupted. He studied Laenor’s face, piecing something together in his head. “And yet…”

“Watch yourself, Cole,” Harwin warned. His booming voice lowered so that Ser Garth couldn’t hear on the other side of the wall. “The young lady is his uncle’s only daughter, and his youngest cousin. His anger is justified.”

Laenor felt his ears burn as his anger rose higher. “I will not entertain this insolence any longer. You were tasked, by our King, to train the children. I expect you to follow his orders, or I will find someone else to do it.”

“Tell me what the offense was, ser. I find myself forgetting,” Criston pressed further. Laenor ground his teeth together. “Is all this… over some bruises and some girlish tears? She is training with princes and, no matter how dedicated she is to the blade, one day they will overpower her. Will she cry then too? Will you whisk her away and dry her tears?”

Laenor’s nose flared. “You will teach her properly when she returns to the yard. And Ser Harwin,” his fury shifted to the quiet knight. Harwin didn’t flinch away, though his eyes did drop to the stones at his feet. “Since you take it upon yourself to watch over my son, watch over my ward as well.”

Harwin ran his hand over his beard. “Yes, my lord.”

“And Ser Criston,” Laenor’s hand tightened on his blade. “We will not have this conversation again. Is that understood?”

Criston Cole smirked at him again before bowing his head. “It is understood.” And before Laenor could dismiss him, he swung open the door and left the room, throwing a nasty glare over his shoulder at the other knight.

Harwin looked at Laenor when the door shut again. “Is her hand alright?” he asked.

Laenor’s fingers drummed against his lips again, his glare still twisted his white brows. “Her bones are not broken, by some miracle. She is more upset than she is injured.”

He nodded. “Do you not think that she should be learning with the young princesses? Though it pains me to say it, Cole is right. One day, she won’t be able to fight them anymore.”

“Vaemond wants her to be a warrior. To be connected to our house in some way beyond just her blood,” he said while collapsing into his chair, kicking his feet up onto a nearby stool. He reached for his cup and sipped from it slowly. “It was the only way she would be able to stay here.”

Harwin crossed the room, sitting across from him. His armor clinked quietly against itself while he settled. “On Driftmark, her brothers would teach her your house’s ways. More than just the blade. Vaemond is a commander in the Sea Snake’s navy, surely he expects his daughter to follow him into the sea.”

The prince let his head fall back. “I cannot do that to her. She would be alone there, away from the others.”

“Much like your nieces?”

He sighed, thinking about the last time he had heard from his sister. “At least Baela and Rhaena have each other. Saera’s brothers are men grown, nearly my age. Daeron, I believe, is to be married in spring.” He looked at Harwin before his violet eyes drifted back up to the ceiling. He thought about Laena’s bright grin and laughter, how in moments like this she always knew the right thing to say. He had only read descriptions of his twin nieces, the same way Laena had only read of his children. “Saera reminds me of Laena quite a bit.”

Harwin watched raindrops smear down the glass of Laenor’s large windows; the light of day was slipping by, hardly piercing through the heavy grey clouds that covered the city he had guarded for years. “I only had the pleasure of your sister’s company a handful of times.”

Laenor swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh over itself. He nodded; the decision ground against his teeth. “I will not send her away,” he said firmly. He felt Harwin’s intense gaze fall on him. “Report to me if Ser Criston treats her poorly. Be it in the yard or in the halls.”

“As you wish, Ser Laenor,” he bowed his head before standing. “May I?”

Laenor motioned to the door. “Send in my guard as you leave.”

A soft knock at her door stirred her from sleep. Rain pelted the glass in the window, distant thunder rumbled. She rolled over, and accidentally pressed her bruised hand into the feather mattress. A surprised yelp of pain left her lips, her hand crumpled back into her chest. Saera fell back onto her pillows, realizing Laenor had left her in her training clothes after she fell asleep in his arms. Time had slipped by and with the clouds and rain, she couldn’t tell if it was tea, or supper, or sometime in between.

Another knock brought her to her feet. She reached for the handle with her good hand and pulled the door open, expecting to see Jaylessa to prepare her for tea or maybe even Visenya to play with. But instead, Saera was faced with a very sullen Aemond, his hands were tucked behind his back and his violet eyes were casted to the stones beneath his boots. He was nearly pouting, the green of his doublet made his pale skin look a little sick. His eyes flicked to hers, and pink crept up his ears.

Saera raised her eyebrows, hiding the bandages behind the carved door.

“I came to apologize,” he said after clearing his throat. Aemond shifted on his feet, his eyes fell to the floor once again. He freed his hands from behind his back, presenting her with a small bouquet of the winter flowers the gardens were able to grow. “It was not my intention to injure you. My mother said these were your favorites.”

Despite how puffy her eyes felt, and the dull throb in her knuckles, her face curved into a smile. She reached for the little bouquet and brought it to her nose. “Thank you,” she managed. Her bandaged hand cradled the evergreen leaves and white petals.

He looked at her hands, his head tilted in curiosity. “They did not tell me how severe it was,” he held out his hand for hers.

Saera hesitated. “Promise me you won’t squeeze them?” she asked.

“I am not Aegon,” he gave her a shy smile and a quiet laugh. “I would not hurt you further.”

Her hand gently laid over his; his thumb traced over the fabric while he studied the maester’s work. He could feel the puffiness of her fingers and the warmth that radiated from them. “Nothing is broken,” she assured him when she saw him balk. “He put a salve over my fingers and bandaged them so they won’t swell any larger.”

He flipped her hand over, looking at the small knot at the base of her wrist. “Is it terribly painful?”

Her heartbeat echoed up her arm and buried itself in the bones of her fingers. She shrugged. “I will not be able to use my hand for a few days.”

His eyes flitted up to her’s. “I am sorry,” he said after a moment.

She smiled kindly at him. “I forgive you.” Saera stepped forward and put her good arm around his shoulders. She felt him tense but slowly his hands wrapped around her. His blonde hair had just started to extend down his neck, tickling the tips of her fingers. “Though, Jace and Visa might not be so kind,” she said into his sleeve.

She felt his shoulders shake when he silently laughed. “Well, their wrath is not quite as terrifying as yours,” he teased. They pulled apart, his hands lingered on her shoulders. “Come. My mother still wants to see you before it is too late.” He offered her his arm, his blond brows were raised in expectation.

She stepped into the hall; her eyes darted over towards Laenor’s wing. But it was quiet in the halls. She looped her good hand through his elbow, holding the flowers between the two of them.

#House of the Dragon #HOTD #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #fic rec #fem!oc #youre in the wind im in the water

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