#OF COURSE I KNEW ERNEST'S NAME

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths pt.2

Cregan x wife!reader

named reader no description, from house Glover

masterlist

part 1

thank y'all so much for the kind words and eagerness to see this part. Please forgive me for not replying to all asks being sent to inbox, you'll understand with the chap lol. The pressure was so real I had planned to write other things between pt 1 and 2 but I dropped everything to do this between work and sleep lol

changed the og ending because so many people thought it would be more fitting and I agreed lol

anon pointed out my mistake on glover and bolton im so sorry for that confusion yall it is meant to be glover originally. i made too many mistakes im a mess rn

Ernest makes it to Cregan's solar first, Ron not far on his heels. Panting, the younger speaks up first when Cregan Stark shoots them a bewildered look whilst hunched over his oak desk.

"Was Lady Stark due for some business today, My Lord?" He asked, catching his breath as Cregan sat up in his seat, attention fully on the guards.

"Not any that I'm aware of. Where is my wife?" He asked, glancing outside of his small window to the blistering storm outside. There was no way she would be anywhere except her chambers—not after he caught her soothing Brandon to sleep. The sight had melted his heart immediately, glad to see his wife finally finding it in her to go see him, to give him a chance.

Though, he could not blame her, of course. He could still remember the day he brought the Stark babe home, and how he dreaded the meet throughout his months of journeying home to Winterfell.

Aelys had been on the forefront of his mind, even through the slimy politicking of King's Landing. The wait was only made ever longer by the fact that the party Cregan traveled North with had to wait until Brandon was old enough to travel, too. Moons went by painstakingly slow, and Cregan moved to load the carriage for the boy as soon as the Maester gave his word that Bran would not be suseptible to the outdoors during long durations on the road.

Cregan dismounted his grey mare, patting her on the neck in thanks before the stable boy guided her back to her designated place. With a tense sigh, he rolled his shoulders and opened the carriage door that held Brandon and his new wet nurse. Sara, his older sister, would join the family in a few short weeks while she continued her stay at the Blackwood's. He wished she was here to console his wife in the coming days. Gods know that he cannot, not when the news of his betrayal had to come from his own mouth. As he promised himself it should be. The sinner should say his own penance, no one else. A Stark is a slave to his oaths.

Thanking Greya kindly, Cregan picked up Bran in his arms. His onyx black curls shifted against the crook of his arm as he shifted the babe to be held better. The four moon-old babe fussed as he was removed from the woman's comforting hold. As if was, Cregan was more of a stranger to the young babe than his wet nurse was. Unfortunately, the Lord had not spent the amount of time with him as he knew he should have. The thoughts and guilt racked up in his mind and burned at the back of his throat every day, leaving Cregan to promise himself that in Winterfell he would spend more time with him.

Another promise for the list.

Cregan stepped through the courtyard's archway, holding his breath as he watched his beautiful wife standing by the Keep's doors, shivering but still insisting that she come out to meet her husband. Her smile was as lovely and bright as he remembered, a much more contented and relieved smile than she had sent him off to battle with. That day, she could hardly stifle her tears back as she hugged him 'goodbye'. He felt quite the same. Cregan would never leave for Southern business again, not in his lifetime. Once had been enough to last generations, though he was sure the Stark family would not go too long before being summoned again.

Her face shifted from joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. As Cregan continued straight towards her, Bran bundled up in so many wools and pelts that it entirely engulfed the babe. She lifted her skirts to step down to meet him. Originally, Cregan had wished to scoop her up in his arms and place a sweet kiss on her cold lips, but the bundle between them prevented such things. He could not greet her so sweetly and then present the bastard to her. Ripping the bandage off a fresh wound, Cregan would not be deceitful for longer than he had been during his moons of silence in the South.

"Husband," She smiled, reaching out to touch his chilled face, pink in the cheeks and ears from exposure. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you���and your men, of course." She was antsy on her feet, eager to get inside to proper reunite with her husband, no bystanders gawking.

Speaking of bystanders—Cregan's entire party had separated and dispersed around the courtyard. They met their own wives, parents, or children as they laughed and conversed. Though, the loud and joyous clamor soon died down when whispers had been spread around by those who already knew of Cregan's boy. Wives that knew Aelys well stared in pity, clutching their shawls to their chests and shaking their heads quietly at their Lord.

He fought the urge to hang his head.

She had not yet seen the babe, only the cloth surrounding him.

"Cregan?" She whispered, tilting her head with concerned eyes. "What is wrong?" His sweet, sweet wife. Her first priority had been him over anything since the days of their honeymoon—the days she had confessed to be extremely anxious about during their courtship. She was a Northern woman herself, hardened and shaped like an ice sculpture but retaining her warm heart and spirit. Cregan had intimidated her greatly, according to her giggling confession, and she had feared he may be a cruel and selfish man since he could easily do as he wished to his Lady wife. He proved her wrong, apparently, getting to know his wife throughout their private honeymoon. They had a bond like no other, always at each other's side and filling in for the weaknesses of the other during their duties as leaders.

Cregan's brow furrowed deep, blinking away as he felt his nose start to sting.

Only then, when his glossy eyes met hers silently, did she glance down to the cloths. Slowly reaching up a shaky, gloved hand adjusted the pelts so she could peer past them. Gasping at the pale babe, Aelys' eyes sharply met his. A million thoughts raced through her head, clearly showing in her facial expressions. Not assuming the worst, as she probably should have done, Aelys asked, "has one of your men died? Is this babe an orphan?" Always so trusting of her Lord husband, something Cregan had admired and was eternally grateful for throughout their marriage.

"Aelys..." He cleared his throat when his voice came out much too quiet and hoarse. "This is my son." He declared to her, and to the onlooking crowd who did not bother hiding scandalized gasps.

Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, shaking her head lightly and smiling. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son."

His silence met her words. When he did not cave and admit to messing with his wife, Aelys shook her head more firmly. "No." She said, whispering. Her eyes clamped shut as she breathed in and out deeply, only opening to glance down at the babe, scrutinizing its appearing and comparing every freckle to Cregan's. "Don't do this to me, please. You would never do this to me." Her words were nearly lost to the air.

"It was one time, I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan told her.

"On your name?" She harshly bit, stepping away from Cregan as if he had burned her. "Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods. Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—" She gasped out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and clutching her stomach. A choking sob rippled through her, and Greya stepped forward to gingerly take Brandon from Cregan's grasp. His arms fell to his side, clenching as he stopped himself from holding his wife in comfort. She could find no solace in the man who hurt her so.

"I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too. Was it just not me you wanted a family with?" She asked, cranking her neck up to look at her shameful husband.

"Aelys, I did—I do!" He started, stepping forward to wipe a hot tear from her cheek.

Flinching away from his touch, she looked up at him with the same mistrust and solemn acceptance that he found in a dying prey's eyes. Suddenly, Aelys looked to become aware of the crowd. Glancing around self-consciously, she straightened herself upright like the people expected of a Lady Stark. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." She loudly adressed the weary party and their families, who awkwardly moved to shuffle inside the dining hall. With a final glance past Cregan's shoulder to the wet nurse, Aelys was gone.

Seeing the shared glances of horror between the two, Cregan cleared his throat. "Where is my wife, boys?"

Ernest swallowed harshly, not daring to look him in the eye. "She—she said that she 'ad business in Winter Town. That you approved of it, I swear!"

Ron nodded so quickly that his head of curls messed about and framed his face further. The snow still on their heads and shoulders had now melted in the warmth of the Great Keep, reminding Cregan of the harsh weather the guards had to bear all day. They were trained and honed for such conditions, Aelys was not.

"Yes, Lord Stark! We couldn't disobey our Lady's words." He insisted.

"You think I'd make my wife go settle business in Winter Town during a blizzard?" He growled out, standing from his seat and storming between them to his doorway, where he turned on them and saw them both flinch in shock. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhm..." they shared another glance. "She said Winter Town, Lord Stark. What other way would she have gone?"

Cursing, Cregan grabbed Ice and lifted the great sword to his shoulder. He left without another word to anybody, knowing every second counted when it came to finding her. "Bloody fools." He scoffed to himself, mind turning and thinking of places she might head to.

Clearly, not Winter Town. She had no business there, not that he knew of, and although they had not been speaking these past moons he still oversaw all of her duties as Lady. Though, her reports of dealings and responsibilities was done through the Maester rather than her own mouth. A middleman, the poor elder had become. Cregan endured the silence without complaint, knowing his own actions brought it upon him.

His actions brought her further away from him than he perhaps estimated. He knew the babe would tear a rift in their relationship, and knew it would take a long time before they could even begin to mend it—but he never wanted it to go this far.

Back to her childhood home, to the Glovers in the Motte? Or, perhaps she found a secret lover that would meet her in the storm like a destined and tragic fairytale. He would not blame her for seeking love in another, though his never faded.

His quickened pace was only interrupted by Sara. "What is the rush for, brother?" The elder woman asked, dark brows furrowed with concern. Other the past four moons she had gained her strength back, looking the picture of health now that she was back home and recovering. Cregan could barely meet her gaze, looking between her and the doors ahead.

"My wife is gone." He told her honestly, shifting impaitiently in place. "I don't know where to, but I'm going to search for her."

Sara's dark eyes saddened, face scrunching up in grief. "This is my fault. I should have—"

Cregan stopped her immediately, taking her firmly by the shoulders and dipping his neck down to level himself. "No. It is mine alone. I made the choice to do this, I shall face the consequences of my actions."

"Cregan..." she sniffed, but did not allow tears to fall so easily.

"I'll be back." He promised. "With my wife."

Was she running away?

Cregan swung open the Great Keep's door, blinking staggardly at the wind gust that slammed into him. Not bothing to close it behind him, Cregan stormed to the stables and tacked his horse up. In a matter of minutes he was off and out of Winterfell's expansive walls.

His only option was to head towards Glover territory. It was a two days ride normally, but the storm would make it double or perhaps longer. She would not be far ahead, not even two hours ahead of Cregan and unknowing of how close he might be on her trail.

There were not even hoofprints left in her wake. The snow immediately covered all tracks and left only pristine fields of white powdery frost.

He would not know where she was until he spotted her amongst the white. Cobalt, her black stallion, was sure to stand out within close enough distance.

Until he did see her, he could only wait.

And it was exactly that; a waiting game. Cregan took only three days to reach the Deepwood Motte, faster than he anticipated. He was weary and exhausted, but still pumping with adrenaline and awake off sheer will. Here, in the safe walls of Harriston Glover's keep, his mare could finally have more than a few measly hours of rest, as well as food and water.

His fingers and toes burned with the edges of frostbite. Even in his thick protective gear, he was not entirely safe. The few, small fires that he built for himself in the cold nights gave him only a semblance of warmth. Each step felt like five as his vision blurred and weaned in and out. He steadied himself on a pole, waiting for his father-in-law to come downstairs to greet him. And, if luck be on his side, his Lady wife.

He owed more than an apology.

Harriston was a stern man, though not unreasonable. He loved his children and ensured they had only the best; education, caretakers, spouses. His eldest two children married long before Aelys was even of age to be wed, both men marrying Northern girls that they'd grown up with. When it came to his youngest and only girl, the man knew Lord Stark would be a most auspicious match. The Houses had long been friends and allies, and keeping the tradition of partnership thriving through marriage was no strange thing. He'd been even happier when Aelys wrote to him weekly, describing how enchanted she had been with her new husband and thanking him profusely for giving her a blessed match.

Now, the greyed man stood in front of Cregan with a deepset frown and a fierce look in his eyes. "Lord Stark. I thought you'd be busy in Winterfell."

Cregan cleared his throat, focusing on him intently. It made sense that the man was cross with him, especially after he assumed that Aelys had sent him a few lengthy letters telling of Cregan's infidelity. "I came to see my wife, and to bring her back home."

Harriston huffed a sarcastic laugh. "You send her back home, only to come yourself first?" He gestured around with his arms up.

Cregan tensed, "first? Is Aelys not already here?"

Lord Glover matched in his seriousness. "Aelys wrote to me three days ago, informing me that you had sent her here to be away from danger."

"I did not send her anywhere."

"You mean you do not know where my daughter is?" He asked, voice low and firm as he stepped closer. Though Harriston was a fine swordsman and a battle-worn fighter, Cregan did not fear the Lord's wrath, for he could easily best him in combat.

He did, however, have the brains to fear a furious father's vengeance.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. "And she stated that she was on her way here?"

"I think I know what she said, boy." Lord Glover hissed. "Where is Aelys?"

"She must still be out there," Cregan murmured breathlessly, turning on his heel and running out of the fort's doors and back out to the stables. Cobalt was in none of them, confirmed to him that Lord Glover was not simply lying and hiding his wife away from him.

Cregan decided to take another horse—one well rested and ready to travel in the packed snow, unlike his own weary mare. Guiding it to the doors where Lord Glover had exited and looked at Cregan with a fear unlike the learned man usually expressed, he asked: Where are the kennels?"

When Aelys left to brave the storm alone, she had not anticipated the sheer unforgivable nature of it. Living in the North her whole life, she'd long grown used to cold weather and hunting for herself. Hunts often lasted days or weeks, being times of comraderie and companionship when out in the wilderness with your people. She had not been hunting in years, much less alone.

The snow had slowed her travel significantly and clouded her navigational judgment. North became South, and East became West after so long of walking. With the skies so darkened, it was even harder to tell the time of day. With every stop she made and every fire that burnt out too quickly for her to be fully warm, Aelys had grown desperate.

She found shelter in a half-conscious act to preserve her on life. Now, curled up with only her fur-lined dress and the pelt she had brought from Winterfell, she could not help but begin to accept that she would die in this cave.

Aelys thought of her life in a few curt thoughts.

She had only lived twenty and two years. She grew up with loving parents and two elder brothers who doted on her greatly. She married Lord Stark of Winterfell, someone who took her heart quicker than she'd ever thought possible. She would die here, alone and cold because of him.

She thought of all the things she had wanted from life. Not much, for a Lord's daughter. Aelys had always wanted love and gave love in return. Trusted perhaps too much and did not gain from it. She wished for children, eventually, and could never have them now. She wished to see the warm deserts of Dorne and the lush gardens of Old Town in her retirement.

Aelys Bolton would not see anything but the North, nothing but the cold snow and frost-tippes trees around. They had grown familiar and warm.

Warm.

She was so warm, now.

Aelys closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of better days.

"You do not wish to return home to a babe in the nursery?" Aelys asked, voice low and humming as Cregan lay beneath her on their shared bed. Most men did, misliking the process of pregnacy but loving the outcome, for it could only serve to benefit them.

"We will have plenty of time for babes when I come back to you." He replied, brushing his lips over her the crown of her head. "What kind of husband would I be if I left you to deal with the struggles of pregnancy and birth all alone?"

"I won't be alone. Sara is staying, too. I will have a sister to keep me company and complain all my grievances about my missing husband to her." She said amusedly.

Cregan paused in his rhythmic stoking of her spine. "Sara has asked to come, my heart."

She paused, too, lifting her head from his chest and squinting at him. "Sara can come down to King's Landing with you, but I cannot?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "She will be staying at the Blackwood's residence at Raventree Hall, not King's Landing. I would never endanger either of you by bringing you to the capitol. She has been offered guest housing by her friend, Alysanne Blackwood, during my time down there."

She huffed, conceding to his words and dropping her head back down, listening again to his ever-steady heartbeat. "Must be nice to see the Riverlands." She said lightly. "I hear they have fields of flowers growing year-round."

"And the permanent smell of fish and mildew." Cregan added with a snort. "You're not missing anything, I swear it to you. Sara and I will be gone for a short period of time. I intend to leave as soon as things are settled and put to rest."

Aelys hummed her quiet acknowledgment. There was no argument to be had, not when Cregan was set to leave in the morning. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She said cheekily, though there was plenty truth to the statement. Alone, she would serve as political head to Winterfell and the temporary 'Warden' while Cregan was missing in action. She had her advisors, consisting of Cregan's trusted councilmen, but the hole that she knew would sink itself into her heart already wore her into her.

Cregan laughed at her words, nodding. "Aye, my love, you will do perfectly. I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long, but I have no doubt you'll do great." He said proudly, kissing her nose. She scrunched it up at the ticklish feeling, allowing a girlish giggle to leave her throat.

"Don't be gone too long, husband. Your wife needs you here." She said, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

"I would never dream of it."

The moons passed by with no reprieve for Aelys. As Winterfell's sole head, her days were busy from dawn til dusk. Letters were exchanged sporadically with her husband while he helped Aegon iii ascend to his place on the iron throne.

Until, one day, his letters ceased. It had already been a full year without Cregan Stark, and Aelys was beginning to grow used to the lack of her husband and sister by her side. Routine had grown to be instinct for her, breezing through her duties like she'd done them all her life. The only thing missing was her lover.

Concerned, Aelys checked in with the resident Maester to ensure Cregan's wellbeing.

When he paused, lips pursed and hands clutching at his cane with a stress unlike the calm elder, he rasped out his own fears. "I, too, have received no word from Lord Stark. Though, no news has come of us death in the capitol, so he must simply be occupied."

Occupied at the end of the war? When Aegon had already been named King and all the men put to trial were either declared guilty or innocent? The brunt of the work was over and done with—told by Cregan himself.

So why was he silent for an entire moon?

It was another fortnite before the Stark wrote back to her. The letter was curt and brief.

My dearest Aelys,

Forgive my abrupt silence these past weeks. Please know that you have been on my mind throughout this entire time.

Sara has grown sick in Raventree Hall, and has not been able to travel with the host of men I have sent back home to the North. We will stay behind for another few moons while she is in recovery. I will return to you soon.

With love,

Cregan Stark.

It was shorter than his other letters by many paragraphs, pages even. Cregan left out no details when describing his miserable times in the capitol. Aelys found herself much enjoying his theatrical melodramatic retelling and was rendered bemused by this letter. Still, she continued to lead with no pause for breaks.

Three more moons later, and Cregan wrote that he was mere days away from Winterfell. Without Sara Snow, unfortunately, as she was still not entirely recovered, but his party could be postponed no longer.

Aelys rushed around Winterfell's Keep in a flurry of excitement. She ordered every room to be cleaned spotless, for rations to be saved for days until a feast could be made for their arrival, for hearths to be extra tended to, and for the courtyard to be prepared to clear the way for the host.

Finally, the days of busy bodies floating around the Great Keep came to a stop. The feast was warm and ready at all available tables. The hearths were warm and ready for sleepy heads to rest within the rooms. The tubs were filled with scalding hot water that would warm by the time they were used. Lady Stark stood for hours at the Great Keep's entry stairs in the courtyard.

She wanted to be there exactly when he walked through the archway. Despite the cold biting at her nose, the Lady stood resiliant and tall.

It was nearly in the afternoon when Cregan's party arrived. He came through first, leading as head of the host as any Lord should. A wheelhouse followed, surrounded by a small league of soliders all around it. She bounced on her heels slightly, seeing Cregan dismount from his ride. Though she found herself bemused and slightly hurt when he glanced at her and made his way towards the wheelhouse instead. Had Sara recovered enough to join and perhaps wanted to surprise her good sister? She hoped so, for she had missed her greatly. After growing up with only brothers, Aelys found a best friend and sister in Sara Snow. The whispers about Lady Stark befriending the bastard of Winterfell followed her around like a dark shadow, but she never paid them any mind.

Bastardry had never bothered Aelys before. Not even when she was a woman of noble birth and was taught that bastards were born inherently lustful, evil, and made of sin.

She waited patiently at the top of the steps for Cregan to fetch Sara.

To her surprise, he only pulled out of the carriage with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Pelts and blankets, it seemed. A plainly-dressed woman from the South stepped out after him but stayed trailing behind. A maid of some sort, though she had no clue as to why a Southern maid would need to follow Cregan back to Winterfell.

As he strided towards her, a strange and unhappy look on his face, she forced her anxiety back down her throat and raced to meet him. "Husband," she greeted with a smile. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." Reaching out to caress his face and simultaneously brush flecks of snow from his loose hair, she couldn't help but stop to admire her husband's handsome features. It had felt like an eternity that they were separated, and she had begun to forget the full details of his frame. Forgot his scent in the room and his side of the bed. Nearly forgot the warmth that he provided simply from standing nearby.

The very warmth he is giving to her now, in the chilly courtyard.

His eyes appeared to gloss, his nose and cheeks pinking even more so than they had already grown in the biting air. Glancing over Cregan, she assessed quickly for signs of fatigue or illness.

"Cregan?" she asked gently. "What is wrong?" She prayed he did not catch whatever Sara had caught, or hid a wound under his mass of leathers and pelts.

When he shiftly lifted the bundle in his arms to gesture for her to look at it, she finally spared a look to the mysterious ball of cloth. She had completely forgotten about it until now, noticing the maid still behind Cregan a few yards back, head tilted down and looking at her slippers. Peeking over a fur pelt, Aelys gasped at the sight. A babe, only a few moons old by the looks of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would Cregan bring a babe back instead of leaving it in more temperate climates like the Riverlands that he stayed in on the way up North?

"Has one of your men died?" She asked in a hushed tone, assuming first that one of his soldiers perhaps fathered a bastard babe before perishing in a battle or falling to sickness. "Is the babe an orphan?" Cregan did always have a soft spot for younglings, showcased clearly by his time spent personally training young squires of Winterfell. He had lost his own younger brother in their youth, and the hole had never filled from that loss of kin.

"Aelys..." he started, meeting her eyes with a soft and sympathetic look. "This is my son." Was said loud and clear for any listeners to hear.

A jest. Cregan had seldom liked to be humorous in front of crowds, or anyone but herself and Sara, but he must have been in good spirits today. Briefly glancing at the surrounding people, she found only pitiful looks from the women and severe looks from the men. Shaking her head, Aelys forced a smile onto her face and a shaky laugh. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son." She emphasized.

He only stared at her back. No words of comfort, no sudden burst of laughter among his men to tell her that the biggest prank in the world had been pulled on her. Just shameless silence.

He had declared her second best in front of all of Winterfell. Her people and his.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head 'no'. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to clear her blurry eyes and woozy head. Glaring down at the false babe in his arms, she found many similarities that she wished she had not. The same straight brows that Cregan had, the same scattered freckles, the same pale skin. The only difference was the hair color—black as a midnight sky or dragonglass. The mother must be beautiful.

Moving her eyes to the maid behind Cregan, she found that the girl had a mousy blonde color to her tresses. She could not have possibly bore a black-haired babe. She felt sick, like she'd throw up and choke at the same time. "Don't do this to me. You'd never do this to me." She pleaded out, voice small and hoarse.

"It was one time. I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan promised. But every word was like poison, filling her heart with a heavy black liquid and drowning her from the inside out.

"On your name?" She hissed out, uncaring of the onlookers for this one moment. She was allowed to be angry, callous, and spiteful, even. Any self-respecting woman would be. And she'd be damned if she wasn't. Any Stark woman ought to be when ruling over the entire North. Any Glover woman is.

"Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods! Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—?" Words spilled from her mouth before she can think properly. But she did not regret any of them, knowing she was in the right. Bile rose in her throat, pushing itself past the forced down emotions. She swiftly covered her mouth, stilling herself to prevent any more embarrassing. Subconsciously, she clutched at her empty stomach with her free hand, both mourning the fact that she'd have no children and thanking the Gods for not giving her any previously. A cry finally escaped her lips, watching the plain maid take the babe into her arms again as Cregan looked on helplessly to his wife.

Aelys found her voice again, though it was ragged and tired. "I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too." He was a liar, the worst kind of man. "Was it just not me you wanted a family with?"

She'd rather be struck with his hand than his deceitful mouth. It would hurt much less.

"I did, Aelys—I do!" He pleaded, stepping forward to console her. His arms looked like steel traps in her louded mind.

She took a lengthy step back. She would not share his warmth, nor his love. Or his bed, his room, his damned dining room. His children. Not when he had shared it with another woman. Given her his love, his attention, his son.

She could not bear to keep herself calm any longer. Adressing the entire courtyard, who had made themselves the Stark's own personal peanut gallery, she spoke firmly. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." Without a second glance back at the Stark, Aelys excused herself to her chambers, where she emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot until she could only dry-heave nothingness. These chambers had not been used since she arrived in Winterfell, instead choosing to sleep and stay in their marital ones. She would not step foot into those again unless she was dragged kicking and screaming.

Aelys awoke to strong arms lifting her from the stone floor. Groggily, she was stirred from her deep and preserving sleep. How long had she been traveling? How long had she been buried under those pelts? Time was a blur when she was in a near comatose state, dead to the world. Limbs were numbed and her body felt warm after so long in the cold weather.

"I've got you, sweet girl. We're going home." A familiar voice rung in the back of her head. Even the jolting movements of a horse trotting could not fully move her to consciousness as she fell back asleep.

When she fully gained her sense of mind, she could clearly hear the sound of two men arguing. The warmth of a hearth was next to her as she lifted heavy blankets and furs off of her body. Glancing around, Aelys found herself back right where it all started. In Cregan's room, formerly their marital chambers that she had long since moved out of. A large oil painting sat over the heart, depicting a newlywed image of her and Cregan. They both smiled brightly in the photo, much to Cregan's complaint that the painting did not make him look 'serious enough'. She only laughed and tipped the painter extra gold dragons for the accuracy.

She loved that painting more than any others they kept in the Great Keep. Now, the two faces looking down at her only served to remind her of the falsehood she lived every day while Cregan was absent. Taking care of Winterfell and the North all by herself, just to come back and be thanked by his uncouth mistakes.

Shakily standing up, she winced at the feeling coming back to her limbs. Wriggling all twenty of her toes and fingers, she ensured they still all had feeling. Miraculously, she did. The numbess still felt vaguely there, and her throat was extremely dry and achy. But at least she was alive. Even if it was back in Winterfell, she could attempt her return to the Motte as soon as the storm died down.

It had been a dreadful blizzard. Not a rare sight in the North, but usually none lasted so long. Aelys could not help but feel it was the Gods punish Cregan and Aelys for their marital spat. Something like this must be so futile and useless in their eyes and the eyes of the people of the realm, but to Aelys it was her world and her life. No one could help Aelys but herself. She'd leave these spoiled halls even if the Old Gods and the New wished otherwise. If Cregan didn't have to keep oaths, why should she?

Opening the large wooden door, Aelys found the source of the faint yelling. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father in front of Cregan, in all his gruff charm with his silver hair and beard. She hadn't seen him in nearly two years. She stayed at the archway under the door, simply listening in as the men shouted further down the hall. If either turned their heads, they would spot her eavesdropping.

"—cannot even keep her safe during Winter! Am I to expect her to stay safe during a wildling attack, or worse? Or will you be prioritizing the safety of your mistress?" Harriston shouted, veins nearly popping out from his forehead and neck in his fury. Snow still gathered on his pelt coat, meaning he had just arrived recently.

"It is my mistake that she was endangered out there—but I would never let such a thing happen again under my protection. This is her home, I cannot allow her to go back to the Dreadfort. She is a Stark." Cregan emphasized, though had a defensive raised tone.

"Was she a Stark when you bed a whore in King's Landing?"

"The situation is more complicated than that." He responded, clenching his jaw.

"Nothing could ever be more complicated than losing your wit at a brothel, Stark. There is no argument to be had. She is staying with her family, where she was intending." Harriston growled out, a tone of finality to his tone. As he swung on his feet to head down the hall, face set in a worried and seething anger, he finally spotted his daughter.

"Aelys!" He yelled in relief, rushing toward her and scooping her up into his thick arms. "We're going home immediately. We will wash our hands of the Starks once and for all."

"I will not allow that." Cregan spoke from behind. As Aelys hugged her father back just as tightly, it was a battle to keep her tears from flowing in his safe arms. She missed her father more than she knew.

Before Harristone could speak, Aelys nodded. "We will settle this." She said flatly. Her father hesitantly let her go, nodding once firmly after seeing the resolve in his daughter's eyes.

"Very well. I will wait in the dining hall for you." He sighed, walking away.

Aelys shivered in the loss of warmth again. In her bare feet and night gown, she felt the cold of the cobblestone walls and floors start to seep under her skin again. "Here," Cregan murmured, gently shifting his mass of brown wolf pelt over her shoulders and clicking the direwolf emblem into place.

She allowed it, though she did not thank him with words. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I want to separate. Divorce, I mean." She said tiredly.

Cregan flinched, jaw ticking and heavily considering her words. "That is entirely my fault. It is in your right to ask that of me." He said, voice dimmed and not nearly half of his assuredness. "But please, hear me out."

"What could I possibly hear you out with?" She asked, exhaustion clear in her tone. She'd dealt with this situation long enough.

Cregan nudged the door back open, nodding for her to enter. Reluctantly, she led the way in and watched as he gently shut it behind them. "I swore an oath, nearly nine moons ago." Cregan started.

Her brows furrowed, bemused. "To whom?"

Guiltily, he looked down at her, looking much alike to a kicked pup. "My sister."

"To Sara? What ever for?" She grew frustrated, knowing he was beating around the bush.

Taking a deep breath, he told her everything. "Sara stayed with her friend Alysanne Blackwood in Raventree hall for the entire time I was aiding King Aegon. In that time—she fell pregnant."

Aelys' heart dropped to her stomach. The same sick feeling overtaking her. She did not say a word.

"Davos Blackwood and Sara had built a bond, much like we did." He said. "When she told Davos of the news, they both went to Lord Blackwood to plea to marry each other. He refused, not allowing his heir to marry a bastard."

"And you legitimized Brandon as your own in turn?" She hissed.

"Sara begged me to. She lived her life as a bastard—she did not wish the same for her own son. I swore to her that my nephew would never be allowed the same treatment. I knew Aegon would do it." He trailed.

"So you bring him home, and humiliate me instead? You didn't even tell me, your own wife! You chose Sara over me. She is your sister, I know, but she chose to be with Davos Blackwood." She could have taken a tea, or moved to Essos or Dorne where bastards were more accepted. There were other options, but neither Sara nor Cregan used them. "That is cruel, Cregan. It is heartless." She cried.

"I never wished to hurt you, I only wanted to protect her. It was my oath." Cregan pleaded, grabbing her hands in his.

She shivered again, though unknowing if it was in chill or her own anger. Part of her was happy that he never truly took another woman to bed—never picked another other her. Though he still hid the biggest secret in the world from her for moons. Allowed her to suffer in their shared home and withstand the pitious looks of the people and court.

"I can't trust you. Not ever again. You could not trust me with your own kin's truth, and punished me for it." She stated. She could not allow herself to cave in so easily, to fall back into his arms.

"I understand, sweet girl." He muttered, softly stroking the apple of her cheek almost mindlessly. "I will sign whatever the Maester's conjure up. You will be free to marry whoever you wish—someone who will not lie to you."

The Starks were known for their loyalty and devotedness to their oaths. If Cregan Stark had lied to his wife so easily, no lesser man could ever make her happy with faithfulness and loyalty. Aelys had accepted her life to be one of loneliness from the day Brandon was allowed into the home.

"I will stay in Deepwood Motte for the time being. From there, I will see where my path leads." She said vaguely, unknowing now of what her heart desired. "Wish Sara well for me." Aelys asked of him, leaving him behind as she wiped any straying tears from her face.

"I love you, Aelys." He said, calling softly after her.

"I know." She whispered to herself.

In the dining hall, Harriston awaited her arrival. Perking up when she entered, he knowingly took her into his arms. "I'm tired, father."

"Let's go home. Your mother has missed you dearly." He said, planting a fatherly kiss to her temple.

Aelys would not yet send word for a formal separation to the Citadel or to the King. For now, time apart was what she declared best for herself.

divider by - @issysh3ll

tags - @palomavz @emithefrog @karinalight @johnshelbywife @tojisrealwifey @baddielizzy @pearldaisy @brookiecookie @jessicar401 @hardkiddonut @littlelilly27-blog @nayaniasworld @just-mj-or-not @flaneurpastel @unsweetenedpeatea @blucesita09 @maxmegara @deeeeexx @masschotch @janniepark1997 @spongelistener @margaaaa30 @paracii @lovebabe18 @rey26 @damneddamsy @yunnifer @kenzcarson @glqmmywhqmmy @arizonadesert @blumin8 @its-your-girl-savy @dreamygirli3 @aemondloverr @zaranobiyuyu @nsr-15 @oxymakestheworldgoround @isansstuff @high-speed-r

so many tags dont work 🥲 will try to tell in comment sec

ending is ambiguous. Will she decide to divorce or eventually mend their relationship? Up to you!

might make an alt ending where he really is just a shitty guy but this had been my idea from the start (many guessed it and i could not reply to them because of it lmao)

sorry if those two scenes got repetitive, but I wanted to show the 'cregan bringing brandon home' from both of their more detailed perspectives. Cregan's shame and guilt and her humiliation and heartbreak.

so many people guessed so close (to the sara part at least) only saw Jace thoughts tho, but he's already dead long before Cregan's walk down to the South. Would have been much more dramatic, but I think Jace would never allow a child of his to be apart from him. Many people swayed me to lead them to separate instead of stick together, and it does make more sense to have her leave him in the end. Although he did not cheat he still lied and publicly humiliated her, even unintentionally, but he's a grown man who is smart enough to know consequences.

[sissyisawitch]

Noctua...

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt & Noctua Gaunt

Summary: For his seventeenth birthday, Ominis receives a very unexpected present… A letter informing him that he has inherited his Aunt Noctua's house, and all the memories that go with it.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Author's Note: This one-shot was really important for me to write, so I really hope you'll like it!💚

Warnings: Remembrance of a lost one

Dear Mister Gaunt,

In the name of the Wizengamot, it is with great regret that I remind you of Noctua Gaunt’s passing.

I am writing to you as the executor of your aunt's will to inform you that, before her passing, she appointed you as the fortunate and only heir to her Gringotts vault, and house in Manor Cape. Now that you are of legal age, these assets rightfully belong to you.

To proceed with the official transfer of the property and funds, I will wait for you in Headmaster’s Black office on Monday morning, so that we can discuss the details and the steps to follow.

Best regards,

Ernest Hawkworth

It was the umpteenth time Ominis was rereading the bloody letter with the help of his wand. He had never expected to receive such a poisoned gift on his seventeenth birthday. "'Fortunate heir'"... What a ridiculous thing to read. Who in the world would be happy to learn that a member of their family had died? Someone cruel surely... Or simply anyone other than him in the Gaunt family. Any income was good news for them, whatever the context.

Ominis sighed dejectedly, and tucked the letter away in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was Monday morning. He had better get to Headmaster Black's office.

Mechanically, his feet carried him towards the Gargoyle Corridor, and led him up the stairs. He barely had time to knock on the wooden door before it flew open.

“Ah! Mr. Gaunt!” An unfamiliar man hurried to shake his hand enthusiastically. “I’m Ernest Hawkworth. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course…” Ominis answered idly. “Mr. Black is not with you?”

“No, no. He simply guided me here and left, claiming he had more important things to do, which I have no doubt he does.” Hawkworth explained with a wide genuine smile that could be heard in his voice.

“Typical Black…” Ominis muttered under his breath unintelligibly.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” The Slytherin student quickly replied, before changing the subject. “How did you want to proceed to the transaction, Mr Hawkworth?”

“Well, to start with, I need to show you your aunt's house.” Hawkworth suddenly looked embarrassed. “If you see no objection to… taking m-my arm, I'll apparate us to Manor Cape.”

Ominis knew that this abrupt stuttering had nothing to do with anything other than the fact that he was a Gaunt, a highly reputed family considered to be royalty by the other Purebloods. Hawkworth was probably intimidated by the idea that he was about to touch one of the Slytherin heirs.

Ominis did not bother to reply, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He simply placed his hand on the man's arm as lightly as possible.

A second and a loud crack later, Ominis found himself in the middle of a radically different scenery.

The first thing he noticed was the melodious trill of birdsong. With each chirp and whistle, he felt a sense of tranquillity wash over him, as if the birds were welcoming him to the only place he had ever called home.

He looked up at the sky, taking a moment to savour the gentle breeze of the countryside brushing against his skin with a soft, comforting touch. It carried with it the faint scent of grass and flowers, a fragrant perfume that filled his senses and invigorated his spirit. Ominis inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy aroma of the land, feeling a deep connection to the natural world around him.

With each step he takes, the man becomes more attuned to the beauty of his surroundings, the sights, sounds, and scents of the countryside enveloping him in a sense of wonder and awe. In this tranquil moment, which awakened all the memories of the moments spent in the house that had enchanted his childhood.

“Well, here we are!” Hawkworth announced eagerly. “There are just a couple of things left to sort out. Don't worry, it won't take much longer.”

“That's all right…” Ominis automatically replied in a dreamy tone.

“First of all, here's the key to your aunt's Gringotts vault... which is now yours. All the arrangements have already been made with the goblins on your behalf.”

“Thank you.” Ominis placed the golden key in his pocket, taking no notice of it.

“And finally, you just need to sign this paper to finalise the inheritance.”

Ominis took the quill that Hawkworth handed him, and signed at the bottom of the parchment. Admittedly, Ominis could not write because of his deficiency (yes, he considered his blindness as such, just like the rest of his family had always done). As a result, he had always used a Quick-Quotes Quill, or asked someone else to write for him. However, once he was older and more mature, Ominis learnt to write his own signature by himself.

“Congratulations, Mr. Gaunt! You are now officially the owner of this delightful residence.” Hawkworth grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. He had found a brand-new sense of confidence, which even allowed him to pat Ominis on the shoulder. “May I take you back to the castle?”

“No, thank you. I'll stay here.” Ominis replied, taking a step back to put an end to this unwelcome contact.

He heard the man in front of him take in a sharp breath, “Very well, then. I won't keep you any longer. It was an honour to meet you, Mr. Gaunt.”

Ominis gently touched the stones of his aunt's house – which he still struggled to accept as now his own. Each stone, cold and ancient under his fingers, seemed to whisper anecdotes of the past, of days filled with laughter and the quiet hum of magic that once filled these rooms.

As he traced the rough texture, the ivy that climbed the walls reached out, tenderly tickling the back of his hand, as if nature itself was trying to comfort him, to bridge the gap between the loss he felt and the legacy he had inherited. It was a small, almost imperceptible connection, but in that moment, Ominis felt a little less alone, surrounded by the lingering presence of his aunt and the life she had cultivated in this magical place.

Hesitant to enter his childhood refuge, Ominis chose instead to wander towards the garden, finding solace in the idea of being closer to nature before confronting the memories housed within those stone walls. On his way, he caught a few wild branches in the face and heard twigs cracking under his feet, a testament to the many years spent without Noctua's care for her plants.

Despite the pitfalls, Ominis continued peacefully towards the lake. The smell of humidity and the soft murmur of the water's gentle eddies... seemed to call out to him, to urge him closer.

With a deep breath, he sat at the water's edge, slipping off his shoes and socks to touch the water, its icy caress sending a shiver up his spine. The cold sensation on his feet jolted a memory loose—a memory of a younger version of himself by this very lake, with his aunt by his side. At the time, he truly could not understand why his aunt had insisted on taking him to an unknown place, something that terrified him, given that he did not yet have his wand to guide him.

He had complained the whole way there, and upon touching the water, he had burst into tears, overwhelmed by the cold and a sudden fear of the unknown depths. His aunt had scooped him up, comforting him with her laughter and assurances that there was nothing to fear. He could still feel her breath against his ear when she whispered that she was right there with him, and that even though he could not see it, the world was too beautiful not to explore it.

Sitting there now, feet submerged in the chilly water, Ominis could not help but smile tenderly, because he now agreed with her. Even though his aunt was gone, her lessons and love continued to guide him, teaching him that it was okay to be scared and that there was strength in facing one's fears, just as he was doing now, one step at a time.

And just like that, his aunt’s words once again gave him the strength to face his current fear. He cast a drying spell on himself, put his shoes back on, and strolled back to the house. He stood still as he faced the front door, before taking a deep breath.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Ominis finally summoned the courage to open the door and cross the threshold. Stepping into the living room, he was immediately enveloped by a wave of nostalgia and melancholy. The room was a shrine to his aunt's life, filled with her belongings and memories that seemed to echo with her presence.

Ominis put his wand away in his pocket and moved forward, holding his hands out in front of him to avoid bumping into furniture, as he used to do when he was only a young child.

First, he came into contact with the worn armchair by the fireplace, where she would sit and read late into the night. watch him, while she lent him her wand and taught him the spell that allowed him to see the outline of the objects surrounding him (the one he still used to this day). It was the first time he had really discovered the world, and it was entirely thanks to her. It was she who had created the spell. Just for him.

And it certainly was not the only time that Ominis had felt such gratitude towards his aunt, for not far away there was a library full of books written in Braille. It was Noctua who had taught him to read in the same way as blind Muggles, because it was essential to her that her nephew should be able to acquire an education from a very young age.

As he moved through the room, Ominis ran his fingers over the familiar objects placed on the shelves. Only souvenirs that Noctua had brought back from her various expeditions to the four corners of the Earth, and which she took great pleasure in recounting to her nephew afterwards to lull him to sleep at night.

Every object held a story, a piece of his aunt's past that she had carefully preserved… but he knew that not everything was there. His aunt's research was missing.

He knew he would find it in her study, which happened to be the room Ominis dreaded the most, out of fear it would bring back too many memories and shatter his heart with grief all over again. Still, he climbed the stairs to go there, and a sense of unease settled in his chest. The weight of anticipation mingled with apprehension, each step a reminder of the memories waiting for him behind the door.

With a trembling hand, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of old books and dried herbs. The room felt frozen in time, untouched since his aunt's passing, a silent witness to her tireless pursuit of knowledge and understanding.

Instinctively, his hands reached out for her desk. To his greatest surprise, he felt parchment under his fingertips. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, he reached out and picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest.

He unfolded what appeared to be a letter, and took out his wand, guiding its tip along the lines…

My dearest Ominis, my little boy,

If you are reading this letter, it’s unfortunately because my curiosity and my research into Salazar Slytherin have gotten the best of me. I have always been fascinated by the history of our ancestors, but I fear that this time, my enthusiasm for the past has led me a bit too far.

I am writing these words to you, my dear child, because it is important for me that you know why I have chosen you as my sole and only heir. You might still be young, but your soul carries a wisdom and a purity that I haven’t found in any other member of our family. While many have let themselves be corrupted by greed, pureblood supremacy, or the desire for power, you have always followed your heart, staying true to your moral values and that integrity that so defines you. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that I know my belongings and my research, but also my hopes and dreams for a better future, could not be in better hands than yours.

I fondly remember all the moments we have shared. Your first steps into the world of magic, your eyes wide with wonder when you finally saw how the world was shaped. You were so wise, so shy, and yet already so determined to do what is right. Your tenacity, even when faced with the greatest challenges, has always impressed me. You were that little boy with a stubborn temperament, the one who refused to be walked over, all while maintaining a softness and kindness that made you so special in my eyes.

Today, as I write these lines, my heart is heavy at the thought of not being able to meet the handsome young man, wise, intelligent, and accomplished that you surely have become. I have no doubt that you have grown to become an exceptional person, upholding the values we have shared and that I have tried to teach you.

My last advice to you, my dear nephew, is to never lose sight of who you truly are. You are a Gaunt, and you have strong convictions and a heart of gold. So, yes, you are a Gaunt, but it does not necessarily have to be a fatality. Stay true to yourself and show the world that not all descendants of Slytherin need to be feared.

Take care of yourself, my child, and always remember that you have within you the strength and wisdom to change the world.

With all my love,

Your aunt who loves you the most.

Ominis's tears flowed uncontrollably, falling onto his hands. He put the letter down for fear of soaking it and destroying one of the only things he had left of his beloved aunt.

Despite his deep sorrow, Ominis was suddenly overcome by an unshakeable determination. He vowed to himself to carry on his aunt's legacy. Armed with her research and her unwavering belief in him, he knew that he could face whatever trials awaited him. He felt a deep sense of connection to her, as if she were still there, guiding him with her love and her wisdom through this new chapter of his life… even from above.

She was the one who had shown him the world... so he was going to give his heart and soul to making it a little more like she had dreamt.

“You can count on me, Aunt Noctua… I’ll do it for you. I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Did you guess what BRF’s baby names would be and if so, what were your guesses? And which is your favourite?

I am way too proud of the fact that (as a history nerd) I guessed George because of the strong family line / George VI. I guessed Charlotte, Alice or Louise due to those being Queen Victoria’s daughters’ names that have been reused - but Charlotte was my top guess. I never guessed for Louis and wouldn’t have guessed his name anyway.

I didn't really play the guessing game for baby names.

I had a feeling a baby girl would Charlotte because of the Princess Royal pattern, but only for a non-heir daughter (as our Charlotte ended up being). I'm less confident William and Kate would have chosen Charlotte for a firstborn child - on the one hand, a) there hasn't been a Queen Regnant Charlotte before and they don't strike me as being that kind of a history-maker and b) I'm not sure that they were close enough to Charles at the time to be able to tolerate the amount of "Future Queen named after Future King Grandpa" PR Charles's team would have put out in 2013. But on the other hand, Charlotte follows the Goldsmith pattern - Carole (eldest daughter) and Catherine (eldest daughter).

I liked Alexander for George but I knew they wouldn't choose it for a first name because there hasn't been a King Alexander before and I feel like Elizabeth's "I'll choose my own name, of course" decision has set a modern tradition for the BRF. I don't think we'll see another British monarch use a middle name for their regnant name (e.g., how David became Edward VIII and Albert became George VI) again. I was pleased to see that Alexander is one of young George's middle names.

I liked Michael for Louis. If Charlotte honors Charles, Carole, and Diana, then it's only fair for Michael (Kate's father) to be included too. I also liked James for Louis too, but I knew it wouldn't be chosen because of then-Viscount Severn (William's cousin James), James Middleton, and James Matthews (Pippa's husband).

If William and Kate were to have had a fourth child -- and there was a period of time 2020/2021 when a lot of royal tarot readers and astrologists saw William and Kate having a fourth child and that child being a daughter -- I liked Lucy for her. Only for the parallels to The Chronicles of Narnia. But I think Frances or Francesca may have had the better chance of being chosen as it honors both Michael Middleton and, of course, Diana, since William and Kate's choices have all been rooted in their family.

Ernest threw me for huge loop (Eugenie's younger son). That kid's going to have a rough time in school. He'd have been better off as Ronnie.

August is fine. Unexpected, but on trend with today's baby names.

Archie and Lilibet were also very unexpected choices. Archie is fine but 'Harrison' for a middle name seems like Meghan was going for a branding opportunity, versus naming a person. Lilibet is the tragedeigh of the Windsor family and what a shame, because again, Meghan was naming a brand, rather than a person.

[uncanny-tranny]

You know, something that's been healing in ways I never really anticipated was buying secondhand books.

I have a physiology textbook that has the name Ernest written in beautiful cursive on the inside cover. Throughout the book, passages are highlighted, and I wonder: What is the difference between a passage underlined in red pen and one highlighted in yellow? Did he have a system, or did he use whatever was around him at the time? What kind of courses did he take? I wonder what he did after his degree... what if he became a renowned physiologist? Or, what if he abandoned everything to run away to chase dreams he knew were unwise?

It's something small you don't really think about, but there really is something holy about not being the first. This book isn't just the sum of knowledge anymore, it's become a love letter, with a completely separate story attached. That's something I will keep with me forever. We have always been here. We will pass down a tiny bit of ourselves no matter how long it has been. We will yet live.

[womanofwords]

The Poisoned Prodigy (Chapter 4)

After school, I went to Sandalwood Institute. I stuck out being the only one not wearing the Sandalwood uniform, but that didn't matter. I was looking for someone.

"Excuse me, have you seen Sally Kinley? I need to talk to her," I said, grabbing a scared looking boy and shaking him.

"Young man, you seem lost," someone said. A kind looking man approached me, hands behind his back as he walked. He walked like my grandpa used to, even though there was no way that he was older than forty. He also dressed like an old man, with a sweater and tweed slacks. Aviator glasses fresh from the seventies rested on the bridge of his nose. "And I'm fairly certain that you are not a student here."

I sighed and decided to be honest before he thought that I was a stalker. "I'm looking for Sally Kinley. She was friends with my best friend, Patton Reynolds, and I would like to talk to her."

A sad look took over his face. "Oh, goodness. By any chance, were you the boy sitting him up while he was on the floor?"

"You saw that?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't there. I couldn't make it last minute. I heard about everything from my wife on the local news."

I felt the world tilt. "It's . . . on the news?"

"Yes. The media can be such vultures, you know." Words kept coming out of his mouth, but I couldn't hear them. I was just going

down

down

down

stop.

:-)

I woke up in a white room with the man and Sally waiting for me. "Did I go to hospital too?" I asked, sitting up on my elbows.

Sally laughed. It was melodious, sweet. "No, you're in the nurse's office. You fainted."

"My fault, really," the man said. "Hello, Vincent. I'm Dr Jacobs. We were talking about Patton and the news coverage when you fainted."

Everything came back to me. Patton being poisoned was on the news.

"I've seen Ernest's face all over the internet in the past few hours. More than he deserves," Sally said, toying with the sleeve of her school blazer like a cat toying with a mouse.

"Why is his face on the internet?" I asked.

"He got arrested, Vincent. The picture of him is his mugshot," Dr Jacobs said.

"I hope he suffers for what he did to Patton." Sally's voice was deeper with anger, syllables being growled out. "It's obvious why he did it. Patton was naturally incredible and charming and sweet, and all he had to impress people with was his parents' money."

"Miss Kinley!" Dr Jacobs gasped.

"Everybody knows it! Well, except Vincent here, of course, but he knows now."

"Miss Kinley, there is a time and a place for this kind of talk," the nurse said. I'd honestly forgotten she was there. "If you and your friend really want to talk about recent events, then you can do so somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. Patton was a sweet soul."

I always heard people say stuff like that about Patton. He made a place better. He was so smart. He was the sweetest young man. He was the sort of kid you wanted your kid to be like.

I already knew what people said about me. It used to be the same word every time from different mouths, getting progressively worse every time.

"Who?"

James was meaner about it. "Dude, you're the lamest teenage boy in the world. And I've met some pretty lame ones."

"I'll escort Vincent out of the school once he's ready to leave," Sally said, snapping me back to reality. "Why did you come here, exactly?"

All eyes were on me. "Just . . . wanted to talk about the events that happened with someone who knew Patton in school. Sally's was the only name he mentioned."

"Of course. Do whatever you need to cope with this horrible situation," Dr Jacobs said. "Lots of students have been to counselling over this event. Patton had a wide and strong impact over everyone."

"He's not dead, you know!" I yelled. Everyone stared at me. "He's in a medically induced coma, but he's not dead! He could live!"

"Vincent's right. We shouldn't treat Patton like he's already died," Sally agreed. "Come on. This isn't exactly a nice place to be."

She took my wrist like I was a little kid and dragged me out of the school, people whispering off to the sides as they stared at us. She kept dragging me until we got to a convenience store. "Thanks for getting me out of here," I said, once we were out of sight.

Sally looked at me with a hardened expression on her face. "Why did you really come here?"

"What?"

"Why did you really come here?" she repeated. "I know that you didn't really come here for Patton, no matter what you told Dr Jacobs. Spoiler alert: you look away when you lie. Why are you really here?"

"I wanted to look for you. You know all these people and you've definitely met this Ernest guy already. Also . . . also . . ." My words failed me.

"Spit it out!" Sally grabbed my neck and squeezed for a cruel, hard second. This must be what Patton felt when the poison began to take effect.

"I don't think Ernest did it!" I blurted out. Sally let go of me in surprise. "It's stupid, but it got cleared up so easily! I keep thinking about it!"

Sally stood still. She was giving me a weird look. Then she smiled.

"You know something, Vincent?" she asked, smiling at me. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

:-)

A few minutes later, we had exchanged Instagram details and phone numbers, and I was walking to the bus stop to get home. Something was off about what happened to Patton. Ernest seemed like a prick, but he wasn't a murderer. Maybe he was just an idiot who hated Patton and wasn't very personable. But that just left so many questions.

If Ernest didn't do it, who did? Why would they frame Ernest? And why would they hurt Patton?

If you want to read the other chapters, see Masterlist.

[lovely-lauren-arts]

Does Daisy call her parents by names or “mother” and “father”?

What type of heterochromia does Ernest have?

Will the horror parts come out in the comic?

What would some of your characters react if they were complimented?

1. She calls Dr Nightshade "Dr" and Madame Scarlet "Madame". It felt odd for her when she tried calling them mom and dad.

2. Sectoral Heterochromia.

3. Yes there will be creepy/horror parts but it's going to build up.

4. (The compliment is something like "you're really great" given by a someone they feel neutral about. This is a basic idea of how they'd respond).

Beatrice - "Thank you...".

Isabella - "Thanks so much you are too!".

Madeline - "Yeah".

Daisy - "I know".

Penelope - "Oh, um, thank you, so are you".

Elizabeth - She'd smile.

Oliver - "Thanks, you're cool too".

Claude - "Of course I am, haha! You're better though".

Audrey - "...really? That's nice of you to say".

Catherine - "Aw how sweet of you to say but I already knew that".

Sophia - "Oh...thank you".

Chester - "Thanks I think you are too".

[gunthermunch]

Just caughtup! Omg the resolution with Ernest!!! He knew Vladislavs reading hismind would kill him? Also oh my GOD WOLFGANG! TALK to morgan already it's been more than two years!!!! And Cass & Nervous! He KEPT the Truck?! I relate though that's basically what I did in quarantine then just never reconnected. High school too come to think. Also of course the guy named Wolfgang is trans we have the best names. Im sooo curious abt yuki and morgan! And siobhan and maaike omg char limit tho

i also blocked everyone as soon as i was done with school🤞🤞

[noxexistant]

I AM MAKING IT AN ASM BECAUSE I LOVE PEOPLE KNOWING ABIUT MY OCS

OKOK SO HIS REAL NAME IS ::::

Arthur Ernest Adel

He is given the knickname 'Slip' because he can slip around the bulls easily ( most of the time at least )

I mean , he does walk around with a bandanna around his nose n mouth to hide himself from them and when someone asks about it , he just blames it on poor lungs ( the boy has never been sick once in his life )

He is trans , MtF ( self-projection )

He is from Egyptian descent ( ik that Egyptian Americans were probably not know well or at all then but hey , i have an egyptian father so 🤷‍♂️ )

He is 18 and is seen as the leader of the Richmond newsies ( i dont think there is alot given on the Richmond newsies in all the adaptations so im making up my own shit for them )

He did not know his parents that well but he knew his siblings as they grew up in the Richmond lodging house together and still do live there

His siblings are ;;;

Ethel Grace Adel , 14

and

Raymond Dewey Adel , 11

They all started out pretty well since Ethel was adorable enough to coax people into giving her abunch of food for them all if they couldnt pay for food themselves

Arthur or his siblings dont have alot about them that makes them distinct other than Arthur being the leader of the newsies and Raymond n Ethel being related to him

HE IS VERY BLAND ATM BUT I ONLY MADE HIM YESTERDAY JIGHT SO ILL UPDATE YOU ON NEW HEADCANONS N THOUGHTS WHEN I GET THEM

- mystery anon

SHAKING HIM LIKE A RAG DOLL !!!! i love this i love him

you’re right, egyptian immigration to the us didn’t substantially begin until after the six-day war (1967) but of course people still immigrated before that! so it’s totally possible for slip to have an egyptian dad just like you 😎

i looove him wearing a bandana to hide his face. i can totally picture him tepidly fake-coughing like that scene in mean girls

bull: take your mask off.

slip: i can’t. [terrible fake cough-cough] …i’m sick.

does he only wear his bandana mask when he’s out and about, or is it a Big Deal for him to show people his face? does he show his borough members, or only his most trusted lieutenants?

are ethel and raymond newsies too? are they involved with their brother’s leadership and borough politics?

does he get along well with anyone, from his own borough or any of the others? which other borough leader does he respect most?

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 11: Matt

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: None.

Word Count: ~2,900

A/N: Shirtless Matt at the beach. 'Nuff said. 🥵

"It was really nice of your aunt to let us use her car," Matt said a couple of hours later as he and Y/N headed to the beach.

"Yeah, it was," Y/N replied, "but I'm extra glad she did because then I could take you where I really wanted to." 

Matt smiled. "Which is where, exactly? We've been driving south for over an hour, so I'm assuming we're off the mainland."

Y/N took one hand off the wheel and linked her fingers through Matt's. "You would assume correctly, my love. We're in the Keys, heading to Islamorada."

Matt furrowed his brow as he quickly translated the Spanish. " Islamorada … 'purple island'?"

"Yep, or 'Island Home', depending on which origin story you believe. The first story goes that Islamorada was named by Spanish explorers who were amazed by all of the purple here. There's tons of purple flowers and purple sea snails, and at sunset, the horizon even has a purple hue." 

Matt nodded. "That really is a lot of purple. So what's the other story?"

"That it was named after a ship that had been built here called 'Island Home', but that the name sounded better in Spanish."

Matt chuckled. "Ah. Personally, I think I like the purple story better. It's more romantic."

Y/N gave his hand a little squeeze. "Yeah, I like that one too." 

"So do you and your aunt come to the Keys often?"

"Mmhmm." Y/N let out a light laugh. "Actually, one of the first places Aunt Ruth took me to was the Hemingway House in Key West. Not gonna lie, I thought it was pretty damn cool at the time."

Matt grinned, picturing teenage Y/N geeking out over Ernest Hemingway's manuscripts and writing instruments. "I bet."

"We'd visit a lot of museums and go on a lot of picnics and hikes and stuff like that," Y/N continued, "especially when I first moved here. After I started college though we didn't have time to do as much, although we still try to at least get in a picnic at the beach or hike at one of the parks whenever I visit if we have time." 

"So is this island your favorite?"

Y/N huffed out a happy sigh. "Yeah, it is. The second I set foot on the sand at Anne's Beach I knew I wanted to share it with you."

Matt smiled softly at her. "I'm glad we're getting the chance."

Y/N squeezed his hand. "I am too."

She made a turn into a parking lot. "We're here."

Y/N parked and cut the engine off. "It should be pretty quiet since all of the tourists are either in Miami or Key West and most of the locals will be at other beaches since the water's really too shallow to swim in here. It'll likely mostly just be windsurfers or people picnicking like us."

Matt nodded as they got out of the car. "Okay. Good to know."

Y/N opened the trunk and got the cooler and tote bag with their things out. "Would you mind carrying the tote bag?"

"No, of course not." Matt took it from her. "Need me to get the cooler too?"

"Nah, I got it." Y/N grabbed the cooler and took Matt's hand in her free one. "Come on, sweetheart, this way."

She led him down a small stairway to the sandy shore below, then walked a little to their right. "Okay, this should be good. What do you think?"

Matt tilted his head, listening for conversations between the smattering of other beach-goers, then nodded after determining that they were far enough away to not be a bother. "Yeah, this is good."

Y/N spread the blanket out and they sat. 

She unzipped the beach tote. "So the first thing we need to do is to put on sunscreen. We definitely don't want to get sunburned."

Matt nodded, then pulled his shirt up and over his head. "Right."

He smirked as the sound of Y/N's heartbeat picked up. "Like what you see, angel?"

Y/N huffed out a breathy laugh. "Uh, yeah . Let me just say that if teenage me had seen teenage you shirtless at the beach I definitely would've had a difficult time keeping my feelings for you a secret."

A chuckle rumbled through Matt's chest. "Mmm, wouldn't have been fair, though, now would it?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, an adorably confused tone in her voice.

Matt reached out and trailed his fingers across one of Y/N's bare shoulders. "I still wouldn't have been able to admire you in a swimsuit… at least, not in public, anyway. Can't guarantee I wouldn't have wanted to drag you off somewhere private so I could… 'see' what it looked like."

He could feel the heat radiating from Y/N's face even through the hot Florida sun. "Jesus, Matt," she breathed out.

Matt smirked. "And you know, it's probably a good thing you're in a tank top and shorts, because I honestly don't know if I'd be able to handle not being able to admire you in a swimsuit now , either -- not to say I wouldn't like to privately admire you in this too, of course."

His smirk spread into a full-blown shit-eating grin as Y/N swallowed audibly. He still couldn't believe that she had always returned his childhood feelings for her and admittedly loved riling her up so he could bask in the evidence of her mutual attraction to him. "So, sunscreen?"

Y/N took a sharp breath. "Oh, uh, yeah."

They quickly took care of any exposed skin on their fronts, then Y/N moved behind Matt. "Want me to do your back?"

Matt nodded. "Sure. Thanks, angel."

Y/N pumped a few dollops of sunscreen onto her fingers and rubbed her hands together a couple of times. "Let me know if it's too cold."

Matt nodded again. "Okay."

He arched into Y/N's touch as she started gently rubbing the sunscreen into his skin, starting with the back of his neck and working her way down his back and shoulders. "Shit, that feels good."

Y/N huffed out a light laugh. "You know, if you ever want me to give you a massage or do some skincare on you, I'd be happy to. I'm sure I can find some massage oils and facial moisturizers that won't be too overwhelming for you."

Matt groaned under his breath as she continued downward, her thumbs applying a comforting pressure to his spine. "I'll probably take you up on that offer soon. This feels heavenly."

"Okay. Just let me know when." 

"Will do."

Y/N finished applying sunscreen to Matt's back. "Okay, all done."

Matt took the bottle of sunscreen from her. "Here, I'll get your neck and shoulders."

Y/N moved back in front of him and turned her back to him. "Thanks, Matty."

Matt pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, smiling against her skin as he heard Y/N's heart flutter. "Mmm, love you."

"Love you too," Y/N replied, turning her head and giving Matt a quick kiss on the lips.

Matt warmed up some sunscreen in his hands and carefully applied it to the back of Y/N's neck and shoulders, taking extra care to not get any on her clothes. "Okay, you're all set."

Y/N handed Matt a moistened towelette to wipe his hands with. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"No problem, angel." Matt gave her another kiss then began pulling containers out of the cooler, pausing to read the Braille labels on each one before opening it and setting it down on the blanket, arranging everything before grabbing 2 bottles of water.

He handed one to Y/N. "Here you go, sweetheart."

Y/N opened it and took a small sip. "Thanks, Matty."

They spent the next hour eating and basking in the sunlight, just enjoying the peace and serenity of each other's company, then packed up the containers and set them back in the cooler.

Matt sat back and stretched his legs out on the blanket. "I get why you wanted to bring me out here. It reminds me of when we'd get the yard to ourselves at St. Agnes -- except with the added sound of the ocean."

Y/N sighed, sounding completely at peace. "Yeah, me too. I'm glad you like it." 

Matt took Y/N's hand and gave it a squeeze. "And speaking of getting the yard at St. Agnes to ourselves, that reminds me… want to read for a bit before we take our walk?"

"Yeah, sure." Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped at it. "Let's see… ok, so in keeping with the theme of us finally getting to do things we didn't get to do together as teenagers, I figured we could finally read the book that we were supposed to start right before I moved. Locked in Time, by Lois Duncan."

Matt tilted his head. "Yeah, I remember that title. Remind me what it's about?"

"It's about a girl who moves to this creepy plantation in Louisiana to live with her dad and new step family and weird stuff starts happening."

"Oh, right, yeah, I remember now." Matt nodded with a grin. "That was during your 'spooky horror book' phase where we read nothing but R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike novels."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Hey, I never heard you complain!"

Matt shook his head. "That's because I didn't have a problem with it. I liked mostly everything we read, especially those books of spooky short stories you would check out of the school library every couple of weeks." 

"Oh, yeah." Y/N laughed again. "I think I single-handedly kept those books in circulation."

She shifted to cross her legs. "Wanna get comfy?"

Matt nodded and turned to lay his head in her lap. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem, sweetheart. Okay, this one's pretty short so it shouldn't take too terribly long to finish -- probably just a couple of days depending on how much we get through out here reading." 

Matt shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry if you aren't."

"Well, there's one other place I want to take you but we're not on a time limit -- well, not yet, anyway." Y/N cleared her throat. "Okay, so, Locked in Time, by Lois Duncan. Chapter 1 -- " When I look in the mirror, the girl I see there is pretty. I know that sounds vain, but I don’t mean it that way. When you’re seventeen and a half, being pretty comes with the territory…"

Matt really hadn't been exaggerating when he had told Y/N that she had been his favorite audiobook narrator -- even the professionally-narrated audio versions of Matt's favorite books from when they were kids weren't quite as captivating as they had been hearing them being read by Y/N for the first time.

A content rumble went through his chest as Y/N absentmindedly started running her fingers through his hair. 

"It still seemed like springtime, a fragile season of cool, sweet mornings --" Y/N cut herself off with a giggle. "You are such a cat, you know that? You're literally purring."

Matt grinned. "Says the one who's petting me."

Y/N lightly tapped him on the nose then continued stroking his hair. " Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah -- ' It still seemed like springtime, a fragile season of cool, sweet mornings and pale lemon sunlight. It was the last I would see of that sort of weather'."

Matt could picture the novel playing out like a film in his mind as Y/N continued narrating the story, from Nore meeting her new step family, becoming suspicious of her new stepmother… and her new stepbrother's attempt at murdering her.

Finally Y/N paused. "Okay, I think this is probably a good stopping point for now… Oh gosh, yeah, we've been reading for two and a half hours straight."

Matt sat up. "I'm enjoying the story so far. It's very descriptive."

He stretched, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tiny bit of stiffness that had gathered while he had been laying in Y/N's lap.

Y/N put her phone in her pocket. "Ready to go take that walk? Limber up a bit before the long ride home?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, sounds good."

He gestured to the cooler and tote bag. "Did you want to put this stuff in the car before our walk?"

"Actually, yeah, that's not a bad idea," Y/N replied.

Matt pulled his shirt back on then they gathered their belongings and put them back in the trunk of Ms. Y/L/N's car.

Matt held his hand out to Y/N with a grin as they headed towards the boardwalk. "Do you mind if I hold your hand? I might need you to guide me."

Y/N laughed and took it, intertwining her fingers with his. "No, Matty, I don't mind at all."

Matt took in his surroundings as they strolled hand-in-hand down the boardwalk. He could hear the birds calling from the trees, taste the salt in the sea air, and smell the freshness of the ocean, but the only thing he cared about was the sound of the steady heartbeat of the woman he loved standing next to him, the taste of her lips as she pressed them to Matt's own, and the smell of her natural scent as Matt held her in his arms.

He could feel Y/N looking at him. "Whatcha thinking about?" she asked.

Marry me, Matt thought.

Instead he shook his head. "You know how you once asked me if I missed being able to see, and I told you that if I had the ability to see one more thing, just for a moment, I wished that I could see the sky one more time?"

Y/N gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Yeah."

"I changed my mind."

Y/N let out a sigh. "You'd want to see the ocean, right? Yeah, I totally get it."

"Uh uh." Matt shook his head. "I'd want to see you."

Y/N suddenly stopped walking as her head turned towards him. "What? Matt--"

Matt took her other hand in his and turned her to fully face him. "No, wait, just hear me out. I already know you'd be just as beautiful as I picture you, but I figured if I knew for sure what you looked like… I'd maybe be able to picture what our children would look like one day too."

He could hear Y/N's heartbeat speed up. "You want to have kids with me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Well yeah, I mean…" Matt paused. "When I said I want to build a life with you, I meant it, angel. I want everything."

He smiled softly, already imagining the pitter-patter of little feet running around them. "We'd need to get a much bigger place first though."

Y/N huffed out a watery laugh. "'Much' bigger? How many kids are you planning on us having?"

Matt shrugged. "Just a couple, but we'd also need a guest room for your aunt when she came to stay, and maybe an office."

He could hear Y/N chewing on her lip."I was thinking about moving back to Hell's Kitchen once my lease is up anyway," she hedged, "so I could… maybe start looking? Just to see if there's anything out there?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." 

Y/N trailed her hands up Matt's chest. "And just for the record, I've always imagined our kids looking like their handsome dad, because between seeing you and seeing pictures of your dad I can definitely tell that the Murdock genes are strong."

She leaned up and gave him a kiss. "No matter who they look like, I think we'll make some beautiful babies one day."

Matt laughed. "Definitely."

Y/N stepped back and took his hand once again.

They continued their stroll down to the end of the boardwalk, then turned around and headed back in the other direction.

Once they had gotten back to the car, Y/N grabbed another bottle of water for each of them from the cooler. "Okay, we should probably get going. We have one more stop and I want to try to get back to the mainland before it gets too dark."

Matt nodded. "Okay."

They climbed into the car, bucked their seatbelts, and soon were back on the road. 

Y/N re-linked her fingers through Matt's as they headed back towards the mainland. "You hungry?" 

Matt nodded, lunch having been several hours behind them. "I could eat."

"Good, because I figured since we had a nice picnic lunch that I'd also treat you to a true southern Floridian dinner. There's this wonderful restaurant in Key Largo that Aunt Ruth and I go to whenever we come down to the Keys. Their seafood is freshly caught every day and is processed at the restaurant itself."

Matt smiled. "That sounds great."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you for today, by the way. I had a really great time."

"I'm glad." Y/N squeezed his hand back. "And I did too."

They fell into a comfortable silence, Matt thinking back to their conversation on the boardwalk and what he had really wanted to say.

He knew without a doubt that Y/N was still the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and he didn't want to have to wait to be able to call her his wife.

I've got some plans to make.

[madstronaut]

I have updated this comment because I have been ramble-typing in my notes about how it literally arrested me and threw me in angstyhorny jail (bonk) and also I want to add it to my faficorantlist

BE WARNED, ABANDON COMFORT ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE (angst fic lovers, flocketh yonder), lol I told greeny going back to point out my favorite parts was akin to ripping open stitches, and also putting myself back into my unreliable narrator mode this fic had me recalling from when I was screaming on a similar emotional rollercoaster several years ago...

how do you even describe the weird mishmash of experiencing an immediate crush AND heartbreak and then the fucking theater of having to hide/pretend while having the two clashing feelings roil in your stomach like vomit??

"You laugh and slap her arm playfully as you leave the room. You’re an expert at that now" YEP THIS IS HOW humor can be such a mask sometimes

"On the off chance Soap arrived when you were coming out of the shower, he only ever looked at your eyes and quickly got out of your way." the absolute dissonance when the heart and mind war with each other...one pointing out hey this is why they appeal to us but also the other realizing simultaneously this is why we will never appeal to them PARADOX THY NAME IS READER (and 2018 me) 🥹

all the little bits about soaking up crumbs of attention while watching the flatmate feast - and seeing soap act so friendly with reader because they love them through the friend and feel safe with them - shredding my pillow, sheets, all the linens in my apt in angst for reader </3 </3 </3

"You put the chocolate in a drawer because you didn’t want to get used to tastes you couldn’t indulge in."

"He smiles, you smile. He leaves, you remain."

reader going outside to talk directly with price, the convo opening with "It was cold outside, bitterly cold."

"You knew better than to beg, to make compromises, to ask for a chance. Nothing would convince him. Maybe another woman could. But not me. So you turned to humour because it was safer than being vulnerable."

With wet eyes and a wobbly voice that you couldn’t hide, you say “so you think I’m pretty?” 🥹🥹🥹🥹 reader pls let me give u hugs, pep talks, set u up with someone-

He hits you with a look that you’ll never forget.

RAGGGGGHHHH THESE QUOTESSS I NEED A FUCKIN MEDIC

“In another life-“ he quietly began.

You cut him off, agreeing, “in another life.”

me, everytime I see fic title pop its head up in the story 😂😂

also me, consoling myself while consuming angst: there IS another life, and that is the fan-fucking-tastic universe of fanfiction, bless ye, fanfic writers, bless ye

You wish you could be in someone’s inner circle, but instead you were grateful you could float around theirs. once again crying for reader and also who has not felt this before?? picturing my emo highschool self, listening to linkin park while commuting on my sony discman, pre-finding my people in college. if I could i would go back and let madstroteen know it's gonna be okay (I wouldn't actually do so, of course, because rules of time travel duh)

"your flatmate shouted at the top of her lungs “you and the Captain huh?! Practically undressing each other with your eyes!”

“You never told me what happened with you both that night.” She asks, brows knitted in concern for you while her heart was shattered.

also god the angst is so palpably good like i can chew on it because both flatmate and soap, individually and together, are so well fleshed-out and are good friends - and a great couple - WHICH OFC ONLY ADDS TO TEH FUCKING ANGST AND DRAMA OF IT ALL

‘What cannot be said will be wept’ - truer words have never been spoken, when reader starts to sob right afterwards under the guise of "soap was so good to flatmate" like ugh the heartbreak but also the relief of finally being able to let out her feelings, even if its veiled - UGGHHHHH yes let it outttt

reader overhearing the wild monkey sex and yearning/getting off only to end in wallowing...my GOD reminded me of the total ouroboros of despair of 'need to get rid of feelings so I can heal and get new feelings for someone else and move on - but fuck i can't look at all these feelings currently taking up space - oh whats that are they growing FUCK - i need to get rid of...'

good news tho, friends - IRL this cycle can and will be broken, the power of Christ compels you- no but really sometimes it takes some painfully slow and steady exorcism-level intervention by yourself+community to do so

--------------------------------------------

This fic fucking destroyed me in the best way

i haven’t been in this exact situation (thank FUCK i think my innate love and loyalty for close friends would physically/spiritually/chemically/legally/emotionally not allow my mind and heart to even entertain the thought…so far, and hopefully forever) but I have definitely found myself with feelings for unavailable people (i am absolutely religious about respecting/keeping certain boundaries IRL but…sometimes with just the right and random cocktail of circumstances, situations and interactions, feelings just fucking bloom) and coming to terms with that with myself and ruthlessly working to destroy those feelings (while also feeling like I couldn’t confide in anyone/talk about it openly out of shame) was fucking brutal in every sense of the word

looking at you 2018-2019 situationship where I heard [redacted]’s voice before I saw him and fell hard at first sight hearing; discovered later he was Not A Good Idea™️🙃 after he came on way too strong and raised all the yellow-reddish flags, but maintained what turned into a close friendship (that everyone else thought was more than) to see where it went organically but because our heartspace/heartpaces were different had to watch him fall in love with someone else that people said was a clone of me… maybe this fic was closer to home that i thought 😭

i avoided certain songs foods fuck even places and movies for the longest time because i had to take time to untangle it emotionally from the other and heal from the scars of ripping it away from myself…BUT IT IS POSSIBLE DEAR READER 🫂🫂🫂 (i will give reader a happy ending in the multiverse of my mind lol)

I would like to give both reader and evergreeny a huge-ass hug and a long uninterrupted walk together through the cherry blossom colonnades/around the reservoir in central park in springtime to pep talk and decompress and process 🌿🫂💚🌸

------------------------------------------------------------

so that lil bit between the lines was my original comment but then ofc the beauty of fandom and tumblr is the interactions and community and had to add some thoughts after the ever lovely @evergreenfields reached out and messaged me and basically was like i love that my fic killed you but ALSO ARE YOU OKAY lol

I hope this isn't taken the wrong way but as I told greeny, In Another Life holds a special position in my mind palace halls with a couple of stories/movies that I have vowed 'Once Was Enough, Never Reading/Watching Again' because of how heartrending/devastating it was, how it will haunt me for awhile, and because it helped to purge some incredibly strong feelings in a surprisingly healing and draining (good) way - truly, a cathartic work of art

(I re-read it again tho just for you greeny 💚)

I love happy endings but i am just as much a sucker for standalone powerful tragic stories when told right (and FUCK WAS THIS DONE WELL) because as the late, the great Tony Stark once said, "a part of the journey is the end" and also cos hindsight is 20/20 (are these quotes corny? yes. do I love them? yes.)

One of the reasons this story hit me so much in the feels for me is that I was reminded not just of IRL heartbreak and defeat, but IRL healing and victory afterwards - slowly, surely, to a degree that really eclipsed the heartbreak in a really spontaneous, beautiful, unexpected, and eucatastrophic way (shoutout to my IRL beloveds) - the wisdom and perspective I have now, I would not have earned without having gone through what I went through - truly, something money cannot buy. Healing is possible and can happen even long after wounds have scarred over <3 (also tbh the alchemical powers of writing/fanfic when an author's work meets the reader and the various lifelens by which they absorb the fic - the result just creates emotional IRL magic and fireworks basically)

I will end my rambles with two quotes this fic reminded me of:

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” - Ernest Hemingway

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” - C.S. Lewis

(yes the narnia dude, I fucking love narnia sue me ok)

In Another Life

Hurt, no comfort, angst, I’m ready to break my own heart.

Your flatmate is dating Soap and he’s everything you want.

Pairing: Soap x your female flatmate, one sided female reader x Soap, Captain Price x reader.

CW: MDNI! low self esteem, character death (spoiler, not explicit), catcalling, voyeurism, masturbation, PIV sex.

A/n: I hella projected lol. Reader is broken.

——

Soap is dating your flatmate.

Most men that your flatmate brought home were wet wipes, but this guy was some kind of special forces. His eyes were electric blue and he had the thickest eyelashes, he went by Johnny but he also went by Soap, you never learned why. You had to mentally pinch yourself while staring at him, he was everything you wanted in a partner. You hated the creamy mess in your underwear when you were in his company.

He was muscled and shaped like an upside down triangle, you had to look away when he would pop out from their room in the night. Muttering “sorry ‘scuse me” as you squeeze past the narrow corridor, ignoring the rumble of his “no no, I’m taking up all the room, lass.”

You caught his thighs and bulge in his compression shorts when he left for a run in the morning. Later, your flatmate traipsed into the kitchen muttering “I can hardly walk after last night, let alone run!”

You laugh and slap her arm playfully as you leave the room. You’re an expert at that now. That’s not to say you were never happy for her, but your phone was currently not blowing up with your latest dating app matches.

——

On the off chance Soap arrived when you were coming out of the shower, he only ever looked at your eyes and quickly got out of your way. He only had eyes for your flatmate. You got to your room and stood in front of the mirror and wondered what your flatmate and other women had that you didn’t.

——

Soap was full of energy, ready for a laugh but very protective. You would listen from your room when he dropped her off late at night after a raucous night out on the town.

“Call me tomorrow, alright?” His voice is muffled.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just call me when you wake up. You look like you need a lie in tomorrow. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

Tomorrow morning comes and Soap is early with a bag of food from a brunch spot nearby, he even brought you a coffee too. You thank him too much, maybe it wasn’t the coffee you were thanking him for.

——

Your flatmate and Soap came home late one night absolutely drunk out of their minds, they wobbled through the front door trying to dance to a song playing on his phone. They see you and it’s like they have heart eyes.

“Y/n, it’s y/n, THE GOAT!” Your roommate yells.

“The GOAT!” Soap hollers.

They both flop into the sofa either side of you. They’re too drunk to notice your teary eyes. You pushed the soggy tissue into your sleeve.

A dance tune starts up and before you can even recognise it, Soap bounces up with hands held out towards you both.

Your roommate grabs one hand.

You’re next.

You take Soap’s hand and you arc off the sofa, he’s strong.

You’re pressed up against his side. He’s hard, large and warm, you try not to enjoy the bodily contact as you all boogie to the song. You start to smile until you remember he isn’t yours.

——

“It’s only 2 days but I’m so excited,” she talks about her friend’s wedding in the south of France, “I’m wearing this dress” she flicks through her phone gallery “and Johnny is going to wear a kilt!” Muscled calves, big smile and rugged hands clasped at his front, Johnny looked like a million bucks.

“I love it, you’ll match!” You managed to squeeze out. You imagine the memories they’ll make and photos they’ll take. That night you have a 2nd date, you are excited by the fact he has asked you out again. It filled you with something resembling happiness.

You are meant to meet at a station out of town but you couldn’t find him at the small station and the path towards the car park was unlit and dodgy. When your date found you, he was annoyed that he had to pay for parking. He kept throwing red flags at you.

But still you slept with him because you wanted to feel touched and desired. You regretted it and then you had to take the train home later that night because he “had an early start to work tomorrow.” You wrapped your jacket around yourself to keep out some of the cold, trying not to be annoyed that he didn’t even attempt to make you orgasm or show any aftercare. You delete his number from your phone.

Later that weekend, the duo arrived home.

“We bought you back some chocolate!” Your flatmate says, Johnny swings his bag off his back, he passes it to you with 2 hands like it's a bar of gold. It could have been, with the way you looked at it.

“Aww guys you didn’t have to.” Your mouth is dry.

“Johnny found it, I didn’t know you were a sea salt and caramel fan!”

You put the chocolate in a drawer because you didn’t want to get used to tastes you couldn’t indulge in.

——

“He’s a prick, forget about him.” Your flatmate says pointedly about a new guy you were dating.

“Oi who’s a prick?” Soap walks into the kitchen, taking your flatmate’s waist in his hand.

“No one-” you turn away.

“A fuck boy that y/n isn’t seeing any more.” Your flat mate sounds proud by what wasn’t her decision.

“He isn’t a fuck boy.” You know you’ll regret clarifying the point, “we didn’t fuck, so he’s not. He’s just a prick.” You and the conversation. Soap whistles.

Later that night when you’re washing the dishes, Soap approaches you.

“Listen, forget about that guy,” he says low, you’d follow that voice anywhere.

“Thanks.” You squeak quietly.

“You will find what you're looking for, keep pushing and you’ll look back on this shite with a smile, maybe a misty eye, ey?” He bends forward to catch your eyes as you were trying to avoid them.

He smiles, you smile. He leaves, you remain.

The suds disappear and you turn off the tap, left in silence.

That night, they have muted sex, you hear their attempts at muffling moans and stifling strained grunts. You hear the bed frame squeak on the last hardest thrusts, then silence for a while. You imagine they feel warm, tingly and flushed, chests heaving. Eventually you hear footsteps come and go from the bathroom, the toilet flush going and the door shuts again. You wait for your heart rate to stabilise and your heart ache to subside.

——

“We’re going to the pub, wanna join us? Johnny’s friends are going to be there.” Your flatmate asks you.

You wonder if they’re as hot, funny and protective. You tell yourself you’re just going along for a chat, but part of you hopes it leads to something more; you put the hopeless in hopeless romantic. Put yourself out there, that’s what everyone says.

You wear a nice outfit that makes you feel pretty, your confidence isn’t abundant but you’re feeling yourself.

You arrive at the pub, you meet them, you chat, you drink, you leave.

Nothing about the evening was bad, his team were really nice, all huge and charming in their own ways. Their Captain was a greyhound with an intense gaze that seemed to follow you. Gaz’s girlfriend arrived and you thought you heard some rumblings about Ghost being pushed to date.

The Captain was receptive to you, leaning in to listen, you thought you saw him glance at your lips and legs. He helped you off the tall stool you were sitting on, taking you by your waist to help you down. You know not to push, men hated when women pushed. Well, they hated when you pushed. And you didn’t want to make anything awkward between you and your flatmate. So you left without asking for his phone number or a date, but he hugged you tightly and held your gaze for longer than you thought usual.

When all three of you got home, your flatmate shouted at the top of her lungs “you and the Captain huh?! Practically undressing each other with your eyes!” You laugh and immediately feel your ears going red. You were stoked that someone else noticed because you thought it was all in your head, as it usually was.

You didn’t notice Soap put a hand out to stop her.

“Babe. Babe-” he says “don’t go there.”

Your heart tightens. Your flatmate puts her hands on her hips, confused and a little offended as if to say ‘I know what I saw.’

“It ain’t like that, the Captain is… Price is… Look, he’s married to the job.” Brows knitted, the jovial spirit replaced with seriousness, “we don’t sit around and talk about it but he ain’t the type to mess around.”

You play it off “we were just talking, it’s not a big deal.”

It hurts when Soap says “good, because he’s a lifer.”

You close the door to your bedroom and mull Soap’s words in your tormented mind. The fuzziness you felt replaced by emptiness.

Part of you willed it to be wrong, that you were the woman to pull the Captain out of his self fulfilling and self imposed prophecy. You almost laughed at your audacity.

“I can’t even get a text back, why would he be interested?” You stare at the ceiling, the alcohol left your system and the room was uncomfortably still.

——

“You like tha’, lass?” you hear Soap rasp, you’re not sure if he’s taking her from behind or if he’s on top of her. The faint slaps, skin on skin, indicate it’s either doggy or the standing position your flatmate had once whispered about. The loud moans indicate it’s good.

You don’t breathe. You just listen.

“Oh god, Johnny please!” Your flatmate whines, the force of his thrusts evident in her stuttering voice.

You close your eyes and see yourself with Soap under you, knees folded under his bulging arms, hips pistoning into you with ferocious need. You argue with yourself but then you quickly surrender and slip your hand into your knickers. You draw tight circles on your clit while your eyes burn with tears unfallen. Undiluted shame and need fills you. You breathe sharply through your nose and then hold your breath, staying as quiet as possible. Both of your hearts raced, thumping against your ribs.

“Tha’s it,” you hear his muffled voice grunt. You imagine his massive hand grasping your breast, your hand follows. Their bed frame groans but yours is silent. Your flatmate’s voice gets higher in pitch and she comes loudly, he grunts, swears, the mattress squeaks. You push two fingers into yourself and quickly find your spongy spot, electricity rolls through you.

You come undone shakily and silently, tears springing immediately from your eyes as you ride the wave of your orgasm. Your hand clasps across your mouth as you try to stem the noise of your sobs. You feel disgusted and disgusting. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves. You check your phone, no text from him. You manage to fall into a restless sleep.

——

One night, you and your flatmate encountered an asshole at the station.

“Nice bit of skirt, that.” He leers at your flatmate.

“Fuck off, you prick!” You shout back without breaking stride, not caring he was bigger than you. This confidence was new to you. Or was it anger?

When you arrived at the music venue, your flatmate told Soap what happened, you couldn’t hear them as the music was loud and you were at the bar. You could see the look of concern and regret on his face. He stormed over to you and he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Thanks for taking care of her,” he says to your temple. He releases you but keeps his arm around your shoulder as you wait at the bar, his weight is comforting and protective. He then helps you carry the drinks over.

He adds “I’m sorry Gaz and Cap couldn’t make it, paperwork.” You’d heard that one before but this time you gave yourself the benefit of believing it.

During the gig was a slow acoustic song that hit a little too close to home so you snuck out to the toilet to wait it out.

But you could still hear the music as you leaned against the stall and picked at your nails, doing breathing exercises you’d read about, through your tears.

——

You began to feel like the only man in your life. You even treated yourself to a massage because the touch deprivation reached a fever pitch.

You scroll through the website trying to find an available masseuse. Their headshots were small but you were on the lookout for a man with a thick neck and prominent traps, you knew the silhouette you were looking for. Your masseuse didn’t have a Mohawk but he was close enough that when you closed your eyes, his hands, his pressure and weight became Johnny’s.

——

You were invited again to a party with the squad, moods were good but there were hints of them being away for an extended mission. While you heeded what Soap said about Price, you wanted to know it from the horse's mouth. You bantered with the Captain, and he bantered back, at first. It turned to flirting and you playfully slapped his bicep, joking that you could drink him under the table, knowing well enough that you couldn’t. You ignored the looks from Gaz and Ghost - it’s like they knew something you didn’t. And they did.

You found yourself outside with Price. He’d asked only you to come outside, you felt giddy at the prospect of him wanting to be alone with you. He was smoking a cigar, you stared at the lit end, hoping it revealed some kind of secret you could finally be privy to.

It was cold outside, bitterly cold.

“You’re a lovely girl, y/n, you’re, smart, pretty, ballsy,” he says, almost to himself. You’re immediately familiar with the tone. What came next would hurt. Your breathing quickens and there’s a pit in your stomach.

“I’m not in a place where I can give you what you want, what you deserve, darlin’.”

The alcohol seemed to dissipate from your system. Rejection was one hell of a way to sober up. You look down at your shoes and chew your lip to stop it from trembling.

You knew better than to beg, to make compromises, to ask for a chance. Nothing would convince him. Maybe another woman could. But not me. So you turned to humour because it was safer than being vulnerable.

With wet eyes and a wobbly voice that you couldn’t hide, you say “so you think I’m pretty?”

He hits you with a look that you’ll never forget.

“In another life-“ he quietly began.

You cut him off, agreeing, “in another life.”

You both went indoors and you summoned a smile from the deepest recesses of your being. You left early that night.

——

It was with bated breath that you left your room ready for your date. You were in a beautiful outfit that did wonders for your confidence. You spun around a few times in the mirror.

Johnny was at the foot of the stairs and he looked at you with his big blue eyes, you’re sure you saw his pupils grow. Your phone buzzed but you ignored it because you enjoyed being under his gaze.

“Look at you! He’s a lucky lad!”

“Wait, let me see!” Your flatmate's voice came from the kitchen.

Your phone buzzed again. You pull it out to see a stream of texts from your date.

“Oh you look gorgeous, girl!” You barely hear your flatmate. Blood rushes to your ears.

You read out the text message.

“Sorry can’t make it, hungover lol.” You sound distant, as if it wasn’t related to you.

“Fucking prick.” Soap says with no hesitation.

“Y/n…. Babe.” Your flatmate pulls you into a hug but you’re limp and embarrassed.

“Fuck it, I’m going out anyway!” You exclaim, pretending to be okay you practically rush out of the door.

The door shuts behind you. You want to cry but you squeeze your eyes shut and start to walk towards the station. You don’t last long, your vision is wet and nose runny. You end up at a riverside cafe, watching the world go by without you. What a shitty year, you tell yourself.

——

You hear a hushed conversation a week before Soap is due to leave for a few weeks. You kept your headphones on and nodded at them when you walked past, giving them privacy.

You wish you could be in someone’s inner circle, but instead you were grateful you could float around theirs. You put a mental reminder in to take your flatmate to dinner while Soap was away and to keep her from watching the news.

——

“Turn it down!” You yell at your flatmate while you go to answer the door, the radio is on blast while you both cook.

Through the peephole you see the unmistakable beard of Captain Price.

“Oh John, hi!” You can’t hide that you’re happy to see him. But then you notice his grave expression.

“Hi love, sorry to come by unannounced,” he’s standing straighter and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is your flatmate around?”

“Yeh, come in.” Your stomach drops. You didn’t need to call out, your flatmate is already by the door.

“No,” she recognises the look.

“I’m so sorry, love.” Price says quietly.

“Oh god no!” She cries out and sobs, her entire body shakes.

You put your arms around her but your eyes are on Price, wet and unflinching, waiting for the confirmation of the news.

His blue eyes are overcast and tired, he nods and looks down.

“We’ll have to take you onto base if you wish to go through matters,” Price says quietly. You helped your flatmate get her coat on, understanding that you couldn’t go with her.

Price dropped her home later that night, you plated up some food for her but she couldn’t eat. You hugged each other on the sofa until one of you fell asleep first.

It felt like Soap would be bursting through the door with his infectious energy at any moment, but the silence was deafening.

——

You weren’t invited to the funeral as it was behind closed doors. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you went from crying to intense panic attacks to bouts of guilt. You missed him, you missed his presence. You thought about the way his eyes would light up when you suggested shots at the pub, how he’d walked you both home and how safe you felt. Sure he wasn’t holding your hand but for a moment, you felt wanted, taken care of and significant. You felt terrible for mourning someone else’s partner so deeply and intimately.

Price came by a few times in the next few months, sometimes you were home, sometimes you weren’t. When your flatmate finally came out of her room, her eyes red and complexion weak, she would walk around the house like an apparition.

“I can’t do this without him!” She would plead, “I miss him so much.” You rubbed her back, silently wiping your tears, telling her you were sorry, over and over.

“John came by today, he sends his best.” She says.

“Bless him,” you say quietly, trying not to read too much into it, because all the meaning you longed for wouldn’t come.

“You never told me what happened with you both that night.” She asks, brows knitted in concern for you while her heart was shattered.

“Soap was right about him.” You said, “and that’s okay.” You breathed, hoping the more you said it the more you would believe it.

——

‘What cannot be said will be wept’ you read the quote over and over, you’d seen it online and it immediately brought Price into your mind.

His visits became less frequent, but he came by again to check in with your flatmate. He looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace and comfort him.

“Come in, she just got in the shower, want a tea while you wait?”

It had been 6 months since the news.

“How are you holding up?” Price asked.

“M’okay, trying to be there for her as best I can.”

“I know it isn’t easy for you either.” He said, “you’re doing good by her, you’re a good friend.”

Guilt and shame rushes through your system, you didn’t feel like a good friend.

“He was so good to her-” you start to sob, hands across your mouth, willing it to stay inside so you never have to confront how you really felt about him.

You’re surprised to be suddenly in his embrace. John consumes you, you’re completely surrounded by him. You grip his jacket, afraid to let go. His right hand rubbed your shoulder blades and his left hand held onto your waist tightly.

“I’m sorry love,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t good to you.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything John, you haven’t done anything wrong.” You sounded throaty.

“I made you believe in something I couldn’t give you.” His voice is quiet, you feel it against his chest.

“In another life,” you manage to sob his phrase back to him, he can feel you inhaling hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Another life.” He says back, kissing your head.

“Take care of yourself, John” you say with a ragged voice looking straight into his eyes. You grab your bag and push past him out of the door. You can still see his sad eyes in your mind.

Immediately you regret leaving while he was still available and present. But then you think if he wanted to say more he’d have done so. Life is choices, he made his choice. And I wasn’t one of them. Your legs take you away from him, into the bitter cold.

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Twenty Three: Time After Time Pt.2

 “Okay, you were right, sheep have some pretty gross teeth and a weird odor.” Dolly admitted as she tried to make herself comfortable again on the long train ride back to Northern Amestris. 

 “Told ya so, but at least their meat is good.” Envy said, scratching a scale patch on their back before looking out the window at the changing landscape. “Fine, I get it, sheep are hideous bastards that taste good, but I’m getting transferred to Briggs! That Armstrong woman is gonna skin me alive over there!” Freddy could only hide his eyebrowless face into his hands as he dreaded being transferred to Briggs after the reorganization had settled.

 Lust and Gluttony ignored the whines of Freddy as they both went back to looking over the pamphlet for Northern Amestris. Freddy was left to despair over the temporary transfer until the new Central Command was built in Dublith. It would take over a course of four years until the new Central Command had been built and restored with the recovered archives as well as new Alchemy Labs. That was the only silver lining to Freddy’s tornado of woe, because he was involved with ‘stopping’ the homicidal fuhrer, Freddy was given the chance to open his own Alchemy Lab in wherever Freddy had wanted and that Face Fur knew just where to have one opened up. Back in both Dolly and Freddy’s hometown, there was an old massive abandoned farm from a failed sheep rearing project that went terribly wrong. The size was perfect for having it be refurbished as an Alchemy Lab and it would be close to home so once the terms were done in Briggs, Freddy could be transferred back home to run the lab instead. Sure, Dolly was against using that abandoned farm as a lab having been around when it shut down, then again, Dolly was there for a lot of things. Surely, it should be alright to start up the lab and Freddy had the best possible name for it. “I can’t believe you’re naming it Meat Wool Alchemy Labs.” Ernest snorted from Dolly’s lap, thinking the name was gross. “Oh, what do you suppose I call it then? Donut Farm Alchemy Labs?” Freddy fired back, having to poke fun at the fact Ernest firmly believed that Donuts was a plant in the wild. “See? Doesn’t that make you smile from saying ‘donut’? Donut would make a very good lab name.” Ernest completely missed the point, hoping the Face Fur would name it after something sacred as donuts.

 “Ernie, just let the Face Fur name it ‘Meat Wool’, we could get some pretty awesome mutant sheep figurines from it.” Dorian argued, the idea of toy mutant sheep tickled the little booger’s fancy.

  “Good to know Dorian is on my side with the name..” Freddy wistfully said, the idea of mutant sheep would be a pretty fun idea to implement. 

 “FIne, but we get to name the mutant sheep figurines.” Ernest relented as Dorian grinned at the idea of making mutant sheep figurines.

 “Just be sure to name one of the mutant sheep ‘Meatlord’, that’s a perfect name for a hideous creature.” Envy chimed in, the discussion catching their interest.

 “I’m going to change this topic before it gets weird, weirder than it is already, but once we arrive, you said there was a morgue you purchased there?” Lust took in a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose to relieve herself of an oncoming migraine. 

 “I did, it’s in town. Just need to remember the form I used when hunting for the new location.” Envy said, shrugging a bit as they casually looked over at Dolly.

 “I take it that means you want to go there with Dolly on your own?” Lust sighed as she had a feeling that was where the conversation would have concluded. “Bingo!” Envy shouted with a sharp grin, their teeth stuck as horrible fangs, but not as pronounced as before after the botch job.

 “You could’ve just said that. Gluttony and I will leave you two be, I’ll just have Freddy over there escort us back to this family household of theirs to unpack our little belongings at.” Lust looked over to Freddy since neither she or Gluttony would get to tour the morgue.

 “You’re all lucky that the folks have that huge thing of hand me downs in the ready. That should help with rebuilding whatever wardrobe everyone had before then.” Freddy was glad that the attic full of clothing would be emptied out soon for other usage, especially for alchemy needs.

 “Wait…we’re getting to choose our own clothing?” Envy asked, surprised that everyone including them would get to build a wardrobe finally.

 “That’s right, this is your first time getting to build your own wardrobe..” Freddy said, realizing the homunculi were now free to wear whatever colors they wanted now that Dante was gone.

 “Can you tell me what chartreuse is like?” Envy asked now that they were free to try all the different shades and tints of green as they’d like.

 “The most hideous color known to exist, one step away from being either barf green or liver failure yellow.” Dolly answered, a look of disdain for the worst conceived shade of green danced in her eyes.

 “Sweet, I’m test running that color!” Envy declared much to the abject horror on both Dolly and Freddy’s faces, both of them seemingly hating the color of chartreuse. 

 “Envy, stop teasing Dolly about wearing chartreuse, besides, the next cabin has her feral humans. They’ll likely fly off the handle given the destruction they caused together down in Central if they find out you were teasing.” Lust poked at Envy a bit, snickering a bit at the expression they made upon hearing the mention of Dolly’s feral humans.

 “Lust, that's not funny! Those humans are absolutely horrifying!” Envy gasped out, remembering the dread lobster man in rage mode from not too long ago.

 “I’m only teasing, besides, Hughes, Ruby, and Roy are there. They’d likely restrain them if the pair decided to put the fear of god into you.” Lust chuckled a bit as the train came to a stop at a station on their long way towards Northern Amestris.

 The sounds of passengers exiting and boarding the train could be heard, knowing full well that the snack trolley will be coming up soon. Lust and Envy had prepared very well for Gluttony, having stored human body parts in the packaging to feed him with to avoid a colorful incident from occurring. Dolly, hearing the wheels of the trolley coming, ushered Ernest and Dorian into the cat carrier. It was the better option than the backpack having loaded the carrier with games amongst other things, particularly donuts to satisfy the awful lions as they parked their clay asses inside. Sure enough, the snacks trolley arrived with one more surprise much to Freddy’s abject horror, Major Armstrong had arrived!

[montyterrible]

Clouseau, Worrell, and the “Son of” Gambit

Several years ago, when I was re-watching the Blake Edwards Pink Panther movies during what passed for COVID-19 “lockdown” here in America, I went into the experience with the hope that I’d find something to love in the 1982 Trail of the Pink Panther, a film very much about Peter Sellers’ bumbling Inspector Jacques Clouseau but which features very little of him owing to Sellers’ death before filming began. The resulting movie uses old footage of Sellers in the role to set up a plot where Clouseau is maybe killed and then the rest of the film focuses on a journalist attempting to put together a piece on him and his life. What I had hoped was that what I already knew from my childhood impressions of the movie would be wrong and that adult me would find some sort of misunderstood jewel. Instead, it ended up being every bit as ungainly and weird as I remembered/suspected.

While I had some lasting impressions of Trail (mostly scenes of Clouseau’s father, one of which had some background nudity in it), my feelings about Son of the Pink Panther (1993), one of several post-Sellers attempts at continuing the franchise, were even less flattering and barely concrete at all. More than anything, I just remembered not liking it the single time I watched it previously.

The moral of the story, I felt, was that the Edwards-Sellers collaboration had been a delicate mix—beautiful, very funny, and ultimately irreplaceable, in much the same way that director and screenwriter John Cherry III and actor Jim Varney sustained the Ernest P. Worrell character across a similarly expansive series of films. Seeing essentially that character in 1997’s Snowboard Academy and how the spark seemed missing there felt like further proof to me of my theory: You needed Sellers and Edwards, Cherry and Varney for these over-confident, lovable bumblers to work, and any attempt that was missing part of the pair would come up lesser.

The basic conceit of Son of the Pink Panther—that Clouseau had a son who’s Just Like Him!—was apparently even something considered for the Ernest character at one point. It’s just such a… hacky concept, though, right? It reeks of Marketability, even though I guess the comedic idea is kind of funny in its own right, even if it has basically no realistic sense to it. Like, if your father was always late to work, you will be too for some reason, or you’ll always lose your glasses on top of your head because he did it a lot…

On re-watch, I think Son of the Pink Panther is mostly fine, but it’s at its absolute best and is actually most funny when it doesn’t wallow as transparently in the memories. Roberto Benigni’s Jacques Gambrelli crashes his bike into the car of long-suffering Clouseau-hater Chief Inspector Dreyfus (still played by Herbert Lom), and right away he’s doing the old Clouseau thing of mispronouncing words. Later in the movie, once his parentage is finally revealed to him, he’ll have his name changed to Jacques Clouseau Jr., and then he starts dressing like his father and has to meet the man’s old butler (Cato, still played by Burt Kwouk) and his disguise-maker. Of course, there’s such a thing as having what amount to in-jokes with an audience of a series this long-running, but there’s this unavoidable feeling of fatigue (on my part) seeing what feels like a naked attempt to push this obviously different man in front of me and try to make me accept him as Clouseau, for all intents and purposes, by dint of all the most obvious signifiers that have been thrown on him.

There’s one scene where Gambrelli disguises himself as a doctor to infiltrate the ranks of the terrorists who have kidnapped Princess Yasmin (Debrah Farentino) and gets progressively drunker and more messed up on medical alcohol and Novocaine as he attempts to treat the head terrorist’s arm wound. It’s a scene that very much recalls Sellers’ Clouseau’s dentist attempting to pull an ailing Dreyfus’ tooth in the extremely non-canonical The Pink Panther Strikes Again (1976). It’s just much less uproariously hilarious this time around.

But then, when it stops trying to remix old jokes, Son of the Pink Panther can be quite funny in its own right, and I can’t even say none of the callbacks work, because there’s just something about a man getting accidentally pushed out of a window and crashing through a skylight that I can’t resist. And I just love Edwards’ filmmaking as a general rule: the indulgences, in particular. Scenes of intrigue or drama or comedy where he just sort of, in modern parlance, lets it all… cook.

There’s a whole long Clouseau-less intro focused on just the international intrigue parts of the plot, and I was almost immediately grinning and rooting for the rest of the picture to live up to my hopes. There aren’t any musical numbers here, unfortunately, but there is a sort of club scene where Gambrelli can smash into tables repeatedly and accidentally get right up in the business of a belly dancer and in which a chaotic brawl can break out.

I hate that Gambrelli ends up changing his name and his wardrobe to be more Clouseau-like because he does kind of have his own things going on, with the opera singing and Shakespeare quoting. Benigni is physically quite capable of credibly doing the Sellers slapstick too, and a more original personality with familiar goofs and gaffes is pretty acceptable to me.

As strange as it might sound, I’m glad that Dreyfus gets his own happy ending here. The initial setup and back-of-the-box synopsis give off a worrying amount of “Here we go again!” energy, but Dreyfus ends up pursuing Gambrelli’s heritage (and his attractive mother!) with something much more immediately recognizable as benevolent and even paternal. His cartoonish fate in Strikes Again, where his Clouseau obsession was pushed to its absolute limit, was to be vaporized by his own doomsday weapon. Here, he takes the much more human, even realistic, path of seeing the infuriating Gambrelli as someone to invest in and to help, perhaps for something like old time’s sake.

It’s all a much more fitting send-off for the Clouseau character as well—not just in the literal text of the thing (since he’s explicitly, definitely dead now), but also in spirit and in tone. This is, it feels like, the end of him. Yeah, the torch is obviously passed, but he is also honored in a way that feels much less ghoulishly necromantic. To use Sellers’ likeness and old scenes in Trail was a mistake, maybe even a betrayal. In some ways, Son feels like an apology, even as it simultaneously tried (and failed) to keep the series alive for money-making purposes.

It's still derivative and didn’t need to exist, but in a capitalist hell world, I suppose the Ernest franchise could have done worse than to have its own theoretical “Son of” film, as long as it turned out like this one. Which is to say, only sometimes insufferably, humorlessly indulgent and backward-looking.

[emilydaisymasters]

Style Research and Inspiration

In light of my new project direction, I wanted to conduct some research into the various styles I may utilise within the film. From the get go, I knew I wanted to create a project in where I could use a variety of animation and art styles, to create an end product that is unique, like not many seen before. My narrative for the project is slowly coming together too, taking the form of a myself as a character, growing and changing with the film and the style, showing off my relationship with my artwork and with those around me. A by-product of my idea is that I want to include the 8 words the Ancient Greeks had for love, and to give them all representation within my film; I feel like that could make the film far more personal, and could showcase how turbulent emotions as a young person can be, as well as how they can be directed even to yourself and your own hobbies. As much as my ideas sound quite eclectic at the moment, they are beginning to take a tangible shape within my mind, and I will do my best to accurately describe them here. I honestly do feel far more motivated taking this route already, and so I have been inspired to really channel my efforts into getting this right, something I am very happy about. Often times I struggle with my emotions, especially towards my own productivity and subsequently, my artwork, but this project is proving to be one that is helping me with this. Below, I have included two mood boards I created, showcasing the various styles and inspirations I have gathered for this project:

These mood boards will help to guide me through the preliminary stages of the project, allowing me to narrow my navigated route to a fully fleshed-out idea with backing.

Ethel and Ernest

On another note, I wanted to talk about a film, I watched recently, one that has been on my watch list for a long while now, that being 'Ethel and Ernest', based on the Raymond Briggs book of the same name, documenting the lives of his parents to the very end. The film had been calling to me for a while, especially since I have always liked other Briggs adaptations such as The Snowman or Santa, and I finally got around to giving it a go. Needless to say, I was heartbroken by the end. I'm an absolute sucker for emotional films, especially animated ones, as it speaks to two different halves of my personality, so this film was an absolute gem to me. Firstly, the artwork is absolutely stunning, the animation fluid and in that recognisably 'Briggs' style, and the colours and the way they mirror the mood and emotion of the film are just brilliant. I love traditionally painted and illustrated films, and though I suspect this film to be a hybrid alongside digital animation, I was still blown away by how beautiful it was. The fact it's based on real events and real people as well spoke to me on another level, it's the kind of thing I want to do in my own personal project, though of course on a much smaller scale. The representation of real people, real problems, more importantly, real REACTIONS to problems, is something I feel is so under-represented within animation. Nowadays, there is quite a saturation of animated tales that tackle serious subject matter, though I feel few do it as well as Ernest and Ethel do, raw and unadulterated. It's something I can only aspire to, but you can absolutely bet that in one way or another, this film will inspire and inform my project.

[verborgen-zorgen-blog]

It was dark now as it becomes dark quickly after the sun sets in September. He lay against the worn wood of the bow and rested all that he could. The first stars were out. He did not know the name of Rigel but he saw it and knew soon they would all be out and he would have all his distant friends. "The fish is my friend too,' he said aloud. I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him. I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars." Imagine if each day a man must try to kill the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky, he thought. Then he was sorry for the great fish that had nothing to eat and his determination to kill him never relaxed in his sorrow for him. How many people will he feed, he thought. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behaviour and his great dignity. I do not understand these things, he thought. But it is good that we do not have to try to kill the sun or the moon or the stars. It is enough to live on the sea and kill our true brothers.

(The old man and the sea - Ernest Hemingway)

-> source picture unknown

[eolewyn1010]

Dragging Frankenstein - Chapter 23

The one where Victor loses all attachments to his conscience and awareness that other people in fact exist, and also gets really blatant about his religious delusions. And yell about it I shall.

Victor is describing the pretty surroundings again, and I know that’s par for the course, but… he and Elizabeth are on honeymoon now, and he’s looking at the landscape and the weather? Romantic. He’s so not into the idea of having sex with her. DAS GAY: 43

And another right away, because when Victor becomes agitated with nightfall, Elizabeth outright asks him what he fears. There we have the bit of Victor’s issues with his sexuality, his fright being intrinsically tied to his wedding night, and it adds up with his evident disinterest in the wedding preparations and ceremony. DAS GAY: 44

When Elizabeth screams in the bedroom, Victor finally comes to the conclusion that, hey, maybe he wasn’t the one at risk here! IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 34

Too late, obviously; poor girl is dead. Reunite with Justine and leave the asshole behind you. Victor goes into self-pity, telling us how everyone else’s horror of a young bride being murdered at the inn is just “a mockery” of his feelings. Yeah, man. You’re so deep. IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 35

For him being a suck-ass fiancé and husband, he sure is a loving widower. Insert here witty comment about Victor being more physically in touch with Elizabeth’s corpse than he ever was with her in life, and how his Oedipal side shines through when that scene of him clutching her corpse mirrors the dream about embracing the corpse of his mother.

“Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished” – excuse me? When have you ever cherished her? Not for the last seven years, for sure.

I raised my eyebrow at the Creature just smirking in through the window while Victor was waxing poetic about Elizabeth’s corpse. I mean, he sure doesn’t have to fear being shot by Victor, but prancing around in daylight, when there are people around?

While Victor is a bit of a fainting damsel about it all, take note that he’s handling Elizabeth’s death remarkably better than Henry’s. There’s no two-months angst coma. Huh. *side-eyes the Gay count*

The bit about rowing is just… stupid. “I had always experienced relief from mental torment in bodily exercise [as we know from his wandering the mountainside]”, and he makes a big deal out of how he himself grabs for an oar because, wooooooow, he lowers himself to actually contribute to his own means of transport! I SO PRIVILEGED: 17

Except he doesn’t, because he tosses it away after a minute because he gets bored or distracted or whatever. Twit.

“No creature had ever been so miserable as I was” – IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 36

How nice would it have been if, at least NOW, Victor finally learned that other people’s deaths are not there only for his tragedy. He doesn’t know the book has his name, for fuck’s sake!

“I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived […]” – Ernest? Oh, yeah, him. Good man.

Frankenstein sr. just kinda crumples and dies at the news, and wrings just another count out of me with Elizabeth being named his “more than daughter”, as she was called Victor’s “more than sister”, and we all know what that meant. INCEST VIBES: 20

Underlined by mentioning how he “doted on” her, which is the exact same choice of words formerly used to describe his relationship with his wife. Ew. I’m so done with this family. Why did he send precious Elizabeth off with Victor in the first place? He knew his son wasn’t good news for anyone.

Ernest apparently does the reasonable thing and has Victor locked away for a while to sit out another nervous breakdown. At least he didn’t wax on about it as extensively as the last time.

Victor foams at the mouth thinking of “the monster whom I had created, the miserable demon whom I had sent abroad into the world for my destruction”, but still fails to point out his own responsibility. THAT GUY WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU; YOU JUST SAID SO YOURSELF!

Also, “that I might have him within my grasp to wreak […] revenge on his cursed head.” Heh, forgotten about the super-strength again? DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 18

This is The Last of Us, Victor, not The Walking Dead. This one can run, and knock you the fuck out.

But at least he’s proactive about his wish for vengeance, setting out to slay his unnatural offspring. I’m just the tiniest bit outraged that he tells his story to the local magistrate to ask for help, and is instantly believed. *takes brick and starts hitting Victor over the head* YOU COULDN’T BE ARSED TO RISK YOUR CREDIBILITY AND REPUTATION TO SAVE JUSTINE, BUT NOW IT’S JUST SO EASY TO TELL EVERYTHING, AND THERE’S NOT A SINGLE ACCUSATION OF YOU BEING CRAZY! FUCK YOU, IN THE NAME OF JUSTINE!!

And then he gets outraged when the magistrate isn’t really so eager to fight an Übermensch. “My revenge is of no moment to you […] You refuse my just demand,” yeah, alright, get over the hissy fit. Some people wanna stay alive, y’know? IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 37

There’s one sentence I wanna look at in detail before I wrap this up. “[T]here was a frenzy in my manner and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed.”

WHAT.

I’m not a religious person, and I cannot believe the sheer hubris he’s throwing around here. Comparing yourself to a Christian martyr??? DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 19

Well, first of all, no. You of all people have no right to call someone haughty who died for their convictions.

Second, martyrs died by themselves, you absolute twat. Demanding others die for your frenzy and cause is not the manner of a martyr, it’s that of a cult leader. Fuck you.

Third, you do realize that martyrs were martyred because of what they said and believed, right? For opinions. Setting a murderous creature out into the world is not a belief. Demanding people put their life on the line for your need of a vicious revenge is not an opinion. The word martyr means witness. You are not a witness, Victor, you are the cause of everything that went wrong here.

Fourth, has he really deluded himself into thinking that what is ultimately only correcting his own wrong is tantamount to the nobility that is usually ascribed to a martyr’s cause?

Fifth. Victor is alive, and what will kill him is his quest for vengeance, not the scourge on the land. William, Justine, Henry, and Elizabeth are dead, and blameless. If anyone here is a martyr, it’s them.

GAWD, but I hate this guy.

He reinforces my point by talking of his “ideas of devotion and heroism” (not going into this again), and then I cracked up when he, Victor fucking Frankenstein, yells at the magistrate: “How ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!”

The hypocrisy, my dear.

And then it’s off to merry murdering. Woo, finale!

Oof. I'm very sure that Mary Shelley wrote him that way on purpose; she wanted Victor to be that self-centered, unloving jerk incapable of reflection and taking responsibility - and she wrote him well. But that doesn't mean he's not an exhausting protagonist to read. The Delusions Of Grandeur count is really the worst; I don't deal well with arrogance, and Victor has zero awareness of how self-aggrandizing his religious comparisons are. Doesn't paint a too flattering image of Percy Shelley.

[chastiefoul]

left unsaid. | kaeya alberich (2/2)

part 1 - part 2

notes: reader is a member of the knights of favonius, reader is g/n. this chapter contains roughly 3k words! heavily plot-based, i recommend to read the first chapter before this one!!

quick summary:

The things left unsaid to Kaeya before you suddenly departs from Monstadt.

You have known Kaeya for a little over two years,  to him you had been a comrade, battle partner, friends, and sometimes you wondered would it turn into something more had you not left the capital out of nowhere without saying anything to anyone.

The road leading to Dawn Winery was just the same as you remembered.

You’d know, since you’ve spent a great amount of time there back when you were still a loyal resident of Mondstadt.

The distinct smell of fresh soil and watered leaves, clearly the place has been in great care since forever ago, and won’t change its way anytime soon. The building among all of the grapevine was still and unmoving, yet strangely intimidating. The familiarity couldn’t help but take you back. Back when everything was still okay with everyone.

Diluc was a close friend. Even before you joined the knights, even before you knew him what he was after a friend; Kaeya’s brother.

On days when people don’t find you in the knight headquarters, there’s a good chance for them to see you at the Winery, sometimes training, cleaning, or just lazing around. Even on times where the red-haired dark knight isn’t present, you just liked loitering around the area—and of course Diluc himself trusted you should there be any matter emergencies that needed to be handled at the said place. Yet that changed—had to after yeah, you guessed it. After you left Mondstadt out of nowhere, without leaving a single trace except a note on the Acting Grandmaster’s desk.

You had regretted the way took care on all this ‘leaving’ ordeal very poorly. People were hurt, left scared and worried, worst of all, betrayed. There hasn’t been any word from your friends on the latter topic but you knew they had been thinking to bring it up if it wasn’t for the way you looked like you were swallowed by remorse. This journey for self-atonement and mending relationships is far from over. Even you wished everyone had chastised you more on the way you so clumsily left, and if anyone were to do that, you knew you could count on your oldest friend here.

Ernest, the warehouse manager and more importantly also a friend quickly found you approaching and waved excitedly. “You’re back!” He said excitedly. You only smiled and greet him back, asking how he was throughout the year and was glad to hear that he was doing well and so is the winery business.

“Speaking of the business and the people who are involved in it, is Diluc present?” You forced that one, clearly, while smiling sheepishly. “He should be inside, he’s going to be so happy to see you’re finally back!” Ernest sent you off with a smile, you only laugh nervously.

Yeah, I wonder about that.

You opened the big door, seeing him on the usual table he used to be when dealng with the endless paperwork. He hadn’t seen you, probably just thinking it’s Ernest or the maid reporting trivial stuff; or maybe cleaning. 

However after taking a few steps, as if realizing something’s out of place he promptly stood up, his hand was already on the hilt of his sword before you could get close. Although after registering his vision and saw you, he widened his eyes in surprise. He couldn’t believe he was about to say a name he hadn’t spoke of in a year.

“(y/n)…?”

 “Always so quick on your feet, glad to know that hasn’t changed.”

Diluc’s expression turned into something you couldn’t pinpoint. Anger, sadness, relief mixed into one, yet it was clear that he was pleased to see that you’re well and kicking. Although, his face doesn’t show much, you were well aware there’s a tornado of emotion going inside of him right now. “It does not appear to me that you will be talking any time soon, so I’ll go first.” You said, half-hoping he’d step in and prove you wrong by reacting.

“Then, have you been well? You look healthy enough for me if you’re ready to jump on any strange person you see,” you said awkwardly, an attempt to break the ice—made by his cold stare. He only scoffed, he always hated the way you took light everything, always hated how you despise asking for help from anyone. “Still hate small talk I see, even to an old friend?”

“Especially to an old friend—who might I add, whose whereabouts is unknown for the past year.” He finally spoke and it was full of spite, it sting, yet you knew you deserved that. He emphasized the last two words venomously, pointing the fact that he hasn’t received any words from you in that span of time which wouldn’t be a big deal if it’s just anyone, but in this case, it’s you. You both went way back and nothing but a single sentence from a worried Jean telling him you were suddenly leaving was all he got?

“I-I apologize wholeheartedly, Diluc, truly. I intended to tell you all about it but now I’m only asking you to at least try to understand that I did what I had to do. It was my business and mine alone, there was no way I could drag you all along purely to fulfill my selfish need.” You said honestly, all of that was true and as you said that you regretted the way you left. That’s something you could’ve done differently, but not the leaving alone part.

For a moment Diluc was quiet as though thinking whether to just kick you out right there right now or keep listening. Then he let out the most exasperated sigh you’ve ever heard coming from the man and it’s saying a lot since being ‘so done’ was always his thing ever since you’ve known him. A sigh that took definitely some of his living years.

“Is the matter finished now?” He asked, folding his hands. “Yes, I’m back.” You dared to grin, perhaps you forgot to mention Diluc often lets down his guard when you’re around. “Tell me everything first, then I’ll decide to kick you out or not.” He nodded at the seat you always used to sit on when helping him with all the paperwork, signaling you to sit down. Your eyes lit up like road lights as you skip your way to him.

You made a mental note to keep thinking of ways you could make it up to him until he truly forgive you.

Diluc didn’t offer many reactions to your tale, although no surprises there. He’s just quiet, as if processing, which would be understandable since you did just summarize a one year worth journey into a brief synopsis like something on the back of a book. Then he finally spoke, his tone was sincere. “Ask for help when needed, a lot of people actually care whether you’re alive or not.” And that includes him.

“I’ll.. remember that.”

“Now if forgiveness is what you’re looking for, I’ll give it. But if it’s trust, then you’ll have to work for it.” He said.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s the only thing I need. Another chance.”

But would everyone give it?

“Well then, it’s getting quite late, you may go.” Diluc did a brief glance to the window. “That’s true, I’ll be off then, thank you again from the bottom of my heart.”

You got out of the winery unscathed, fortunately. You would feel relieved but somehow something about the night breeze made you sure that the worst has yet to come.

The way back to Monstadt was lonely, you didn’t see many people when passing through the gate, probably because late night is approaching. Since going home right now would feel extremely lonesome you decided to go to Angel’s Share for a drink or two, it might help you to be more at ease especially on your first night back. This was also a good chance to greet your good friend Charles, remembering that you often used to like helping out at the tavern.

The rowdiness inside the tavern hasn’t really change, which maybe is a good thing that people are confident to let themselves let loose, meaning they trusted the nation and its guard completely should there be any danger. You took a sit in front of the bar counter. “Charles!” You excitedly called out to his back who’s currently preparing a drink. He turned his back rather quickly, recognizing the voice that has gone for a while. He greeted you happily, asking how have you been doing. The greeting swftly turned into a pleasant conversations between friends, you smiled to yourself feeling glad that Charles didn’t really ask your infamous disappearance and was rather focused on your well-being instead. But of course the conversation must come to a halt as he has to tend to other customers.

“Welcome back.” He said, finally. You raised the glass you drank from, “I’m back.”

However the enjoyable atmosphere was never intended to stay long. You were enjoying a drink in silent until someone took a seat beside you.

A familiar blue appeared on the corner of our peripheral vision, your whole body stiffens. You were scared to look, because you’re completely not ready to face the man if it’s really the person you think it is. This was not in the plan, the idea was to approach him yourself with a prepared 2 page dialogue, not coincidentally like this. The fact that the cavalry captain was fond of drinking has completely slipped your mind.

“Charles, a glass of Death After Noon please?”

You tightened the grip on your own glass. If you weren’t sure before, the voice that came out from the male beside you has confirmed the remaining hopeful doubt you were still grasping on.

It’s Kaeya.

You remembered it all still vividly and fresh on the back of your mind. If your brain was always working on pushing aside unimportant memories on your head for new things, then everything about Kaeya that you knew was all still clear in your head, because you refused to forget about him.

After a quick chat with the bartender, Kaeya slowly rested his gaze on you. You, who has no idea on what to say or even to do under the stare, can only stare at your half-filled glass.

“Leaving and coming back without a word, seems like the old vice-captain truly finds enjoyment in upsetting the Knights of Favonius,” he said after sipping on his drink and putting the weight of his head on his head, his stare was no longer on you.

“Kaey-“

“Ah, ah, it’s captain to you. I may not be strict but I am certainly not so lenient that I allow an old colleague to refer me however they please.” This time a chilling smile crept up to his face, the one he always as a facade to speak against an enemy. Something unpleasant stirred your stomach at this. A mere old work buddy. That one cuts.

“A-apologies, captain.”

The Kaeya you knew was evasive, sly, and all those things among the line but he was never cold. At least not to you. However you could not permit yourself to be surprised at this. It’s just like he said, you have insolently come and go completely up to you. It would be delusional to expect a kind treatment, even from someone you had been looking forward to meet again so much.

“Please, no need to apologize for that.” He once again sipped his drink, a bit more than the last time. You fiddled with the handle of the glass at his emphasis, he was blatantly expressing that there is other matter you need to speak of first. You knew that of course, but where should you start?

You pondered as you drank, and drank.

There’s nothing comfortable about the quietness, but you’d been quiet for almost an hour. Kaeya was the same, his expression was unreadable as he kept drinking. Yet it was clear he was staying to demand an explanation. The one thing you weren’t ready to give him.

The background chatters somehow got louder. Where was this liquid courage when you needed it the most? You were about to ask for another drink hoping it might bring you the boldness you’re currently lacking until you heard a sigh.

“Are you really not planning to say anything?” He looked at you and you were taken aback. Kaeya was wearing a strange expression, almost as if he seemed hurt. But that went away as quick as it came. What is it that made it so hard to say to him anyway? You were fine when you said it to Diluc, why can’t the right words also appear in front of you this time as well?

Futile questions. You already knew the answer.

You’re scared. Incredibly and utterly scared. Afraid of the warmth you both used to share was all but a fleeting memories you could only cry about at nights, and he will continue to look at you with such distrust and coldness.

“Holding onto the mysterious title even until the end, huh?” He mumbled something, just loud enough for you to hear. Just steady enough to let you know that it was the last chance he had gave you to earn back his worn out, thin-thread trust.

The man was never one to admit his mistakes on broad daylight, however there, gulping down his favorite drink on a quiet night, he decided to wholly accept the fact that he had been a fool.

A fool who was waiting for you, a fool who had faith in you.

“I’ll report to Acting Grandmaster first thing in the morning for you to serve under a different division. It won’t take long, I’ll handle the paperwork myself. Goodnight, (y/n).” Those were his last words before he was off into the night.

Amidst of the laughing and cheers from other tables, you felt like the walls eerily closing in. How words echoing at the back of your mind. That was the worst outcome from all the things you had possibly imagine. You couldn’t stand up faster, intending to run after him.

“K-kaeya!” You called to him, running just a few meters from the Angel’s Share. He hasn’t gone too far, but it was far enough to be away from the noisy bar’s crowd. The said man stopped in his tracks, he turned to you once more. “What?”

“I’m sorry, please just wait for a moment!” You steadied your breath, putting a hand on your chest. “Haven’t I waited enough?” He smiled, but there was something so incredibly sad about it. “I’ll tell you everything, so please, listen.” You said firmly and resolved. At this, Kaeya stared at you for a minute and he said, “There’s no need.”

“Why? Are you so revolted by the thought of listening to-“

“Huh?” You couldn’t help but let out. “It’s exactly how I said, I was embarrassed at how worked up I was getting that I.. ran away.” He crossed his arm, his feature was serene.

“That’s not it.” He quickly cut you off.

“I realized I was being quite the hypocrite. Feeling betrayed at the thought of you hiding your true intentions from me, I realized it was incredibly laughable. Because..” He trailed off, which was strange since the man seemed to always know what to say. “Because haven’t I been doing the same thing to you all these years?” He finally lets out. The sentence brimmed an unusual sincerity, a sense of genuineness you thought would never see coming out from him was then very crystal clear.

“Kaeya, I didn’t tell you because I was scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, you were staring at me with such wariness and suspicion. Which was understandable, however I don’t think I can stand being looked at by you that way should you decide to not trust my tale.” You looked down, the small pebbles there looking real interesting to you. Before any reply could come out of the man’s mouth, you continued the monologue, scared that you’ll lose the guts once you’re being cut off. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, I’ve come to a conclusion that the only person I want to be telling these stories are none other than you, Kaeya. I didn’t leave just for the laugh of it, that I can promise. Please, just give me another chance.” You pleaded, teary-eyed.

There was an intimidating stillness for a moment.

He finally approached you, taking the both of your hands. “I see,” he mumbled quietly, intertwining his hands with yours gently. “Tell me then, everything about it. From the moment you set your foot off from this nation, until the very last step you’ve taken before coming back.”

“It may take weeks or months,” you said honestly, his feather light touched felt exceptionally comfortable. “We have quite some time don’t you think, especially when we will perform similar duties and have breaks at the same time?” He smiled.

That means, you’re accepted back.. as the cavalry vice-captain.

“Thank you, Kaeya.” You said sincerely, a relieved tear escaped your eyes.

The next thing you know, you’re embraced by the captain. The act surprised you more than anything, but it doesn’t make you feel anything unpleasant, it was quite the opposite. Turns out the only reassurance you needed over the worries you’ve buried all day takes in a form of two arms whose hold was warmer than a blanket over a rainy day.

“I have missed you beyond words.” Kaeya’s facade has crumbled completely many times that day, as it proved. How unusual it may be to hear the man say something so honest, you were still extremely happy regardless.

“I have too,” you whispered against his chest. It would be nice if time were to stop for a moment, you thought. Although this time, the future isn’t really looking so scary now is it?

This journey of mending the heart you’ve tinkered with was most likely still a little far from being called complete. However you were sure the first step you’ve taken today, might get you a bit further than you initially thought down the road.

---

To say writing this was a blast is perhaps an understatement. I really enjoyed learning about Kaeya and making a back story for a character. I am definitely considering making a sequel to this!! Perhaps to also explain further plot-wise and back story explanation and what happened to them after this hehehee. lmk what you think!

Thank you so so so so much for those who’s been reading up until this point. It truly means a lot. Hehehe that’s all then, have a great day!!