#Marianne - OC

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Purty lady.

[muiitoloko]

If that’s okay for you if I may request

Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those

Title: You are you

Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.

Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.

But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.

It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.

As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.

But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.

For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.

As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.

Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.

As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.

"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.

"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."

Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.

"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."

A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.

Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.

So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.

Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.

One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.

You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.

But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.

"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"

Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."

Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.

"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."

But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.

"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."

You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.

Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"

You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.

Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?

The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.

And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.

With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.

"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"

Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.

As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.

With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.

As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.

With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.

And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.

But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.

But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.

You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.

But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.

As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.

He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.

But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.

Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.

"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.

"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."

But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.

Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.

As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.

"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."

Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.

Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.

"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"

Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.

But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.

"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.

Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.

As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?

"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.

Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."

And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.

Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.

Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?

Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.

"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."

Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.

"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.

"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."

Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.

"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."

Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.

Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.

The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.

But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.

Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.

But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.

"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.

The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.

Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.

"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."

Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."

Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.

Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."

As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.

"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.

But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.

For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.

"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.

Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."

But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.

"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.

Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.

But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.

Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.

Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.

As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.

"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."

You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.

"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.

Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.

You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."

Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.

"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."

You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."

Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.

But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.

The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."

You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."

Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."

Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.

But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."

Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."

You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.

With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.

Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.

The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.

As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.

"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.

Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.

And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.

He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.

Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.

And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.

"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."

Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.

You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.

Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.

At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.

And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.

And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.

But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.

Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.

But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.

And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.

But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.

But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.

With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.

Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.

And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.

"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."

You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"

You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."

But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."

You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"

But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."

You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"

You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."

Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."

You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."

Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."

You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"

Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”

Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.

But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.

Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.

Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.

"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."

You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.

"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."

Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.

Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."

[spirit-whump]

The whump fandom usually prioritizes male characters, so tell me in the tags your favourite female characters to whump! OCs or canon characters, whumpees or whumpers - name some women.

[too-many-lavellans]

Behold chibis of all our Dragon Age pcs (so far)!

[acesandocs]

Did some practise doodles of @ahhhh-118's wonderfull oc Marianne. These were very quick and rough i really just wanted to draw her, hope i did her justice anyhow😊

[turbobyakuren]

OOMFIETOBER DAY 30

MARIANNE

[wexhappyxfew]

stray bullets

(a/n): it's been a long time coming, but.....i am beyond excited to share this piece. focused on some early days with kennedy x bucky, i wanted to dig into kennedy and her character (and her fun internal monologue) and introduce exactly how she's connected with bucky - because let's be honest, even she doesn't know how it happened. please enjoy!! :D (also...it's a bit of a long one - i was having some fun haha!)

The silence around the interrogation table was enough to mess with any person's head; whether they were the command pilot, like Lieutenant Bradshaw, or a tail gunner, like Marianne Salinger, they all seemed to sit in reserved quietness as they festered in the happenings of just an hour ago.

Sweat trickled down the sides of her face as she leaned against the wooden table, picking at pieces that were peeling up, trying to keep her eyes away from the maps sprawled out, and that big leather-jacket notebook where Bessie kept all her notes, coordinates and documentation for what planes had gone down - when and where. The other tables were much more lively - louder, chatty, a bit of yelling even. The Silver Bullets table was quiet, and they were all sure it had to do with the notable lack of their flight engineer, who was currently at the Med-Bay, bloodied and unconscious.

Margie Harlowe was on all of their minds it seemed.

And the thought of having to recount the events leading up to that point, made Kennedy want to vomit. The hit had come just as they were on the 90 degree turn to get the bombs ready to drop. Achterberg had taken control of the plane, with Bradshaw and Montez working to guide the B-17 swiftly to the side, as the onslaught of flak and bullets sprayed from the German fighters swinging around above them.

Kennedy remembered the yelp and anguished cry of pain that had come from her headset, the blood-curdling scream for help that had Kennedy forgetting about her .50 cal and racing towards where the top turret was. She couldn't get that look on Margie's face out of her mind; sobbing, horrified, the blood covering half her face, Stagliano trying to calm Margie down the best she could, while waving off the sad excuse of help that Kennedy had been. Freezing up like that, what was she thinking?

"Sergeant Farley." Kennedy's head snapped up - she didn't realize she'd blanked out, staring at the dried blood on her hands, shoved up underneath her fingernails, and had her name being called all at once. She met the eyes of the interrogator and swallowed.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw said you were there when you got Sergeant Harlowe out of the top turret." the interrogator started, "Can you recount that for me?" Kennedy stared at him, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone at the table and some of the surrounding upper brass, on her.

Colonel Harding had stood in the background, hand nervously resting on his upper lip, eyes masked in worry as the group had come in - it seemed whenever something happened to Silver Bullets, he was always at interrogation, especially their table. Making sure wrongs were righted and that whatever was going on, was fixed. He looked out for them.

"I was, sir," Kennedy managed out, shifting a bit, as more sweat dripped down her face, briefly catching the worried look from Judy just a few people down. Her eyes caught on Vivian's gaze opposite her own. She then found Francis watching her, and tried to avoid her emotions that she felt as she noted the ones in their co-pilot's own. The only thing keeping her steady was Lieutenant Bradshaw's presence beside her.

In some innate way, having Lieutenant Bradshaw there kept her from losing it.

"It was quick," Kennedy said, "I figured flak or….something from one of the fighters. German fighters. Bullet spray." Kennedy saw Paulina nod her on encouragingly.

"Sergeant Ratcliff was manning her post….so, I went to Sergeant Harlowe," Kennedy said, her eyes filling with tears, her voice breaking, "I got her out of there. As quick as I could. I…I laid her down. There was blood…..everywhere…." Kennedy trailed off. She was staring at her hands again, covered in blood. Margie's blood.

"I was able to stop the bleeding from both the side of her face and her shoulder. Took what bandage was there and wrapped her shoulder. Set it in a splint." Paulina said quickly, her words firm and much more logically-backed and confident than Kennedy's would ever be, "I ensured that there weren't blocked airways and she could breathe. It was a joint effort, Sergeant Farley and I, to ensure her safety." Kennedy looked to Paulina and gave her a slow nod of thanks, to which Paulina nodded back. Because that's what they did for each other; having each other's backs like this.

"Alright," the interrogator said, making a few extra notes before clearing his throat and looking towards Lieutenant Bradshaw, who was sat there stoic and quiet, "we lost Browning and Alder. How many chutes….?"

Kennedy watched in a reeling bit of slow motion as Judy sat there and recounted the number of chutes she had seen, Marianne and Francis chiming in with their own recounts and visuals. How many more chutes would they have to count, planes going down all around, before this would be over? Before this nightmare would end?

Kennedy looked to the empty chair where Margie would've sat and felt her heart sag and her throat tighten with emotion she had been forcing herself not to feel. It was eerily similar to when Captain Faulkner had taken the hit. When she had died. They still had sat around this stupid interrogation table, having to talk about that mission, about what had happened, with Captain Faulkner's chair left open, her presence highly gone. They all remembered that. It hurt.

Whether it was the fact she was sat at that table, or was used to a constant presence of eyes, she glanced upwards and found, from the middle opening space where some of the brass would linger in times like this, Major Egan watching her, his hands placed on his hips, and his eyes seeking out her own.

Kennedy had never been wrapped up in any sort of long-winded conversation with Major Egan - their differences in rank and formalities were already a larger factor than needed when it came to talking to him and she didn't want to incite any sort of inappropriate ideas past that. They'd debated about baseball a few times - her, a raging Red Sox fan, him a stupid Yankees fan - and they'd even had a few conversations that were outside that realm. But it was never anything much more than that. And she intended to keep it that way. Yet, something in his gaze made her not want to look away from his face, from his eyes, from his presence stood there in the center of the room.

"Sergeant Farley?" She snapped her head away from his eyes and back to the table - many of which of the Silver Bullets girls were currently watching Kennedy with sorrowful and worried expressions, while Lieutenant Bradshaw eyed her curiously.

"Sorry?"

"The number of chutes from Browning. That you saw?" the interrogator asked. Kennedy righted herself and straightened her back.

"Right."

When they were dismissed, after Kennedy had been sat, blanked out for a greater portion of her time there in the seat, Lieutenant Bradshaw had caught her before she could run away, pulling her to the side, with a warm hand on her shoulder and a soft look in her eyes.

"You should go visit her," Annie said quietly, "I can tell by the look in your eye that you won't change out of these clothes or eat until you do." Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw did know her rather well in that sense.

"Yes, ma'am, I will," Kennedy said firmly, reaching up to wipe at the beads of sweat still trickling down her face - whether from the stress still circulating her body or the idea of Margie there on a cot, unconscious, she wasn't sure, "you do the same." Annie watched her with a smile before reaching up to squeeze her shoulder.

"I will, Farley," she said, before patting her shoulder, "and wash up. A few of the girls were planning on heading to the flying club tonight. Destress and all." Kennedy smiled softly and nodded.

"Will do." she said and Annie smiled before turning and heading off - leave it to Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw to instill what comfort they all needed after something like that. Birdie used to do much of the same - Annie even had the same look in her eye as Birdie usually did after a mission. Kennedy smiled slightly.

"Sergeant Farley." The achingly familiar voice struck her system and she turned to her left to find Major Egan walking towards her, as she watched him approach with that slow, even and swaggering gait, his crusher cap a bit lopsided on his head, sweat dropping down the sides of his face, as he wore that stupid, beige sheepskin jacket that she had offhandedly made fun of him for that one time (and proceeded to rub in her face ever since).

"Sir." she said, saluting him quickly as he came to a stop in front of her and shook his head, reaching up to bring her arm down from the position she'd taken up.

"Nah, nah, don't worry about that bullshit," he said and she raised her brows, "Harlowe. Sergeant Harlowe - is she good? Is she alright?" Kennedy stared at him, her heart pulsating inside her chest in a way that made her unable to get her breathing entirely under control. She watched him, tilting her head to the side and then managed to find her footing.

"Not entirely, but she's alive," she said firmly, with a nod, "flak hit up top. Or….stray bullets. Either way, she was hit and knocked out. But she's fine now." Kennedy watched him as she spoke, his eyes refusing to leave her own as he stared down at her, his larger-than-life presence soaking up every part of the view in front of her, the worry in his eyes, covered with that joking nature a slight surprise and the deep breaths he was taking enough to make her fail at controlling her own.

"And yourself?" he asked her, the corner of his lips poking upwards, a smile fighting to be on his face.

"Me? Sir, I, uh, I'm fine," she said quickly, sputtering a bit like a small child, "I'm fine seriously-"

"Good, good," he said quickly - they were pretty quick with whatever they seemed to be talking about here, "just…..when the planes came back and Harding said something about Silver Bullets taking a hit, I thought…..thought the whole goddamn plane had gone down from the way he was fucking talking so." She stared at him. He stopped talking and then stared at her, before running a hand over his face and nodding to her. She stared back at him, unsure of what to say.

For probably the first time in a long time, looking at him, she did not know what to say. This panicked approach to this sudden stillness and quiet. There were voices all around them, nurses bustling about with medics and doctors, and pilots with their crews meandering away from interrogation like limp horses, dragging gear that was nothing but a pile of garbage behind them. And the smells - like gasoline, smoke and death wafted through the air, enough to make a person want to vomit. She needed to go see Margie, and she was beyond sure that Major Egan had somewhere better to be as well. Kennedy wanted to move her feet, but she couldn't. No part of her was moving or even ready to move. Major Egan was stock-still in front of her as well.

"Is there….something else, uh, sir?" Kennedy didn't know what to do with Major Egan sometimes - call him sir, but he told her not to bother? Call him sir because he was the one who held rank? Major Egan continued to watch her and then ran a hand down his slightly sweaty face and shook his head.

"No." he said quickly, firmly, "You should get a check on Sergeant Harlowe. Make sure she's alright when she wakes up." If she wakes up, Kennedy thought, but that sour idea in her mind disappeared as Major Egan nodded to her. She stared at him for a moment longer, before she slowly nodded to him, turning away from him. She took a few steps before she could hear his footsteps and feel the placement of his hand wrapped around her elbow.

"Farley," he said, his voice quieter, as she stopped her paces and turned, her eyes searching his own as she looked at him, "seriously, you alright?" She stared at him, slightly surprised at the way his voice had grown softer, his eyes less vibrant than normal.

"Yes," she told him, but as he tilted his head towards her, she felt her heart race a bit faster than normal and couldn't help but take a shaky step back from him, "it was just a lot today that's all. But it's a lot every day. Nothing new. Can't complain." Major Egan watched her, like he was trying to diagnose whatever the fuck was currently wrong with her, acting like she didn't just watch their flight engineer and closest companion almost die.

"You like the jacket?" he asked her quietly, and it didn't take long for what stress she had in her mind and heart to roll back into that violent ocean crawl of waves and a small laugh to leave her lips.

"Is that why you came waltzing over here?" she asked him, her voice low, as she crossed her arms, "Because if that's all this was about, I'm just going to head to the Med-Bay now." Major Egan let out a dry chuckle and looked to her.

"And if I told you it was?"

"I would happily discard that jacket for you, even start a bonfire." she said, "We could get real fancy." She stared at him. "It looks ridiculous."

"You sure about that?" he said, popping up the collar, which made her roll her eyes, "I think it fits me pretty well."

"I would beg to differ," she said, "seriously, an A-2 would do you one better."

"You going sweet on me, Farley?"

"Since when did that idea get into your head?"

"You like me in my A-2, admit it."

"It would look better than that shitty thing."

"C'mon, Farley, don't leave me hangin' now." She raised a brow at him as she crossed her arms across her chest and smirked his way.

"Goodbye, John." she said, with a grin, turning away, only to have him placing his hand on her shoulder and turning her back around. She looked up at him.

"For someone so hellbent on making his rounds, you sure seem to like hanging around me." she said quietly, with a small smile, watching as his eyes seemed to twinkle in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

"Consider it a compliment." he offered her.

"A compliment?" she said with a small smile, "Didn't know you handed those out. And for free?"

"Farley…." he said with a slight groan in his voice that made her laugh as she reached forward and nudged his shoulder.

"It's okay to admit that, Margie says I'm a grand friend to have anyway," she said, watching his gaze soften at her, "it means a lot, truly."

"Friend's a word." he said with a shrug, his face tensing up slightly as she stared at him.

"Yeah." she said, with a nod, "And so is goodbye." He stared at her and she smiled up at him.

"I'm only kidding," she said, before her face fell a bit, "seriously, you okay? You weren't even on the mission and you look seriously fucked up." Kennedy had hoped that keeping up with this banter, this light-hearted, dare she call it flirting, maybe would lift his worrisome and lonely spirits, but he seemed drawn into himself and concave again and she wasn't sure what more to say.

Hey, even going as far to compliment his physique's correlation to an A-2 was pretty nice of her!

And something she wasn't actually lying about - not like she had spent too long staring at his broad shoulders over breakfast the other day (but no one except her knew).

"Didn't know you handed out compliments with a side of self-degradation, now huh?" he said and she let out a scoff and crossed her arms to look at him again.

"Seriously, John, what's wrong?"

"You can call me, Bucky, remember?"

"John."

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing, just…." he looked around, that lazy smile on his face, and looked back at her, hands rested on those hips of his again and looked to her, "does anything have to be wrong when I come to talk to you?"

"Usually there is something wrong."

"Kennedy-"

"Alright, look," she said, "if you don't budge, I'm gonna head to the Med-Bay, check in on Margie." She was playing her emotions really well, so well she had almost forgotten the mission altogether.

"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to decode it from you myself? Beg on my hands and knees? Don't make me look that pathetic." Major Egan watched her with a slight smirk and she shoved his shoulder again.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like whattt?" he said as she rolled her eyes with a laugh, "Oh, c'mon, Kennedy, I'm supposed to hear that Silver Bullets took a hit and not think about you?"

Kennedy's smile dropped and it seemed the realization hit Major Egan at the same time and for a moment, they were just standing there, staring at each other like deer in headlights. She couldn't look away from his eyes, because for the first time there was something more than besides his usually flirty, joking self. Hell, that was just how he normally was - no stake in the ground with a soul, moving with the wind, taking him where the Lord put him, all that bullshit. For a second, she almost thought she wasn't hearing him straight and was going to leave it at that. But no, he'd said that and she was sure her face matched the color of her dirtied ginger hair and her strawberry-blonde ends.

"Egan!" The two turned from each other, in what had been a…rather intense stare down and found Crank coming towards him, "Harding needs us!"

"Give me a fucking second, Crank! I'm talking here!" Major Egan yelled back before turning to her and gulping, before parting his lips as if to speak. She stared at him still, unable to find the words that would amount to much of anything.

"Don't give me lip, Bucky - look, we gotta go!" Major Egan turned.

"Just a minute, Crank, seriously." Major Egan called out before turning to her still stood there.

"You really should go." she finally said, her voice somewhat hoarse as she did so, like she couldn't get the words out right, "Colonel Harding-"

"I don't care what Harding thinks right now," he said firmly looking at her, "look, Farley, I-"

"It's fine." she said quickly, plastering on a smile quickly and a nod, "I'm fine." Major Egan looked far from convinced in that moment. Because she wasn't convinced herself.

He had heard Silver Bullets took a hit and suspected immediately it was her?

That's why he had looked at her like that?

In interrogation?

She wasn't much to him, so she thought, at least - what…the few conversations they'd share? She'd practically egged him on into conversations about baseball where it was less of a discussion and more of a debate. If anything, he should've heard Silver Bullets and suspected about Annie or Francis.

"Go on," she said, shoving down her feelings and emotions, offering a small smile, "Colonel Harding sounds like he really needs to talk to you. Plus, if you must continue to talk about your stupid sheepskin, I'll be at the flying club later. Maybe I'll even beat you in darts. Again." Major Egan stared at her, for the first time, a little wordless and nodded.

"Kennedy, I-"

"It's fine." she said, convincing herself the very same - if she acted like she didn't hear it from his lips, then it never happened. He never said those words, never looked at her like that, never even bothered to tell her he was worried about her after hearing about Silver Bullets getting hit. If she ignored it, it wasn't what had happened.

And it was better that way.

"Bucky-"

"A second, Crank, please!" Major Egan yelled over his shoulder again, before looking at her and sighing, jabbing a thumb behind him.

"I gotta…." he started, his words fading as he managed a weak smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah," she said quickly, with a nod, and a forced smile.

"Let me know how Harlowe is…?"

"I will." she said as he began to backpedal backwards, his eyes holding hers still. Then, she watched Crank come up to Major Egan's shoulder and spin him around before pointing and frantically talking. Then they were walking away and disappeared. Kennedy stood there like the wind had just been taken out of her sail. Why'd she act like that?

"Hey! Kenny!" Kennedy turned and found Judy coming up to her, with Bessie and Carrie behind her, splitting a few cookies in their hands, "Here you are. We thought we couldn't find you." Kennedy stared at Judy, who came up beside her, with bright eyes, before looking to Bessie and Carrie, who shared a look before looking at Kennedy.

"You alright, Farley?" Bessie asked her, glancing in the general direction of where Major Egan had wandered off to, "What'd Bucky want?" Kennedy snapped into her usual collected self (which took far more effort today than usual) and ran a hand over her hair, cringing at bit at the smell of oil and grease that followed - which undoubtedly Major Egan had smelled - and sighed.

"Heard about Margie." she said firmly, cooly, kind of quick at that, like she couldn't get the words out fast enough to cover her ass, "He knows we're close and wanted to check in. Make sure things were okay."

"Always sticking his nose into all our bullshit," Carrie muttered, crunching off a piece of the sugar cookie and shaking her head, "you know I heard the other day he was trying to ask Bradshaw for a tour of Silver Bullets. Next thing you know, I'm tearing into him, telling him he touches my area, my shit, it's over for him-"

"He just wanted to make sure she was okay, Bergie," Kennedy said with a shrug, "guess it just gets old, hearing about losing people. Over and over."

"Especially someone from Silver Bullets." Judy finished for her, "Bucky's always been sweet as peaches to me, anyway. It's mighty kind of him to come and check up on you. Knowing how close you two are. He's got an awful soft-spot for Silver Bullets."

"Some soft spot." Carrie said with a slight chuckle and smirk, glancing at Kennedy, who rolled her eyes, ignoring the looks, and glanced back to the direction of where Major Egan had gone.

"Let's go to the Med-Bay," Judy said, "I'm sure Margie would want to see us when she wakes."

"What this face?" Carrie said, "We all look like sorry excuses for circus clowns."

"At least a little flak never scared off that charisma, Bergie." Bessie said as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the whole group burst into chuckles as they headed towards the Med-Bay, sharing cookies and smiles.

But all that was on her mind, until the hit the Med-Bay doors was that Major Egan had thought of her, when Silver Bullets was said to have gotten a nasty hit.

Her.

[sea-drifter]

Some late night sketches before I go to bed:

Dead plate:

Eloquent Countenance:

Random oc I found in my notebook that I started sketching out:

[fushi-mi-elie05]

Lady Marianne

oc by @blitzy-blitzwing !!

Hellooooo!!! i finally finished this art under 2 or 3 weeks? But i got motivated when i first saw her and i went "oh i have to draw her!!"

her design is *chef's kiss* and her color palette?? *another chef's kiss* she's literally so pretty and gorgeous!! i kinda wanted to draw her with her mouth wide open yknow the scary kind but it feels like I'm not ready to draw that HAHAHAHA or maybe I'm just lazy who knowss~

anywaysss here's my drawing of herrrr!!!

ack she's so gorgeous!!

i really had fun drawing her!!!

she's such a masterpiece ( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ )

—♪—♪—

*the watermark's purpose is NOT to claim their oc! just the art!*

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Suit meme with Lady Marianne. 💖💖

[bustermachine19]

me when my responsibilities catch up to me

[cantdrawhoomansandsand]

She's so charming and interesting:o

HH oc by @blitzy-blitzwing

[izuizzy]

Magma doodles with my stream community! Ty to everyone who participated! (Also a more detailed practice of super sonic using magma tools)

Cranberry the calico belongs to @/cratter_4 on twitch and Marianne the Hedgehog belongs to @azurereap3r

[shamefulzombie]

i am once more giving you OC silliness :>>

[acesandocs]

Me and @ahhhh-118 collaborated on drawing our ocs in each others outfits but we did traditional outfits to spice it up.

Thanks so much for doing thsi with me dude. The dress was a joy to draw with the patterns, lace and flowers it so beautiful!

[cherrypikkins]

Here is my contribution to today's prompt from @fe-oc-week ! Oct 14 - Supports

with some more Kitt art and lore :3

cw body horror, death

I will also be linking some old support art soon :3

and once again for more lore, take a look below the cut!

The Burgess Family It is difficult to pinpoint exactly when the family of Burgess arrived at Annwen, though in likelihood they appeared some time after the defeat of Nemesis, and well after Gwyn was laid to rest. Though they claimed to be a family of merchants, many suspected that they were refugees from remnant factions of the now dismantled Agarthan empire. Gwyn, the founder of the original city of Annwen, had been known to take in defectors of Agarthan origin. And so, in following the example of their departed hero, the people of Annwen accepted the merchant family into the fold, sheltering them from the Church of Seiros.

They settled in without trouble, bringing with them ancient artifacts stolen from the underground caches of their former civilization. These they offered up to the people of Annwen for safekeeping and communal use. Mostly, they included crafting implements that were used to forge armor, weave garments, and polish stones.

Among the artifacts was a curious knife, ordinary-looking in all appearances yet strangely versatile in various applications of craftsmanship. Villagers would often remark on how it would subtly change in appearance over time, but not in a way that signified normal wear and tear. There were times when it appeared to shift and transform before their very eyes, though many dismissed this as a trick of the light. Others believed that the knife was magical. But whenever the people of Annwen used it for their own purposes, there was never any trouble.

In any case, these artifacts enabled the people of Annwen to thrive independently, away from the Church and the Empire, as well as the Kingdom and the Alliance when they each formed years later. These contributions cemented the Burgess family's place in the village for ages thereafter, even enabling them to take on leadership and guidance roles within the village from time to time. Eventually, enough time passed such that not even their present day descendants could remember their Agarthan ancestry…

The Village at Lake Annwen - Part II Many followers of the Church of Seiros wondered why certain remote settlements were allowed to exist in Fodlan away from the enlightenment of Seiros' teachings. The village of Annwen, which Gwyn held sacred, was one such example before its destruction. In particular, Saint Cichol was known to forbid anyone from interfering with the affairs of the village by order of the Church. Even in recent years, Seteth has remained adamant on this stance. Only a handful of scholars and researchers have been allowed to visit on a provisional basis, on the condition that there was to be no proselytizing.

That was not to say that the people of Annwen did not pay respects to the Goddess - only that Seiros and the Four Saints were less prominent in their worship. Even the hero Gwyn, despite not trusting Seiros and her followers, had been known whisper prayers to the Goddess Sothis. And so, in following the example of their hero, the villagers of Annwen honored the Goddess in a manner wholly unique from the Central, Eastern, and Western Churches. For some reason, the Central Church has decided not to object to this, and allowed the people of Annwen to live peaceful lives of their own choosing. Such was the promise sworn by Saint Cichol to the hero Gwyn.

Perhaps this was one of the factors that led to its destruction, for it left the Church unaware and unable to intervene when mages from a more sinister faction began to make frequent visits, making their ill intentions known only once the people of Annwen were fully accustomed and trusting to their presence. Disguised as humble scholars, they were determined to retrieve the fabled Heart of Annwen for their own dark purposes. In a sudden and coordinated attack, they struck down any who dared stand in their way, burning the village to the ground in the process.

One can only imagine the wrath they would have faced if Gwyn were to witness the crimes inflicted upon their beloved village and its people. Perhaps this was why the survivors who managed to escape the initial attack decided with heavy hearts that the time had finally arrived to enact the Rite of Awakening, even at the cost of their own lives.

Though the Rite of Awakening was meant to revive Gwyn from their endless sleep, it is speculated that something more ancient and terrible was summoned forth instead. But what could have gone wrong? The only evidence is a peculiar knife that was found at the scene of the ritual. At first it was ordinary and innocuous in appearance. But once placed in Kitt's hands, it transformed into weapon resembling a Hero's Relic. As its power awakened, so did the rage and torment of the demonic creature whose bones and blood were used to forge it.

But as the legend goes, both hero and demon are one and the same - thus it can be argued that perhaps in some unrecognizable shape and form, Gwyn did return to life.

... A few months after Kitt was rescued by Seteth and Flayn, a handful of dark mages returned to the scene of Annwen's destruction to pick at the ruins, searching for clues on where a certain Crest Stone may be found. One by one they were hunted down and felled without mercy, while a scant few survivors fled back underground to tell the tale. How ironic that those who fancied themselves superior to gods and beasts alike would now flinch at having to contend with a ghost instead.