#a little thing in honor of the darling dragon girl being one of the dears occupying the headspace lately <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[thedeadthree]

VALAENYA TARGARYEN -> a song of ice and fire

sword of the morning, queen of swords, she dragon of destiny, mistress of myth, visenya born again, lady of legend. princess of prophecy…. yawn!

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[yandere-wishes]

⭐Yandere Joestars⭐

(Parts 1-7 + Bonus Charcter: Joseph and Johnny’s characterizations are based off @dear-yandere​ ‘s interperations) I tried to write this mostly in the Joestars' POV. Their respective darlings resemble lifelike dolls rather than human beings to further illustrate how out of touch with reality the Jojos have become.

Warnings: Gore, kidnapping, dehumanization.

Edited: By the amazing Peri!! (@tealyjade-libran )

⭐Jonathan Joestar is possessive. ⭐

It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it...

It's an old saying, one that Jonathan remembers from an antique storybook his mother use to read him. It didn't mean anything back then, when he was still an infant too young and new, to fully comprehend what "owning" and "losing" was. But as the years ticked by faster than any clock could keep track of, things started to change. What had once been a passing quote in a chivalrous story about knights and dragons, soon turned into the epitome of Jonathan Joestar's life. 

Soon love wasn't about saving a princess or impressing the neighborhood girls with his boxing skills. No, all too soon love became about own and guarding. 

There may have been a time -long before "Jojo" and Dio met- when Jonathan was just like any other gentleman. Tender and sweet, flirtish at gatherings and charming in ladies' companies...but that was a Jonathan from a could-be-past that had been demolished the minute Dio Brando stepped foot onto the Joestar estate. From then on things depleted all so quickly. Everything Jonathan had come to unconsciously cherished had been so easily stripped from him by his beloved new "brother". 

Everything he loved had been killed, destroyed, or broken in some inhuman way. His friends had abandoned him, his lover had distorted him, his father didn't even notice him...

"It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it". The second time he hears that phrase, it freezes him to the pavement, his body star-struck like he just received a message from the heavens. Although it's rather peculiar, why "heaven" would convey a message to him in such an unholy place. 

With Dio having practically kicked Jonathan out of the mansion and countryside. Jojo had no other place to go but the back allies of London. Sure he still tried to be home for supper and bedtime and any other time his father may get an inkling of his absence. But when there was no need to 'appear' Jonathan took to the London streets away from Dio and his lackeys. 

In fate's bizarre game, it's in a backstreet that reeks of days old licker and rotting flesh of paupers that no one has bothered to bury. That Jojo hears that life-defining idiom once more. His dulling sapphire blue eyes follow the mist of those melodious words. Staring until they're practically itching to cut through his sockets and run after those little words. But they stop right before they can leave their eyelets, they stop and stare at the figure that strolls out of the shadows, in such a way, that would make Jojo's father slap him across the face for being "barbarous".  

It's luck or fate or maybe even destiny that leads the heir of the Joestar legacy to meet his darling in the slums of England. 

"How my heart resonates when I lay my weary eyes on your enchanting face..."

There's an odd sweetness about the naivety that surrounds his little friend. A sort of innocence that comes with not knowing about the hell that he's gone through. It's charming in a moderate way, his darling can't come to despise him if they haven't got a clue who he is. Keeping both his worlds as far apart as possible is really the only option left. Dio and his friends can't hurt his new friend? Lover? Companion? In actuality, Jonathan really doesn't know what you are to him. At first, you're merely a distraction from his crumbling, lonely shell of an existence. A sort of invisible pillar holding up London's bridge before it collapses into the  River Thames. Sure he views you as another person, unlike the other noblemen Jonathan has no desire to treat you as anything less than a respectable young lady despite your social statutes. 

 Dio can have the noblemen and ladies, he can have all of George's affection and favor, Heck Dio can have the whole goddamn world for all Jonathan cares. So long as he has his darling, his sunflower, his only means for living, then he will be content. 

Jojo lost everything he once loved, but he swears it to every star in the night sky that'll preserve his darling from the wickedness that runs this cruel world. He'll cherish her while she's still in his arms...

He'll protect her, just like the knights did in the old bedtime stories his mother would tell him. 

"...I swear on my honor as a Joestar that I shall never lose you to the likes of anyone, I'll be a true gentleman, a true knight and I'll protect you from any who wishes cause you harm."

⭐Joseph Joestar is Protective and all so patronizing.⭐

Why must Love hurt so much?

It's solitude, pure utter solitude that attracts Joseph to his darling. Oh sure, he must have known them from an earlier time in his life, back when the words Hammon and Ripple just sounded like fancy dessert names. Back when he was still a naive kid wishing on every goddamn star that he could just meet one of his parents for a fraction of a second. Back when life was easy when everything made sense. That's when he first met his darling. Although all so many years ago he probably just thought of them as the little sister he never got a chance of having. 

There's a numbness growing inside him now that his life has slipped off its axes, hurling into unknown darkness that plagues him in the form of Pillarmen and red gems. 

Everywhere he looks there's a reminder that nothing's going back to the way it used to be. No waking up to Granny Erina's voice calling him down for breakfast, no running around chasing Old Man Speedwagon. Everything is gone, replaced by Lisa Lisa's brutal training and Ceaser's endless taunting. 

Day by day nothing changes, but once he looks back every little thing is different. Ruptured and mangled into something unrecognizable. 

But then there's his darling. Someone -or rather something- that's still the same. Just like before. Her smile is still the same as ever, bright and cheery as she runs up to him wrapping her arms around his abdomen muttering about how much she missed her "Dear Big Brother".

(Y/N) is a comfort, a familiarity in a strange new world. She's something so frail and vulnerable, not to mention naive. Thrusted into a world where horror writers don't dare venture into. It's so likely that she'd be captured by one of Kar's zombie vampire things or -even worse- charmed by Caesar’s silver tongue. 

It's thoughts like these that haunt Joseph at night, keep him up and wandering into her room just to gaze at her sleeping form. He's lucid enough to know how it might look. Like he's the bad guy trying to take advantage of a defenseless little girl. But he can justify his actions, he's her big brother, he has to watch over especially when she's at her most vulnerable. If Ceaser ever tried anything or some vampire freak snatched her away in the dead of night, Joseph would never forgive himself!

But what does he get for all his efforts? What does he get for all his sleepless nights and hours upon hours of worrying? Just a small smile and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. No sincere, "Thank you big brother," or, "You're my hero Joseph!" Nothing, nothing worthwhile anyway. 

Now it's a competition, a battle to the death if it has to be -funny how he takes this more seriously than his match against Wamuu.- He's competitive by nature and he's willing to do anything to earn his darling's affection once more. He doesn't care who he has to beat within an inch of their life so long as he can have his darling back in his arms.

There is an aftermath to all of these, once all the fighting has ended and the battle's won. Once Joseph has finally claimed his prize. There's a certain way his darling has to act. She’s got to smile and play the role of the dotting little sister once more. Just so Joseph can justify his actions...

"And your next line is, 'I love you more than anything else big brother Joseph!'...at least I wish it was." 

⭐Jotaro Kujo is cold and sadistic.⭐

Never learned how to love...

A lover by Jotaro's book is nothing more than a walking, talking doll. Someone who cooks meals, irons clothes, and kisses him on the cheek before he leaves for the day. Sure they have other uses, in flares of passionate moments, they're something to hold onto, another pair of limbs to get tangled in. Something hot and solid, someone to push down, to weigh his force on. 

That's it, that's all there is to it...

A lover and a convenient toy are one of the same. 

He knows it's wrong to think about someone that way. To deprive a living thing of all their thoughts and feelings just so it's suitable for him. But at the end of the day who wants to hear idle chatter and gossip or go outside for walks in crowded areas. All too social, it's all so troublesome. All Jotaro wants is a closed-off life, away from the scums of the earth...away from people in general. 

It's such an inconvenience to seek out a lover, to hassle through dates and meetups in hopes of finding someone that clicks. Jojo would even go so far as to call it wishful thinking. So it has to be a pure accident that he even meets his darling. They're just someone who gets tangled in with the crusaders. A perfect living perception of 'wrong place, wrong time'. Someone who's life gets blown to bits and shambles just because fate decided to play a cruel joke on them. 

And that's what piqued Jotaro's interest. The desperate, depleted look of pain cemented over their face. The sparse dying gleam of determination that blazes within their eyes. Oh, what Jotaro wouldn't do to snuff that little ray of hope. To watch as what little purpose they have is ripped from their arms. What he wouldn't do to see them in pain...

Pain is submission, that's really all Jojo wants. A darling submits, not out of their own free will, but because every little thing they've ever loved has been slaughtered, all that they cherished has been stolen from them. 

But it's not enough 

It's never enough

Although Jotaro adores the looks of anguish that decorates his lover's face. There's something more satisfying about maltreating them. About leaving marks all over, about leaving bruises that never lose their violet glow. He's claiming his darling, physically and mentally. Not a single day goes that Jotaro doesn't remind his lover who they belong to. From verbal taunts that plague his darling's mind day and night, to punches that break bones leaving them paralyzed on the floor begging for help, to cuts that are just a little too deep to ever heal properly. 

Even when his darling is behaving, even when the poor little thing does everything her lover tells her to do, there's still going to be some sort of violence directed at her. Some backhanded remark about how useless they are just because they couldn't follow his mother's recipe. Some sort of blow just for greeting him 'too late'. Trivial things morph into punishments, just for Jotaro's sick amusement.

At his core, Jotaro is an unresponsive man, one with no regard for how others feel. He's distant, it's a trait he can't change. He likes how he does things, how there's no room for slip-ups when it's only him. Even his darling isn't someone he'd consider opening up to. Their opinion of him doesn't matter and their feelings are irrelevant. Most days he's gone until the last possible moment, leaving his darling an endless amount of time to mull over every word and scar. 

But here's the catch.

As the clock ticks by, as the nights and days begin to merge into an endless existence, as all hope burns in the pits of hell, darling's mind is also going to stray. Ever so slowly losing its perception of reality. 

'Maybe' spiders begin to spin webs of doubt through darling's empty cranium. The isolation begins to bite at her skin like the razor-sharp fangs of frostbite. They start to crave Jotaro's harsh touches, they start to miss the venom-like words. Every insult and slap to the face is welcomed, all the misplaced anger and death threats start to feel like sweet kisses and flowery touches. 

Poor darling no longer sees big scary Jotaro as a monster. They've lost the ability to see him for what he truly is.

And what happens when Jotaro does finally come home? Oh, how little (y/n) will ravish in the gut kicks and loathsome words. How she'll take every beating with a sweet sugar-coated smile.

Cause this is her life now. A meaningless existence that revolves around Jotaro and his bleak personality. A life that's only worth living when Jotaro is around.

Is it even a life?

"Yare yare daze you're such a hassle, be glad I keep you around...”

⭐Josuke is obsessive with delusional tendencies.⭐

Maybe I'm the one you'll fall in love with next...

Just like his "father" Joseph, Josuke is stuck in a perpetual state between diaphanous and phantasm.

There's something all too wrong with Morioh nowadays. The narrow streets and verbose buildings have started to feel like a transparent cage. The town has always been small, barely reaching a population of 3,000 despite all the new families that keep moving in.

Nevertheless, everything has dulled, faded, and withered into a monochrome collage. The layers of repetitiveness had finally begun to pick at Joskue's nerves...

And yet somehow, by some diabolical twist of fate. In the mists of the oceans of familiarity, Josuke’s eyes grab onto some shimmering pearl lounged into between the crowd of familiar faces. 

Sure he's seen this girl before, but he's never actually seen her. Never stopped to look at the odd way their eyes twinkle like newborn stars or how their skin shimmers with the glow of a thousand suns. 

One second is all it took, a fleeting compliment as you passed by Jojo in the peppermint flavored afternoon. Your hair flowing like a tapestry of the galaxy as you disappeared in the crowd of dead pulsars. Not a care in the world, not for him, not for anyone.  

Destiny was definitely up to its old cruel tricks again. 

He's not stalking. Josuke will swear on his grandfather's grave that he'd never "stalk" a harmless little girl, like some distorted maniac. He just happens to bump into you at the beauty parlor when he's picking up a new brand of hairspray. And it's totally an accident when he meets you out in the abandoned fields! Honest! It's not his fault fate wants the two of you to keep meeting, it's not his fault that you guys are meant to be!

It's not technically a friendship that you two start to build up, it's far from one. Friends don't dream about sugar-filled kisses behind school walls. Or about ice cream that tastes like scandalous touches and candy induced moans. No, Joskue isn't your friend, he NEVER wanted to be your friend. He knows that! He knows what he wants...but with each passing day, he's beginning to doubt that you know that. 

He'd never realized he's been so sensitive on you. So entranced by your out of tune voice that muttered rather than spoke. He's seldom been so eager to throw a punch and crack his knuckles on someone's skull, just for saying you looked "lovely today". 

Whenever his eyes don't land on you, a rage-filled volcano bubbles in the pit of his gut, uncontrollable anger that festers inside of him, like lava waiting to spill out and burn anyone that wanders too close. His palms itch with the need to hold you, to feel your soft skin rubbing against his. 

The jealousy is always there, pricking at his skin like rose thrones. Until they inevitably cut through his flesh and make him lose his composure. He's ready to kick and punch and hurt and kill anyone that comes too close to you, anyone that saunters off their orbit and makes a beeline for you, disturbing the balance of solitude that Josuke so eagerly sets you into.

Sometimes in the dead of night, when the world has finally dozed off, Joskue's mind begins to wonder. He thinks the way he feels about you is the same way an addict feels about his drugs. Maybe to him, you're even more addicting than heroin and ecstasy...and yet he can't quit you, he just doesn't want to quit you. Nothing in this world could compare to your sweet voice that tickles his ear when you lean in, to whisper a secret, or the may your full lips move when you throw another honey-filled insult at him. 

He prefers when you're alone when he's the only one you talk to. 

Sure there are exceptions like everything in life, although in the end  

there's a sort of backhanded irony.

It's those exceptions that are going to hurt him in the. 

Josuke trusts his friends, he knows that Okuyasu and Koichi would never do anything to hurt him...

But you're not on that list and to be fair you're surely the only one who can truly hurt him.

You fall for a friend of his. Not him, not the boy that's been driving himself insane just to earn a smile from you, not the boy that let you get away with insulting his hair and poking insults at his look, not him never him, it just can't be him.

"You're like an older brother to me"...Did you wash your mouth with acid before you spat those words at him? Did you intend to lace your words with knives and blades and rubbing alcohol before you stabbed him? It's figurative, sure. But it might as well be literal. No pain, no cut, no punch from any stand would ever hurt so much! You really don't know what you do to him, do you?

"I'm happy for you," it's a lie, blank and simple. Automatic words that he's practiced in the mirror a thousand and one times. He'd rather watch you suffocate on your own blood than in the arms of another man. He'd rather break every bone in your body than watch you kiss one of his friends. 

How on earth had he ever come to love you? Someone as cruel and cold. Were you even human? You resembled some ice stand more than a flesh and blood person. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM.

He really hadn't meant for it to become an addiction, he hadn't meant to get all so used to the crunch of bones beneath his foot, and the bloodied lips quivering, shuttering out apologizes for having the gall to utter your name in his presence. But there's only so much a teenage boy can take, only so much torture that he can bury inside with a moonlight smile. 

Addictions really do funny things to semi-sane people, huh?

It's a split-second decision, done in the heat of an all so regular moment. It's just a simple half-hearted punch when you beat him at another videogame. Then another

And another

And another

Then a crack, another and another, and before either of you knew it you're on the floor screaming out in pure agony. 

Josuke vows he's not being cruel when he breaks your bones so delicately. He can justify every crack, every fracture. Although it's rather repetitive and in certain cases borderline petty. 

Five broken bones on your left leg just for "kissing" your new boyfriend. Your right leg is bent at an angle you're sure it's not meant to be. All because you hugged said new lover before going to class. 

Josuke's once liquidy blue eyes that held the softness of clouds have been dulled over by a sort of thick mania. His once soft touch is nothing but nails digging into already bruised tissue. His lips wobbling as stray tears flow past his eyes. Muttering apologies and stuttering curses at both you and himself.

It's not really like his darling can leave after that incident. Josuke is known around town as the boy with a diamond heart. There's no way in hell anyone will believe what he did to you. It's just better, safer, to stick close to him, to swallow the indignities and paint a loving smile over your face when you gaze into his depraved eyes. 

It's better to pretend to love him, rather than have another limb broken...

"Come on (Y/N), it's just a little crack. If you promise to give me a tiny kiss I'll let Crazy Diamond fix you right up."

⭐Giorno Giovanna is sneaky and manipulative. ⭐

Sono pazzo di te. Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata...

There's a sleekness to Giorno, a cunning that's hidden behind layers of charisma and charm mimicking that of his birth father's. It's so easy for him to fool his darling into believing that he's a charming prince from a storybook. He's the good guy trying all so damn hard to make his dream a reality. He's admirable, he's noble, he's Giorno Giovana, the golden boy.  

It's not like he ever intends to hurt his darling. He'd never dream of laying a hand on them, he's all too familiar with the wounds that come from endless beatings. The bruises and phantom pains, that get worse as the days slip by. He knows real pain, and unlike all so many others on both sides of his family, Giorno doesn't want his lover to experience an uncia of it. 

He'd never repeat what his stepfather and mother did to him. He's going to try and do everything he can to make sure that his darling is safe...

Because isn't that what's important? To make sure the one you love is safe. To make sure they don't get swept off their feet by some masquerading drunkard or taken advantage of by some fanciful sadist. 

Giorno will do anything to keep his darling safe, even if it means tampering with their mind a little. Nothing too serious, he'd never even considered changing anything about them. Although isolating them isn't completely off the table and a few verbal threats are fine from time to time. Just for precaution...

Giorno is a rather determined boy, he'll go to any lengths to isolate his lover. Scaring away friends by letting Gold Experience give them a small out of body experience. If they're persistent then he can't guarantee that that out-of-body experience will simply remain an experience much longer. It's not out of malice, but it's what must be done for the sake of his darling, the only other thing he cares about.

There's a shift, a difference between the young naive Giorno Giovanna, the golden boy with starry eyes, and the new boss of Passione, the Mafioso who holds the whole country in the palm of his hand. 

Oh sure, as a simple Soldato Giorno was dangerous in his own right. But Don Giorno? He's the sort of monster written about in the grimmest fairy tales. Wearing the appearance of a true king but underneath the luxury suits and priceless watches, he's just another greedy, fire-breathing dragon.

As the Don of Italy's most influential gang, Giorno's manipulation tactics have gotten rather ....hazardous. He doesn't have time to waste getting rid of every single person that poses a threat to his darling. If someone looks their way, he'll send some goons to take care of them. 

Although it's so much easier to keep his lover locked away, he even has the perfect excuse now. He's the head of the mafia, he has all so many enemies who jump at the opportunity to hurt him in some way. So he has to keep his defenseless little lover locked away in some mansion that's all so far away. 

He's also a bit more violent now. Giorno's more physical, ready to break a bone just for a wrong word or a cracked jaw from a punch for even asking to go outside. He blames it on the stress of running an organization...although it's more likely that all the power from passion has begun to rinse away Giorno's caring side. 

"Cuore mio, Resta con me per sempre"

⭐Jolyne Kujo is clingy and obsessive and delusional.⭐

I can't stay away from you...

Jolyne is a rather condescending yandere. Her rough ragged exterior does little to hide the clingy neediness that writhes inside her shattered heart.

She's soft, dependent, desperate at best. Wanting her darling to approve of every tiny trifling thing she does. Needing their words of praise and approving smiles to have the courage to live another day. 

At times it seems like the only thing keeping Jojo alive is the  "good girl!" and "I'm proud of you!" her darling throws her way. Chanting the words of praise with closed eyes and fluttering smiles of anxiety. 

It's difficult to make her sweetheart realize how virulent this relationship is, far too hard to call Jolyne a Yandere. The derogatory term applies to someone who ceases all control from their lover, who locks them in a basement, and throws away the key. It applies to murders and 

stalkers and lunatics that roam the streets in the dead of full moon nights. It applies to those who were thrown into Green Dolphin for a reason.

 Not to some girl whose life has been demolished over and over and over again. 

Not to the girl with a star birthmark that follows her darling around like a lost puppy in the freezing rain. 

But even Jolyn has her limits. She's been let down time and time again, abandoned and framed by those she thought she loved unconditionally. From friends to boyfriends to even her own father, everyone leaves, they take what they want, and then they leave. 

Flesh like strings, stitched into a web of antithesis and distraught moods, act as a  solid, interchangeable reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship. Of how Jolyne can go from needing her darling to controlling her darling in just a fraction of a heartbeat. She loves them, she swears she does...but they need to stay close to her, they need to only think about her. 

Her addiction gets worse as the days tick by. It's less romantic, less loving. Morphing into a dependency, a compulsion. Rotting thoughts of her darling suddenly leaving, plague her every waking moment. The once semi pleasant conversations between her lover and her friends, get cut off like a severed limb. 

Even Hermes and Foo Fighters aren't "good enough" to be around Jolyne’s lover. She's all so, scared they'll try to take them from her. Stealing the ONLY good thing in her life.

There's a certain degree of control that Jolyne's willing to give to her darling. A sort of freedom to make, revolting appalling choices, so long as they include her. A freedom to boss her around and make her submit. Her darling is free, so long as that freedom revolves around Jolyne.

"(Y/N)~ don't look at them! You should only focus on me! I'm supposed to be your world!"

⭐Johnny Joestar is sadistic and manipulative.⭐

Arrogance disguised as affection...

It's all degradation, all harsh words that sting worse than bullet wounds. Glares from dull wicked blue eyes that might as well kill, cause it's better than the alternative. Smirks that make being alive so damn distasteful. Kisses that engrave the lingering taste of rotting lead into your tongue.

Johnny isn't sweet, he doesn't smile at his little sweetheart. He doesn't pat their head and kiss their temples while uttering sweet nothings into their blushing ear. No, his lover doesn't deserve a honey-coated life. They don't deserve to have what was stolen from him by his so-called "loved ones". Instead, he uses them as a living dart board, for both his acid-laced words and bullet-like fingernails. 

There's no love when it comes to Jojo. He doesn't want to waste time on something so frivolous as a "significant other". But he does like having someone -or rather something- to play with, a form of entertainment that bends at his will. Not a pushover, not someone who's too proud either. But a living doll that can take a few verbal spats and survive an armada of fingernail bullets through the stomach. 

Oh, sure he wants to break them, having a toy that's so conflicted, that questions their own sanity is so much more fun. But it's the intervals that count. Johnny wants to be the one to break his darling. To engrave the helpless look of distress into his memory. He wants to preserve every scream, every tear. That's the whole purpose of even keeping a darling. 

Johnny rarely lets his darling out of his sight. It's so much easier to play with their mind if he's the only one they ever talk to. They'll become so easily dependent on him if he's their only companion. Although sometimes Gyro can get a little too touchy and friendly. And there will be occasions when Hot Pants start to pry into the darling and Jojo's personal life. But the incidents are few and far between. Not like Johnny minds, if anything these minor secondary "meetups" are useful to the paraplegic jockey. They refill his darling with the most precious thing..." Hope". Just so Johnny can beat it out of them all over again.  

There's a darkness that resides deep within Johnny. A toxicity that laces his actions. His life is miserable and he's damn well sure it'll always be that way.....

So why not take his lover down with him?

"Don't you love me darlin' ? Cause I certainly don't love ya."

⭐Jorge Joestar is delusional and obsessive.⭐

What if we lost our minds, together?

A love story better than his parents, that's all Jorge wants. Flower field dates, and quick lingering kisses before midnight. Something sweet, that doesn't have a macabre end. A romance without body-snatching vampires and zombies that shed their flesh. Something normal, gentle, lovable. 

Although with the family he's been born into and the kind of things that keep finding him. Jorge doubts he's ever going to get such a hopeful love life. He's all so desperate to carve a life for himself outside of his family's shadow, but in the end, it's simply eager wishing. 

He's not exactly sure what he's even looking for in a lover. Someone sweet but strong-willed, an average answer. Someone who bears a sort of resemblance to Lisa Lisa. Not physically but rather mentally, he's not a coward, he swears he's not, but he just wants someone who can protect him. A fair exchange in his eyes. His lover will guard him against the bullies and freaks of the island and in turn, he'll protect them from the grim ghouls that run amok through the world. Although when push comes to shove he isn't sure if he'll really be 'protecting' his lover or running away and hiding somewhere with them.

He just wants to fall in love and not go insane, a reasonable request, if he hadn't seen the worst that the world has to offer. It's just wishful thinking, sweet dreams for a boy designed to attract trouble. 

He doesn't want to have conversations with his dead lover's head. He doesn't want to wear their skin and waltz around town. He doesn't want any of that creepy, supernatural stuff that destroyed his parent's love. 

He just wants normal. But as the years slip by Jorge's grip on "normal" slowly begins to decay.

Normal is something, but what that something is has become a blur. Normal isn't vampires and zombies and ghost clowns that throw nooses around people's necks...Yet on the other hand maybe it is? 

He's so far gone that he can't even differentiate between methodical and irregular. His brain's capacity to understand the difference has gotten so altered and broken.

Once he finds his darling he does try to act like the ordinary people of the Canary Islands or England, depending on where he's residing at the time. He tries to follow the mode, just to impress his lover. It's a façade, a bloody masquerade that's bound to deteriorate once he and his lover have settled down.

Although a poetic, domestic life had always been Jorge's dream, he soon comes to learn that it just doesn't suit him. Jorge's paranoia starts to increase. It's comical at first, the way his eyes dart to closed doors, half expecting a killer to emerge. Although the same paranoid tendencies can become rather smothering at times. He's all so certain something is going to jump out of the shadows, some creature with sharp fangs and knife-like claws is going to rip his lover's body to rags. 

He's gotten rather umbrageous now that he's the one who's married and living in the Joestar estate. His tendency to run away from any form of conflict has morphed into a rogue-like sense, much similar to a rabid dog barking at anyone who gets too close to its territory. He keeps his darling locked away inside, triple-checking the locks to make sure no one or thing can get in. He avoids the probing disquieting neighbors who still speak ill of his widowed mother and murmurs about the "curses" bestowed on the Joestar bloodline. Sometimes even getting physical when the insults shift towards him and his new lover. 

Punches are thrown.

Insults exchanged.

And then the door and windows are locked once more.

Leaving both Jorge and his darling in the chilling company of the semi alive shadows.

It's safer in the basement. It has to be safer down there. After all his mother kept his father's severed head down there for decades before anyone found it. So it's only sensible that his lover will also be safe, tucked away in the darkness of a brick room some few meters under the earth. He's not acting like his mother -and deep down he prays that this isn't something his late father would ever even consider doing- It's a thin line of justification, but he can reason with himself so long as he knows it's not something his other family members have ever done. He does try to keep his darling comfortable down there. Buying them the most luxurious furniture and comfortable bedding. Constantly bringing them new forms of entertainment. 

Keeping them in this preserved state is what any reasonable person would do. Not just another insanity driven Joestar.

"It's for your own safety" he's repeated that phrase an umpteenth amount of times, although every time the sculpted words leave his tongue, Jorge becomes less sure of who he's really trying to convince. 

Jorge is all so sure that he's doing all of this for both his lover's safety and to erase whatever misfortune follows around the Joestars, like an airy plague. Even his enrolling for the great war is done with this mindset...

Even though in the end it's also this mindset that gets him killed. Leaving his darling a wide window to freedom. 

"Darling, what do you think when you look at me?"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

[inkandpen22]

All I Want (1/4)

Request: I would honestly be happy with anything you write! Maybe a slow burn with Sirius x Reader where their relationship is kind of like lily x James and Hermione x Ron idk 😂 I’m not really sure aaaaaah

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.4k

Part Summary: Y/N and Sirius are in a FWB situation but they’ve also been best friends since First Year. When the Spring Ball rolls around, things get interesting, but they always are with these two. 

A/N: sorry this took ages to get out! Hope you like it! X

Masterlist

Sirius

While James and I walk to potions, he continues to nag me about the upcoming dance. He acts as if I can’t ask a girl out. I have it all planned: don’t worry about it until the day before.

“You need a date,” James warns.

“Well that’s easy,” I dismiss

“That’s true, he could ask a Slytherin and even she would consider it,” Remus remarks, appearing on my other side.

“No, I already have someone in mind,” I correct with a smug expression.

“Who?” James presses.

Right on cue, my favorite girl appears down the hall with Evans. Merlin, she is utterly perfect. Her perfect hair, skin, walk, smile.

“Y/N! Morning,” I greet as the boys and I approach the duo.

“Good afternoon,” she smiles, already giving me her full attention.

“Ooh, makes sense,” James notes, finally piecing together who I plan on asking.

“Y/N/N, I have a proposition for you.” I place my palm to the small of her back to guide her away from the group. 

“Oh no,” she expresses a tad worriedly. 

“It’s nothing bad!” I defend with a chuckle, though her reaction is fair considering the amount of trouble I've gotten her into over the years. 

“You said that last time and last time I got covered in poison ivy!" She reminds. 

“The Spring Ball,” I state. 

“Yes?” She inquires with a raised brow. 

I can feel the eyes of James and my other friends from a few feet away. Their frequent murmuring is hard to ignore. 

“Go with me,” I request to Y/N plainly. 

“Mmm," she thinks it over a moment. "Nope." 

Wait, what? 

“And why not?” I frown. 

“Because,” she shrugs and starts back toward our friends. 

I grab her wrist, bringing her to a halt. “Is this because of the dragon joke? I told you I was kidding!”

“Nope,” she replies purposefully vague. 

I release her wrist and she strolls back to our friends. I look to Evans for answers and she shrugs. 

“I know nothing,” she tells me as Y/N locks arms with her before walking off. 

I'm left surrounded by my fellow Marauders, watching in awe as my girl, my girl walks away from me. 

"What the bloody hell just happened?" I ask to answer who can answer. 

James places his arm over my shoulders. "Dunno mate, guess she's not so much "your's" as you thought," he laughs. 

"Oh really, huh?" I playfully shove my best friend in the chest to get off of me. "Well I think otherwise! I'll prove it too. By this weekend, Y/N will say yes." 

_________________________

Y/N

For most of the afternoon, I hide away in the library to study for a potions exam. Lily is supposed to meet hereafter her class. If I didn't have Lily as my friend/free tutor, I don't know what I'd do. 

"Hello, Love." 

The sound of Sirius's voice interrupts my studying. Then, a pair of lips meet mine. The kiss feels almost taboo with its intensity in such a public setting. Nevertheless, I embrace the affection. Sirius is like a drug that I can't get enough of, that I can never satisfy. 

He parts from me but lingers mere inches from my face. 

"Hello to you too," I greet with a pleased grin. 

"You look phenomenal," he compliments as he moves to sit beside me in Lily's seat. 

"Sirius, that's-" 

"Go with me!" He doesn't hesitate to ask me again. 

"Nope," I answer, unfazed, as I return to my studies. 

"Why not?!" Sirius whines, fussing like a young child. 

"Because!" I laugh, isn't it obvious? 

"Oh yes, that's a fair argument! Go on!" He mocks. 

"This is an argument, I just don't feel like going!" I giggle, trying my best to focus on my school work. 

When Sirius is around I never fail to get distracted. 

"But everyone's going!" He drags out. 

I close my book and face the jet black haired boy with similarly dark eyes. He's so pretty it's annoying. 

"So if everyone jumped off a cliff you would too?" I raise a brow. 

"If James did it, yeah," he shrugs nonchalantly. 

"Oh, dear Merlin," I mutter under my breath as I face the table again. 

Sirius shifts closer to me. I abruptly feel his warm hand glide up my thigh from the knee and I inhale sharply. 

"So you'll shag me, but you won't go with me to a ball?" He purrs in my ear. 

Sirius dangerously slips his fingers under the fabric of my skirt. I swallow hard, glancing over at Madame Pince as she sits behind her desk reading a book. 

"You know, we're really breaking gender stereotypes right now," I laugh nervously as he continues his pursuit. "Usually, in a friends-with-benefits scenario, it's the girl who begs for more from the guy. Look at you being revolutionary!" 

"Spring Ball, you and me, a bottle of firewhiskey, trip to the Astronomy Tower after," he smirks, rubbing his hand up and down my inner thigh. 

"Sounds real romantic," I sass breathlessly, as I try to remain relaxed. 

"Oh, you want romantic?" He raises a brow with a smirk. "I can make the Room of Requirement look real nice." 

"Knowing the students of this school, I feel like you're not the only one with that idea," I insinuate jokingly. 

He leans forward, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Y/N, sweet, kind, charming, beautiful...” He lowers his lips to my neck where he knows it'll make me squirm. 

"Sirius," I mutter his name warningly as I keep a sharp eye on the librarian. 

I bite down my lip and melt into the sensation of his soft lips on the base of my neck. He lifts his head to meet my gaze proudly.

 "Y/N, will you please do me the honor of escorting you to the ball?" He grins. 

"Ye-no," I nod slowly, pursing my lips. 

"You're lucky you're so damn hot," he pecks my lips. "Otherwise I'd kill you." 

"I'm so flattered," I tease the boy with a giggle. 

"As you should be, Darling," he leans in again and kisses me. "I will convince you to go with me," he assures against my lips. 

"Looking forward to it," I mumble. 

"Okay, I have to go before I distract you further," he reluctantly pulls away. "I'll see you tonight!" He rises from his chair to head out. 

"But I have-" 

"Nope," he holds up his hands before I can decline. "You and me, us, Room of Requirement at seven sharp." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," I wave my hand dismissively as I prepare to return to my studies. 

"Oh yes you do," he purrs and leans down to peck my lips with a smirk. "Bye, bye, Baby." 

"Later," I wave goodbye to my friend. 

As the boy strolls out of the library, he salutes Madame Pince. "Madame, always a pleasure." 

I snicker quietly to myself, and as though he could hear me, Sirius turns around and sends me a wink. 

It's almost ironic that he's named after a star considering that's exactly what he is, he's a bright, unique, light. I look at him and music plays in my head. Is there something wrong with me? Sirius and I have been best friends since First Year. Five years later and we're a little more than friends, but not dating. It all started during our Fourth Year, Halloween night. We both got drunk at the Gryffindor party and well... one can guess. Ever since then, we've acted as though we're dating, but neither of us has said it out loud. Sirius and I have hooked up with random people since then to keep it casual as we agreed. Yet, in the last year, we've both stopped. Neither he nor I have mentioned that fact. I'm just assuming he has hooked up with other girls and hasn't told me or he has his eyes on someone but is waiting. I've tried to conjure up the emotion to show interest in another boy, but I haven't felt anything toward anyone except Sirius in the last two years. Drunken hookups have happened, but they don't mean anything. With Sirius, it's not supposed to mean anything either, yet it feels different. It feels right if that makes sense. It's comfortable yet never boring, nothing about us is boring. I'm not sure what I want or what to make of it. All I know is I'm more comfortable where I am than where I would be if this were to end. I rather be his 'something' than nothing. 

____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @hyperactiveravenclaw

[vinylhazza]

Honor To Us All (G.D)

Summary: Grayson and Y/n watch Mulan, turning movie night into one of playful banter, serenades, and talk of a bigger life through mouthfuls of popcorn. Grayson confesses his real image of his girlfriend - a warrior in his eyes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: Silliness, Fluff, Disney, literally so cheesy I’ll provide the wine: 🍷

“Do you think Mulan knows she’s a bad bitch?” Grayson ponders, stuffing another handful of cheesy popcorn into his mouth.

“I mean...I think she figures it out in the end. Or at least faces the fact that there is no other choice but the brave one. The confidence comes with her achievements - bringing honor to her family and country,” Y/n explains thoughtfully, smiling at how genuine of a question it was from such a big man that’s nothing but a softy that loves Disney.

Grayson sits for a moment longer, watching as Mushu rambles on about putting shame on a cow and what not, giggling at the small dragons rant. It’s always been his favorite character because of his perseverance to be seen as something more than a small sidekick. Plus he makes him laugh uncontrollably hard for being a cartoon and looking like a little lizard. And anything that can make that angelic smile and laugh of his come out is a gift from God, in her opinion.

“Good point. It’s just interesting that she goes into this war zone with all of this grit and dedication without ever being actually exposed to a lifestyle that requires such high expectations,” he mumbles through another mouthful of his snack. She knows he’s only saying this because he spends his time singing the songs instead of actually listening. Yes Grayson Dolan singing Mulan songs is one of the greatest sights she’s ever been blessed with. It’s a sound that bursts from him like he genuinely can’t hide his happiness, airy and with an adorable wheeze that leads to a puff from his inhaler. 

“Well that’s not entirely true. Before she went with the army she was expected to bring honor to her family in a different way: find a husband, be a perfect daughter, a perfect wife, a perfect mother in the future. She was always held to a high standard even if she didn’t live up to it sometimes. The pressure prepared her for it, I believe. It can be brutal to be scrutinized by your own family...belittled for your clumsiness and uniqueness when you’re meant to be so proper and uniform. She was constantly second guessing everything she thought was right and locking her real self away just to maintain an image was never destined to have. The army brought out the individuality in her - even if she was disguised as a man,” she finishes with a huff, out of breath but satisfied with her lengthy answer, popping a few Skittles into her mouth and smiling when she realizes they were all her favorite ones - red and yellow. The superior Skittles. 

The two sit wrapped in each other, scanning their eyes across a screen filled with fighting soldiers, a heaping pile on top of Mulan’s small frame. He takes a moment to comment “ouch” quietly without thinking, ignoring her small giggle at his innocence.

He’s so pure when he wants to be, serious when he has to be, and so totally himself all the time. It’s refreshing in a world so fake. There’s not a lot of men that will sit down and watch a movie like Mulan and actually think about what it means instead of teasing and making fun of the movie the entire duration. He’s not interested in being a douchebag for an image. 

“Be a man, we must be swift as the coursing river, be a man, with all the force of a great typhoon, be a man, with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the mooooooooon,” he sings along, laughing at the way she’s watching him scream the lyrics like he really means them, joining in at the end. 

“Fuck them Huns,” Y/n wheezes, slapping at his thigh as she laughs joyfully.

“Literally fuck them Huns,” he agrees through popcorn, hand pressed against his mouth in fear of spilling some due to her own rolling laughter.

When it returns to the calm silence he speaks out again with so much serious she thinks he might be being sarcastic. But no, he’s all serious and curious as always.

“Also he’s a fine ass man how is she not blushing?” he tuts once again, eyebrows dipped down as Li Shang all but sings in Mulan’s face. This is a question she’s thought nearly every time she watches the film, but never had the mind to speak allowed. 

With a chuckle she simply fired back with another question, “She can’t fall over herself everytime she’s with him. She has a purpose for being there. Do you see me blushing every time I’m with you?”

“Yes,” he snarks, grinning again as she punches him in the arm playfully, snuggling into his black sweatshirt he hasn’t changed out of since they woke up a couple hours prior. 

“Shut up,” she giggles like a schoolgirl, hiding in the fabric of his hoodie further, “it’s not my fault you insist on walking around shirtless most of the time.” 

“Well so does Li Shang, so you see my point? The girls just can’t resist the bod,” Grayson gloats, a proud smile with lots of pearly white teeth on his face again. 

“Men are vile creatures.” Her amused mockery get’s her another chuckle before it grows silent once more, both enjoying the company that doesn't need conversation, “and did you just say bod?”

“Mmm mostly and yes, yes I did,” he agrees with a nod, not even finding a good rebuttal that could prove her wrong. He’s good at that, letting her have a peaceful moment. Because that’s what it was - a peaceful moment between two lovers, joking about Mulan on a couch they’ve sat on for far too long, in clothes they haven’t the urge to change, with hearts that won’t stay steady. 

Grayson stops when Mulan shouts from the speakers, covering herself as the soldiers pile into the water, and inevitably laughing as she scurries behind her horse. With a tug on his hoodie he’s yanking it over his head and handing it over to a shivering Y/n, knowing she could get a blanket, but his hoodie is so much better. 

They settle into the comfortable silence, Y/n stealing tiny handfuls of Grayson’s popcorn whenever she got the chance, belting out laughter when it was too much to hold in. He joined in the majority of the time, loving how blissful her laugh sounded, cherishing the way it stuck to every nerve of his heart and had it skipping beats from being overwhelmed. That was what she loved so much about the love they shared, it was plentiful but pure and full - never a dull moment even when they are essentially doing nothing. 

— — —

“I think you’re the Mulan of the world babe,” Grayson remarked with a love struck smile towards the end of the movie, having been silent for most of duration of the film since their little discussion in the beginning.

He’s hurrying to lean in and give his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek before she can question him, suddenly overwhelmed with a strong sense of devotion for this girl he gets to wake up to every morning by the grace of God. He would be so embarassed if anyone knew that he just geinuinely thought to himself just then that she was dreamy. But she was, she really was in every way, the most dreamy.

She smirks, turning as he backs away to quirk an eyebrow at him in question, “Oh really? Why’s that?”

Sitting back against the plush couch he explains the truth behind his claim, even if he’s going to sound cringe and too deep to have just watched an entire Disney movie.

“You never give up, even when things are hard. You keep pushing past all the failures in search of that success that has to come at some point. Even if it means making a sacrifice at your own expense to save someone else or protect something bigger than your ego,” his voice is strong, sure and pure, “you really do bring honor to us all. Even if most people choose to ignore it.”

“If I did everything in life to please other people, I would never be truly fulfilled, and yeah I might relate to Mulan the most but you, my dear, have Li Shang written all over. You’re always going on about duty, honor, making your family proud, even the country, always thinking outside of the box, owning up to mistakes and making sure you don’t make them again. You’re not easily defeated. You see purpose in all things, understand the rules and instead of trying to defy them like myself, you bring balance - hence why we are so good for each other.” Y/n strokes her fingers through his luscious hair,

“Well I would go to war for you, love,” he teases, rubbing his nose against hers for a tender eskimo kiss. He rarely uses that pet name, but loves her reaction when he does. 

“Hmm and I would do the same for you, darling,” she hums back, holding his face close with both of her hands, cupping his face right under the strong bones of his jawline. It’s a gag worthy moment, sappy and cliche, something that if walked in on, they would both blush and cower in embarrassment. But in this moment, with the two of them sitting still, foreheads touching, with the ending credits of a fairytale rolling, they couldn’t care less about lingering eyes that might see their moment that means so much.

“You’re like fire, unstoppable and warm, you never let anyone ruin it for you...I wish I could be that way,” Grayson gulps, stroking her temple with his thumb.

“You are that way. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. You’re exactly like all of the strongest charcters in every movie and honestly fuck Li Shang right now because you’re better because you’re real.” Y/n is observant. Always watching. Not in a weird, stalker way. She simply likes to know the details, little things that make someone who they are that they might be ashamed of at some point, or maybe things they don’t even notice.

She notices. She notices that his leg in bouncing right now because he’s wondering if she liked the kiss, even if he’s kissed her a thousand times and she always pulls away blushing. She notices the way his left hand has dropped to rub at her thigh like he does when he feels comfortable. She takes note at the small smile he gives when she laces her fingers with his to soothe his nerves, knowing it makes him feel better to be touched when he’s nervous. She notices his love language so she can meet him halfway. He’s her prince and she’s not ashamed to show it.

People say fairytales can’t be real, but Grayson proves them wrong every single day.

He’s looking at her with that grin, the one where he looks sneaky. He wears this smile when he’s excited, so completely happy, or getting ready to tickle you. There’s no in between, but right now, with the remote waving in his hand, you know exactly what page he’s on.

“So...Tangled?”

[watchmebackflip75]

How to Train Your Wizard

Maybe I wrote a RED SHOES story involving a Viking. No it’s not those dragon riding Vikings. 

xx

SourceURL:https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142545        How to Train Your Wizard - BleedingHeart911 - Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs (2019) [Archive of Our Own]    

… The mermaids of the beach found the tourist humans too odd by a starfish-half. Giant umbrella over their fully clothed bodies; these landmaids were in the wrong climate. The strange landfolk separated from nature further by sitting in lounging chairs as if the boulders in the ocean weren’t cool enough.

“Gotta love that sun.” Snow White said under her sunhat. In one hand she fanned her soft chin, in the other her fingers laced in her boyfriend’s hand.

“Yes, and this fresh sea breeze.” Merlin said dozily, his eyelids closing under his sun-obstacles. He snapped his long fingers and a candle enchanted with bug-repellent burned green and smelled like a sunflower. They sighed in unison, their cares slipping away.

The cawing of seagulls became the yelps of scared mermaids. Snow and Merlin open a single eye each to see a wooden dragon raging towards the shoreline.

“Who would think building a giant dragon puppet easier than taking the beast as a pet?” Merlin asked as he dropped his lite beach-rob. He flipped through the spell-cards in his belt-satchel.

“Sweetie, that’s a Viking’s ship. You might want to pull out a big zapper.” Snow said as she closed their umbrella. Merlin had his magic, she had the strength to stab and whack. They sped-walked to the gentle waves, weapons in hand but allowing the strangers to arrive.

“Never fought a Viking before. Heard they’re like minotaur-pirates without dental plans.” Merlin said, watching the huge sails.

“That’s the stereotype. It’s not untrue but I’ve known some exceptions.” Snow said as the boat pushed into the sand.

Merlin smirked, he thought about asking if his princess had known a lot of disgusting pirates growing up in the sheltered ballrooms. He didn’t ask since the horned, hairy, man-like fiends jumped onto the beach, shaking the earth.  

The hairy beasts groaned in warning, weapons in hand though they stood in wait. A huge, maybe seven-foot-tall, yellow-haired beast jumped off the side. His smell made Merlin’s stomach turn.

“I’m going to hit him with a soap-spell first.” Merlin said as he raised a spell-card.

Snow grabbed his hand, “Wait a minute. Brutechel?”

Under the unruly hair and horned-helmet Merlin saw bright blue eyes and the scruffy stubble of a young man’s sickly smile.

“Snow! You’re alright!” The Viking exclaimed, swinging his mallets over his head.

Snow laughed and ran into Brutechel’s hug. The Viking’s thick muscles had no problem raising Snow off her feet in a twirl. The sight disgusted Merlin; he felt a flicker of lightning trickle up his thin arms.

Brutechel placed Snow back on the sand and held her fair little hands in his hammy ham-hands.

“I wanted to come sooner- when I heard about your step-mother –“

“It’s fine, we’re fine. You had your reasons for not-“

“No, my chief hid your letters. He had- I had no idea… You must have thought I was the most selfish son of troll.” Brutechel said with regret.

“Never.” Snow’s big brown eyes looked up at the young man two-heads taller than she.

Brutechel sighed deeply with tears of joy. “Thank Odin you’re alright.”

“Yes, she is.” Merlin stated loudly, stepping to Snow’s side. He put an arm around her possessively and said, “Hi, I’m the hero who saved the White Castle, among others. Merlin, leader of the Fearless Seven, I’m sure you heard of us.”

“Thought you guys were a democracy.” Snow said, dropping her hands from Brutechel’s grip.

“When my quick thinking and skill can’t find an advantage, yes we can be.” Merlin amended.

“Oh, yeah I have heard the F Seven. Thought they died a year ago?” Brutechel said, eyeing the overly-groomed fishbone holding Snow.

“Sabbatical.” Snow shrugged slightly annoyed with Merlin’s bragging, “So yeah, Brutechel this is Merlin, Merlin this is my dear old…. Brutechel.”

Both boys heard her take a beat to avoid using ‘old/ ex boyfriend’.

“Uh-huh.” Brutechel said, folding his ox-like muscles across his chest.

“Yep.” Merlin said with a pop of his lips.

Snow groaned through a smile and pushed Merlin’s hand off her shoulder. “Bea, tell me you didn’t come all this way just for me and my problems.”

“I would’ve crossed any seas if I thought you were in danger.” Brutechel said gently.

Merlin tried to say something but Snow spoke over him with, “Then the least we can do is invite you to dinner.”

“I’d be honored, Snow Bunny.” Brutechel said, barely moving his eyes from Snow, “That alright with you, chum?”

“Of course, and allow me to cook for you, bud.” Merlin said with a very fake smile.

“I’ll bring something over, that fine with you, Murray?” Brutechel said unamused.

“Don’t go out of your way, Brutus, any allergies I should know about?” Merlin asked stepping closer.

“Nope, but I don’t eat meat or dairy, dude.” The Viking said, crouching over string-bean.

“You’re a Vegan Viking, lad?” Merlin asked, noticing a few teeth were metal and gold.

“You bet your pointy hat, pal.” Brutechel said, wondering when non-Viking men started wearing perfume.

Merlin held back a flicker of lightning in his palm, “We’ll keep that in mind, and don’t trouble yourself with dessert. I know a guy.”

“I know a guy, too.” Brutechel said, curling and uncurling his fist.

“Oh boy,” Snow said drily, she clapped her hands, “You guys, hey.”

They both stared at her, their postures aligned to pounce.

“How about we all agree to meet at the castle around sunset? That good for you, Brutechel?”

The smelly oaf softened, “Oh course, Bunny, I look forward to tonight.”

“Me too.” Snow said sweetly as she grabbed Merlin’s arm, “Let’s go get ready.”

“Of course, my darling.” Merlin said, looping his arm around Snow’s elbow. “Now don’t you pillage when we turn our backs.”

Snow pinched his arm and they waved to the Vikings to Brutechel’s horde. The couple noticed some had buckets of popcorn. The Vikings waived back in a friendly manner.

On Risky Rock, Arthur’s laugh dug so deep the side of his dwarf-green abbs began to ache.

“Pure barry,” Merlin’s oldest friend said while beating the table. “Snow use to date a Viking? One of those lugs would use you like a toothpick. This has to be killing you, Merlin!” “Shut up, Arthur.” Merlin said while pouting in his chair at their oval table.

“Poor Merlin, the cute cure to your curse came with some burly baggage.” Jack said, also still green, small and polishing his nails to a shine. Pino, Noki and Kio stated different similes for Jack’s alliteration.

“I really can’t see how a girl as lovely and demur as Snow would ever even think of going near one of those filthy vandals.” Merlin said, relieved he could complain far from his girlfriend’s ears.

“Ah, la vache, you would’ve said the same thing about your squat little self when she met you.” Jack countered. Arthur was still chortlings, rolling on the floor.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “I really doubt there’s anything hidden in that bear. But it is so like her to take a stray home and try to bathe it.”

“I’ve tried to do the same thing will all of you.” Jack stated, causing Hans’ brow to wrinkle in confusion. The ginger chef came out with meatless stroganoff in a glass dish with painted candies dancing around the sides.

“Here, Merlin, I replaced the beef with tofu.” Hans said. He liked trying an old dish with a new twist.

“Right, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Merlin said, he wondered if he poisoned the tofu would it hurt Hans’ feelings. After he closed the door his friends hovered at the oval table.

“We’re going to that dinner, right?” Hans asked in the huddle.

“Affirmative.” Pino said cheerfully.

“You got that right.” Said Niko.

“Let’s bring a boardgame.” Kio said.

In the White Castle the princess set the table. The incident of her step-mother, may she rest in peace, turning her entire court and staff into trees made rehiring very difficult. Princess Snow didn’t mind setting the table, it reminded her of childhood tea parties. The memories of the princess guests judging her when she ate a cookie or scone wasn’t so nice. Snow accepted the past, forgave the foolish, remembered how Princess Katherine got kicked by a unicorn for being too boney and looked forward to her future.

“Have you thought about hiring elves? I hear they’re inexpensive.” Merlin said as he folded the napkins into swans.

“I sent notice, and I offered to pay them above the average non-human rate. Did you know Elves can catch all the same diseases we can and still don’t get health insurance?” Snow said, lighting candles.

“Shame. But they should be grateful at least one saintly princess cares.” Merlin said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

“Aww. Oh, thanks for getting Hans’ dish.” Snow said, raising the lid to see the home-rolled pasta Hans made. He rolled two different colored pastas to look like a candy cane swirl.

“Gladly. Do something for me, darling?” Merlin asked with a handsome smile.

“What’s that?”

“Cancel on Brute-a-chelli and enjoy a private dinner with me?”

“Merlin.” Snow said in a balanced tone.

“Whhhhhy are you making me hang out with the man who’s obviously still in love with you? How do you think that makes me feel??” Merlin whined.

Snow put a hand to her hip and raised her fingers as she made these points; “Okay, One; he’s not still in love with me, two: he’s a great guy I think you’d like after you get to know him, three: because I want to remain friends with Brutechel he needs to see the wonderful man I’ve chosen.”

The doubt that any man would be evolved enough to see his former love happy with a new beau ran deep in Merlin. He carefully considered choosing his words so he could squash her hopes in the most respectful route.

Snow placed her hands on his chest. “How about this? You really try to be nice tonight and after I’ll show you the flexible Valkyrie dress in my closet.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, “Bribe accepted.”

Brutechel brought a salad in what looked like a giant yak skull. Merlin didn’t like pesto but he generously complimented the inscriptions carved in the bone-bowl. Brutechel the Kittenish was an animal lover. He had a zoo of pets on his ship and more at home; all rescues. At age six he tamed a sabertooth tiger and dedicated the rest of his life to respecting and caring for beasts found during sailing by the family business. Officially the ‘family business’ was exclusive pottery and dishes from ‘recycled’ materials. The wizard found the doe-eyed Viking simple and boring. Merlin became less jealous the more Brutechel droned on about different feeding tests. To his joy he noticed Snow was only polite with the guest, she appreciated the kindness but was only just not asleep in her goblet.

“Oh look, the bottle’s getting low. Excuse me, I’ll grab a refill. Any preference?” Merlin merrily asked.

Brutechel took the last glup of his goblet. “More of this, please.”

“Yes, thank you.” Snow said, her porcelain cheeks a light pink.

Brutechel watched the skinny snob leave the room. He searched for his courage and gazed at the glorious queen before him.

“So how’s your cousin with the pegle-“

“Bunny, I love you!” Brutechel admitted, his eyes wide with seriousness.

A lump formed in Snow’s throat. “What?”

“I am crazy about you, so how about we leave and talk about the rest of our lives for the rest of our lives?” Brutechel said, leaned him large hands over to hold her.

Snow gently whacked them with her soup spoon. “Brutechel, no! How can you say that to me with my boyfriend around?”

“He’s not around now. And Bunny, come on, he can’t protect you from bears.” Brutechel said, surprised she wasn’t thanking him for the out from the malnourished lizard.

“Why do you always bring it back to bears?” Snow winced and raised her hands, “No, I am not engaging in this conversation again. I say no, Bea.”

“But he’s so…. Shrimpy!”

“He’s also kind and clever and cute in all the ways and I choose him.” Snow said, putting a hand over her heart.

Brutechel felt his heart drop. He looked over Snow’s shoulder to see the smug sorcerer dancing and meeting his eyes with a poking tongue.

“I’m not sorry, I love Merlin.” Snow continued, not aware in the slightest the Merlin was making insulting gestures of victory to the denied suitor.

“You sure about that?” Brutechel asked, growing agitated at the arrogant snake’s dance.

“Yes.” Snow said with resound certainty, “I love him with all my heart.”

Brutechel groaned, “I want you to be happy, Snow White. I should go.”

“I do want you to be happy too, Bea.” Snow said, she felt pity that such a kind soul hadn’t found his right person yet.

The Viking slung his bear-skin over his shoulder and said not to worry about returning the skull-bowl.

Slipping back to the pantry Merlin soundlessly stomped the floor in glee. He picked a random wine bottle, did a twirl, and swung his arms without shame. He had no idea the Dwarf Six were watching him under Jack’s invisibility cloak. He muffled their laughter and followed the goofy friend to the dinning hall entrance. Merlin exhaled his delight and put on a façade of indifference when he approached Snow.

“Here we are, darling. How’s your goblet, Brutty? Oh my goodness, where did he go?” Merlin asked in phony surprise.

“He said he had to turn in for an early sail.” Snow fibbed, her face a little slumped.

“I see. Oh, dear. I’m sorry you’re disappointed.” Merlin wasn’t completely fibbing.

“It's how it goes.” Snow said as he kissed the top of her head.

“It’s getting late, we can raincheck the skimpy outfit you promised me.” Merlin said, he was already happy with the night so he could extend the excitement.

“Really? Honestly yeah, I’m not feeling it right now.” Snow said, placing her napkin on her plate. “I’ll clean up if you get the pillows cleared off.”

“I’ll clean, you get the cuddle chamber ready.” Merlin said as he took Hans’ dishware to the kitchen. Placing the dish in soapy water Merlin caught his reflection in a shiny tea pot.

“Hello gorgeous,” Merlin said to himself, “The smelly beast is gone and now Snow can get Merlin’d happily.”

Lightly parting his hair Merlin noticed a figure on the slant of the teapot. Instinct had him swiftly crouch down and miss the blow of the sink-size mallet. Merlin jumped up to see Hans’ dishware was intact, good, and he slapped a spell-card on the assailant behind him. The man was four times thicker so there was plenty of target. Merlin slide to the side and clapped his hands for a blast of lightning.

Brutechel blew the smoke from the burnt spot on his pec. The blast stung like a bee.

“Okay, let’s talk about this.” Brutechel offered, he felt a bad sport to attack such a soft puncher.

“Oh lets.” Merlin raised more spells in his fingers, “You got dumped, I make Snow happier,”

The wizard said this as they walked around a kitchen island. “Brute, chum, you can leave with a smidgen of dignity and I can be alone with the woman I adore. Or I zap you until your thick skull is a soup bowl”

Brutechel scoffed as they circled the steak knife set.

“You have tricks up your sleeve where Snow lays out her heart. My Bunny doesn’t need that.” Brutechel said as he threw a ladle at the wizard’s head.

Merlin dodged the ladle and threw a lightning bolt at the Viking's face. The stubble wouldn’t kindle but the ungroomed eyebrows burned clean off. Brutechel grabbed the saucepan and swung it in his palm.

“From what I heard you haven’t a clue what she needs.” Merlin said, he held up his arms so her magic could block the blows. “And you are the worst listener!”

Braced for another punch Merlin felt winded when nothing met his sizzling force fields. He lowered his guard to see Brutechel kneeled on the floor, hands down at his side.

“Go ahead, demon-whisperer, take me out so my Bunny can live in peace.” Brutechel said sadly, offering his thick neck open to a strike.

“Oh get up. As much as I loathe hearing you call my love ‘Bunny’,” Merlin rolled his eyes and shook with revulsion, “it’s no sport to disfigure a martyr.”

Brutechel nodded at the reasoning. He stood up, a head taller than Merlin, and wiped his hands, “If I ever hear you hurt her, I will use your straw arms for oyster forks.”

“Sure. Want a meal for the road, er, sea?” Merlin offered, he pointed to the pantry of fresh vegetables.

“Oh come on!” An oh too familiar voice bellowed from the shadows. Merlin groaned with annoyance while the spooked Brutechel searched for the demon source. Arthur threw off the cloak and slapped Merlin’s thigh.

“Mate, if you don’t defend Snow-belle’s honor I will disown!” The cursed prince said.

“Demon!” Brutechel yelled, grabbing his mallet and aiming to smash the little green monster. The mini monster caught the mallet’s face and pulled it from the Viking’s hand.

“No, I wouldn’t do it right. You can go right ahead.” Merlin said flatly, the two lug-heads were already crashing and destroying the royal kitchen.

The rest of the group sat on the kitchen island, eating the leftovers. One of the triplets shook a dice inside a cup.

“Hey.” Jack nonchalantly said, signaling they would clean up before the sun rose.

“Hey yourself.” Merlin waved in a quiet thanks to his friends. He rolled his neck and walked to Snow’s bedroom.

A lit candle was left on her nightstand. Snow faced away from the glow as she slept. In the pajamas that matched hers Merlin slid between the sheets. He pulled her head under his chin and lightly ran his fingers over her skin.

“You took a while. I should’ve helped washed.” Snow yawned against his neck.

“You're fine, darling. You're perfect.” Merlin quietly told her, he snapped his finger and the flame sparked away.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                                     i’ll spend this summer by your side

{Lord Gendry Baratheon and Lady Arya Stark meet in Winterfell when they are just kids. Eventually, they grow up and the time for grown-up decisions comes. // a.k.a. gendrya arranged marriage childhood-friends-to-lovers au}

*ao3

*dedicated to the wonderful @yanak324​ - darling, without you I would’ve never written this fic, let along post it. thank you so much for everything <3

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter

Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter

Let it rain 'cause you and I remain the same

When there ain't a crack in the foundation

Baby, I know any storm we're facing

Will blow right over while we stay put

The house don't fall when the bones are good

- The Bones, Marren Morris & Hozier

A day’s ride away from Storm’s End, Arya falls asleep in a deep, damp forest that smells so much different than the ones in the North. With a crumpled-up letter underneath her pillow, she dreams of the summer afternoon many years ago – of when Gendry first arrived at Winterfell.

She was a child then, of course, but she remembers it surprisingly well; clutching on her mother’s skirts and watching, wide-eyed, a procession of horses and wheelhouses streaming in through the castle’s main gate. Robert Baratheon looked like a giant from Old Nan’s tales with his black beard and booming voice, and she had to tell herself to be brave many, many times before she managed to clumsily curtsy in front of him; anxiousness making her tremble, lose her balance and stain the hem of her dress with mud.

She recalls that Sansa giggled quietly under her breath while she gracefully dipped down, all auburn-haired and perfect. And Arya could just hear it perfectly clear in this laughter, her sisters’ and Jeyne’s dirty little horseface-s, murmured behind her back all day long, so she lowered her eyes as her cheeks reddened.

But then someone kneeled in front of her, taking her gloved hands in his. And when she raised her chin slightly, there was the bluest stare that she has ever seen, bright and clear and looking at her softly.

‘’Greetings, my lady. My name’s Gendry. Can I ask for yours?’’

Gendry. He looked far older than her, of Jon’s age. And he had the same kindness in his voice, the same warmth hidden somewhere in those winter eyes and that gave her all the courage she needed.

With back straight and head held high, she answered:

‘’Arya. I’m not a lady, tho. Don’t call me that.’’

Her mother hissed her name sharply and Sansa gasped, but none of that even mattered, as Gendry smiled. Still on one knee, he raised her right hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles delicately, just like stupid knights in Sansa’s stupid songs.

‘’As you wish, my lady.’’

***

He is to be fostered in Stark’s household, yet another one her mother had sighed, but with no malice in her voice. It is an honor, no matter how one looked at it and even Arya understands that. First Theon Greyjoy, brought by Father like a souvenir from Rebellion. Prince Jon next, on the insistence of his mother, the Queen, who wanted her son to grow up in the North as she did.  And then the heir to Lord Paramount of Stormlands, son of Father’s dear childhood friend.

Other boys give him some space to adjust to Winterfell and Sansa quickly deems him awfully gloomy and refuses to interact with him at all, her apparent delusions about finally meeting ‘’a true Southern nobleman ‘’ whatever that even means, shattered by Gendry’s stormy glare.

‘’I mean, he cannot even hold a proper conversation.’’ Arya overhears Sansa talking to Jeyne as they are sitting in the sewing room, embroidery hoops in their hands. That’s easily the most interesting thing Sansa has ever said around her.

But Arya herself is pretty curious about him. It is true, he looks gloomy and moody, he scowls all the time and doesn’t speak much at all, but so was Jon when he had first got here.  Maybe he’s just shy?  - she's wondering, although the notion does not work well with how he greeted her.

So, when she catches Gendry  alone one time during breakfast, just as he’s stuffing his face with oatmeal in a decidedly-unlordlike manner, she laces her fingers behind her back and asks him boldly:

‘’Do you miss your home much?’’

His chewing stops abruptly and he’s staring at her all surprised, his cheeks puffed out with food. He looks so comedic like that, that she feels a bubble of laughter buzzing in her throat, but she is determined to keep it there. Laughing at him now would be unkind and Arya wants to be kind to Gendry, the way he was kind to her in the courtyard. So she just hops on the bench next to him, uninvited, and waits patiently for him to swallow his oats.

‘’I- I don’t know, really.’’ He answers sheepishly at last, a little red on the face and still looking at her as if he was not sure what she’s even doing, sitting so close to him.

‘’You don’t know if you miss your home?’’ she repeats, bewildered. ‘’I would die if they made me leave Winterfell!’’

No doubt about it. Lyarra left some time ago, Sansa’s constantly moaning and whining about going South, to Reach or King’s Landing, and even  Robb has asked Father once or twice if he could go stay with their grandfather in the Riverlands -  but Arya’s of North. She was born here and here she intends to stay.

The corners of Gendry’s mouth twitch a little, as if he was fighting a smile.

‘’I miss my sisters a lot, but it’s enough of you that it almost feels like they were with me.’’ He explains. ‘’And it’s as beautiful here as in Stormlands, if not more. Even, if it’s so darn cold.’’

Arya's heart swells. No one has ever told her that they think North is more beautiful than South, not even Jon who just keeps on repeating that it’s decidedly less stinky than the capital.

‘’I think it’s beautiful too.’’ She admits quietly. ‘’Sansa says one day Father will have to marry me off to one of his bannermen, cause no Southern lord will want me, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. I never want to live in a place where there is no godswood. And I don’t want to marry anyway.’’

This time, he actually smiles at her and even chuckles for good measure.

It feels like an achievement, somehow.

‘’What do you want to do, then? If you don’t wish to marry?’’

Countless adults have asked her that before, but always in half-teasing, half-mocking tone, not believing any word she says. Gendry…  Gendry seemed to be actually interested in her answer. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and back bent so they are on the same eye level.

And once again, she is hit by how blue his eyes are. Her mother has blue eyes, same as Robb and Sansa and Bran and even baby Rickon. Arya’s living surrounded by the sea of Tully blue eyes. And yet, Gendry’s are more intense somehow, less washed-down.

‘’I’m going to go behind a Wall and be a spear wife. Or be an explorer, like Sea Snake or Elisa Farman.’’ She dreams about all that and more, about adventure and thrill. ‘’I’m gonna go to Shivering Sea and bring back an ice dragon with me, so everyone would know they really exist. I want to see the Wall and the Lands of Always Winter. ’’

She’s fully prepared for him to laugh at her. Everyone does. Even Father, even Jon, although their laugh is good-natured.

But Gendry doesn’t.

He just nods at her declarations and states:

‘’I don’t want to marry either, or to be a lord. If I could, I’d just be a blacksmith.’’

And just like that, suddenly, they are friends.

***

Sansa and Arya have their lessons separately of boys, probably to avoid subjects that may possibly wound their delicate young minds, but Arya keeps on begging Gendry long and hard enough that he gives in eventually and tells her more about Rheagar’s Rebellion, about Tourney at Harrenhall and The Great Conspiracy.

It is a little embarrassing, talking to him about all this, but less so if she touched the topic with Jon, who is always very tight-lipped about his parents. However, with years passing by, Arya begins thinking about her aunt more and more, with this kind of insatiable curiosity that surpasses any notions of being proper. Everyone knows that Rheagar Targaryen offered her grandfather a crown for his daughter in exchange for Rickard Stark’s men and loyalty. Everyone knows that Lyanna was promised to Gendry’s father at that time, but Lord Rickard, being an ambitious and reasonable man, agreed to Prince’s proposal, having easily calculated how far above Lady of Storm’s End is Queen of The Seven Kingdoms. Everyone knows of the Rebellion and King Aerys’ death and how Baratheons were the last ones to kneel in front of the new king.

The one thing that Arya wonders about is what exactly was Lyanna’s Stark position in all that.

Jeyne and Sansa and even Lyarra always make it into a song; of love forbidden, of blue winter roses, of Wolf Lady and Dragon Prince.

To Arya, it seems more mundane; more like a girl sold to the highest bidder.

‘’I met her, once.’’ Gendry tells her in Godswood, skipping rocks on the still surface of one of the hot pools. ‘’During the royal tour through Westeros.’’

‘’What she’s like?’’ she asks, hungry for details. Father never wants to talk much about aunt Lyanna. Jon rarely even mentions her name and every time he does, it is laced with such a desperate longing that Arya quickly learned to avoid the subject to spare him the hurt.

‘’Beautiful.’’ Gendry crunches on the bank of the lake, staring at the circles on the water. The cold breeze is playing with his dark hair, making it even messier than possible. He’s one and ten now, already taller than Theon and Robb and it doesn’t seem he’s about to stop growing any time soon. Standing next to him, Arya feels even smaller than usual. ‘’Dark-haired, long-faced. She looks like your father and you.’’

Her cheeks redden against her will. Many Northerners have told her that, which makes her head spin a bit, unsure how to imagine a woman who was somehow both beautiful and similar to her.

‘’Yeah, but I’m not asking about her appearance. I’m asking what she’s like.’’

Gendry ponders about her question for a bit, which she is well used to by now. He always takes his time thinking, making people call him stupid and slow behind his back. Which is both unfair and untrue – he doesn’t have a head for numbers like Arya or for houses and histories like Bran, but he is not dim-witted in any way. Especially when the issues of household management and smallfolk are concerned.  

I know he doesn’t want that, but he’ll make a wonderful lord one day, crosses her mind from time to time, watching as Gendry calls every single servant by their name and how he always remembers to pay a visit to the orphanage when they are in Winter Town.

‘’Sad.’’ He settles on, still avoiding her gaze. ‘’Kind and sad. For me, she looked quite lonely.’’

‘’How else can she look like? A wolf can never be happy in the cage. And I heard Father saying she has true wolf's blood, the way uncle Brandon had.’’ Arya doesn’t remember him well; he died when she was barely more than a child, slain while storming Great Wyk. His wife and daughter used to live with them a few years after he passed away, but then Lady Barbrey decided to go back to Rills to her father, so now even Lyarra is not around to remind everyone of Brandon’s hot-blooded nature and  Arya lost a partner in horse riding or secret archery lessons.

‘’Well, good luck to anyone ever trying to cage you.’’ Gendry says, playfully tugging on the end of her braid and making her shriek. ‘’You’re way too wild for that, Arya. Also, you’re all dirty from that leaves and we are already late for dinner, so enough of histories for now.’’

***

‘’One more time.’’ She orders, smirking, when the only answer she hears is a pained groan. ‘’Come on, you were the one who asked me to help you.’’

‘’It’s utterly embarrassing that you’re so good at this and I’m so hopeless.’’ Gendry fixes his stare on the parchment on the desk as if it personally offended him. ‘’These are just swimming in front of my eyes.’’

‘’Books are important.’’ Arya rests her cheek on the stone wall, letting it warm her skin pleasantly. ‘’If you don’t understand books-‘’

‘’-my liege lords will cheat me out of taxes, yeah, I know. But still. Can’t I just ask someone to check them for me?’’

‘’I suppose you can. If you trust this person enough.’’

Gendry sends her a side smile and leans back on his chair.

‘’Well, shame I don’t trust you then. As I don’t know anyone better at sums than you.’’

‘’Why don’t you trust me? How dare you even say so.’’ She presses her hands to her chest in fake-offense, deciding to ignore his praise. ‘’The audacity you have.’’

‘’Don’t play with me, Arry. You’re a terrible cheat. Especially at cards.’’

‘’It’s called strategy!’’

‘’Sure it is.’’

‘’It’s not my fault you are a sore loser.’’

‘’Only with you, my lady. Only with you. I wouldn’t be a sore loser if you were winning fair and square.’’

''Besides, I don't think it's really possible to cheat at monsters-and-maidens. Or come-into-my-castle.''

''And somehow you manage to do just so.''

***

Father lets Gendry work in the forge with Mikken sometimes when all his other duties are done, and Gendry simply loves it, loves it beyond all else – it doesn’t take a lot to notice that. Arya thinks him content enough most of the time, maybe even happy when he spars with Robb on the courtyard, warhammer against sword, or when he playfully wrestles with Bran and Rickon, always letting them win, or when he goes riding with Jon and they sneak her out so she can join them. But smithing, smithing is something else entirely.

‘’That’s just so common.’’ Jeyne Poole wheezes once, outraged, as Gendry passes them on a way to his chambers, soot coving his forearms.

Arya could just strangle her. Instead, she stops abruptly and stomps her foot.

‘’I don’t see how it’s something wrong. Other lords hunt with hawks or gamble – at least Gendry will do something useful at Storm’s End!’’

Jeyne opens her mouth and then closes it, clearly shocked. For a moment she seems to be looking for a good enough reply, but apparently comes short, because she eventually settles on gasping loudly and hurrying away, leaving Arya on the corridor alone.

Escaping from her embroidery lessons, Arya often goes to watch Gendry, as Septa Mordane would never even think of looking for her in the forge. So she has perfected sneaking in and perching on the workbench after discarding outer layers to bask in the heat.  They don’t talk -  to be honest, she is not sure he notices her much at all, too engrossed in his work. Surrounded by the sound of metal hitting metal and billows of smoke, Gendry looks so much different than he usually does, almost like he is some stranger.

Like he is a baseborn blacksmith, not a highborn heir to one of the Seven Kingdoms.

And Arya is wondering many times, as Gendry’s hammering hilts of swords with such force that the sound must be echoing through very bones of Winterfell; would they even meet if he was not nobility? If they both weren’t noble? For sure they wouldn’t, coming from where they come from, a whole continent between them. Even if they both were bastards (she scoffs internally at the idea; as if her father could ever have any children outside wedlock) she would be a Snow and he would be a Storm and bastard boys don’t get fostered, so they would never cross paths.

So, as much as she hates the notion of being a noble lady sitting idly and sewing all day long, she is grateful for being a Stark and she is grateful that he is a Baratheon. If only because she gets to sit between Gendry and Jon during meals and toss her greens onto their plates.  If only because she got to meet Gendry and to bicker with him and to see his smile.

On her tenth name day, he and Jon wake her up early and the first thing she sees is a short, narrow sword in Gendry’s hands.

‘’It’s – uhm, it’s for you.’’ He mumbles, his head low as he’s setting it on her lap.

Arya, breathless, runs her fingers along the hilt, tracing the elegant twist of silver metal. It’s perfect, it’s beautiful, it’s everything she has ever wanted. Sharp and slight, just like her.

Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a Needle of my own.

‘’It was Jon’s idea.’’ Gendry adds hastily, before she manages to open her mouth.

‘’Aye, but Gendry made it.’’ Jon smiles with this shy, gentle smile of his. ‘’Don’t sell yourself short.’’

‘’You… made it for me?’’ Arya lets out, bewildered. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she registers Jon’s ruffling her hair and wishing her happy birthday, but all she has eyes for are Gendry’s blushed face, his blue stare and grime underneath his fingernails that flashes when he fiddles with the pelt on her bed.

His hands. He made a sword for her with these hands.

Gendry just nods in reply, smiling.

‘’It’s mostly Mikken work, to be honest, I just helped out, so it should be- uff!’’

Arya has her arms around his neck before he can even finish the sentence, burying her face in his shoulder. When he tentatively hugs her back, she feels so, so happy she could burst.

***

Old Nan is saying to anyone who cares to listen that it’s the longest summer in the living memory and it feels like that sometimes, it really does.

After snows have melted and it got warmer, warm enough that even Northerners shed their furs and expose their pale skin to the sun, one sunny morning, all of them, Winterfell little lords and ladies, go to the hot pools.

It is Arya’s favorite day ever and remains so for many years to come.

Even Sansa comes, sweeter than usually and giggling lightly in her pretty periwinkle dress as she sits on the blanket and plays with Lady, who is desperately trying to catch the loose ribbons around her mistress’ wrists.  

Jon also doesn’t swim; he's just standing awkwardly in the shallow part for the whole time, refusing to go any deeper no matter how they all push and pull, Robb and Theon laughing at him as they cut through the water with ease. The direwolves are still just puppies, all adorably confused by the lake before bravely hopping in and paddling one by one around the edge of the pool - all but Ghost, who, mirroring his master, is deeply distrustful of going in. Instead of following, he opts for sniffling the cattails and stumbling on his little paws in haste to get away when his siblings climb out and shrug water from their fur.

Rickon jumps in with a wild roar, splashing everyone head-to-toe and diving to nip at their ankles until Robb loops his little arms around his neck and hauls him across the lake and back.

And Gendry grabs Arya by the waist and seats her on his shoulders, so that she can reach up and pick fluffy white catkins from the willow trees above them, gathering them in her palms before letting them scatter on his dark hair like snowflakes.  He holds her pale calves tightly, grinning up at her and avoiding incoming swimmers so she won’t fall into the water.

The air smells like grass and berries and lemon cakes; it’s vibrant with laughter.  Gendry’s wet hair sticks to his head after he ducks underwater with her still perched on his shoulders and she uses this moment to jump off, right underneath the surface. They meet face-to-face, bubbles of air escaping from the corners of their mouths, but he doesn’t see her; he’s keeping his eyes closed as he’s floating.

He’s smiling so widely that she’s afraid his cheeks will split.

When she reaches for his hands and his fingers immediately curl around hers, instinctively knowing it’s her without having to open his eyes, something beautiful and painful blooms in her chest for the very first time.

***

‘’Tell me, Arya, whom do you prefer, Jon or Gendry?’’ Bran asks her once when she is ten and two and she scrunches her nose at how weirdly this question is phrased.

‘’What do you even mean by that?’’

‘’Well.’’ Bran slides from the windowsill to take a seat in front of her, the abandoned board of cyvasse spread in between them. ‘’You know they will probably marry you off to one of them, right?’’

What.

‘’How do you know that?’’ she manages to stutter.  Marry... Jon?  Her? Jon has been like an older brother to her for so long that at some point she forgot he is actually her cousin.

And Gendry?

Gendry, a maiden’s daydream. Even Sansa can’t ignore him anymore and suddenly stopped complaining about his rough manners. Even Jeyne keeps her mouth shut now and turns red when he says hello to her.  He is too tall for that, too broad and too skilled with his warhammer. Whores in Winter Town fawn at the sight of him, making him walk with his head low when he is passing brothels.

Marrying Gendry would be-

No, just no.

‘’That’s obvious. They both seem to like you a lot, gods know why-‘’ Bran smoothly avoids her smack, leaning back on his chair and continuing his rant, ‘’- and with Sansa going to King’s Landing – well, I think Mother and Father would make a very smart deal, arranging your marriage with either of them. These are also the only betrothals you could possibly agree too.’’

‘’I would never agree to marry Jon.’’ Arya states, suddenly feeling hot. She keeps her eyes glued to the dices laying on the table, just not to see Bran’s mischievous eyes. She knows what he is going to say and he doesn’t prove her wrong.

‘’And Gendry?’’

Gendry; billows of steam around him.

Gendry; his chest glistening with sweat as he brings the hammer down.

Gendry; calling her ‘’my lady’’ and laughing as she gets mad.

You would like Stormlands, he told her once, when they were deep in the forest, looking for wild berries. It’s harsh in the same way North is.

But it’s too hot, she moaned in response. - Northerners were not made to live that far South.

You could also say Southerners were not made to live that far North, he countered, reaching for her hand and helping her jump over a toppled tree trunk.-  But I and your mother live here and we manage just fine.

Instead of answering, she silently stands up and leaves the solar, fuming,  with Bran’s triumphant laughter chasing her.

***

Arya hates passionately nearly all the female skills Septa Mordane tries to instill in her, be it riding sidesaddle, embroidery or the art of polite yet meaningless conversations - but there is one exception that makes all the difference.

Dancing.

She loves, loves dancing, and even tho those least proper are her favorite, she does not find it too painful to go through the most formal ones.  There is something about spinning and clapping to the rhythm of the music that reminds her very much of sparring with Bran, her Needle in her hand.

After all, sword duels do look like dancing at times, in cases when it’s more about swiftness and agility than brute strength. When she was ten, her father secretly hired her a Braavosi water dancing teacher and well, let’s just say that spinning has long become a natural way of moving for her.

Still, everyone is shocked when she takes to her dancing lessons with no complaining; more so, when in mere weeks she twirls around her teacher gracefully, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She’s good at that, effortlessly; for the first time in her life she truly good at being a girl, shutting everyone’s mouths and making Mother smile proudly in the same way she smiles when Sansa presents her with needlework – and it makes  Arya feel both weirdly unsteady and giddy.  To her delight, she manages to learn slower styles quickly enough, that soon she’s going through faster and more complex steps, never missing a beat, smiling widely at Jon who often offers to partner her.

There is nothing challenging for her about dancing, really.

Not until she gets to dance with Gendry.

‘’You’re such an oaf.’’ – she whines, trying to adjust his stiff grip on her waist. ‘’It’s not so hard, seven hells, let loose a bit!’’

And he just stares at her, wide-eyed and unsure like a newborn fawn. One could think that she has him on knifepoint, not in the empty chambers where she asked him to help her practice.

In the hindsight, she should’ve just waited for Jon.

‘’Didn’t they teach you to dance in Storm’s End? Didn’t they teach you here, with the rest of boys?’’ she asks as he steps on her toes for the fourth time, completely out of rhythm even though she counts it out loud for his benefit.

‘’They did.’’ He spits roughly in response, suddenly dropping her hands and turning his back on her.

Arya’s left standing frozen, her arms loose by her sides and mouth opened.

‘’What has gotten into-‘’

‘’What’s that dress?’’

She looks down at her gown. It’s an old one of Sansa’s, altered in order fit Arya’s shorter frame. She needs a dress to practice dancing well, unfortunately, so she’s taken to wearing them more often, and this one is not terrible. It’s fairly practical, without those stupid dragging sleeves or a train. Just yellow linen trimmed with white lace around the collar.

She thinks it’s quite pretty.

‘’What about it?’’ she asked, bewildered.

‘’How come you’re walking around now, wearing dresses and dancing? Though you did not want any of this?’’ He is still not facing her, so she cannot read his expression. But his voice sounds heavy and rough and so, so unlike his. ‘’Though it was not you. Have you forgotten? You’re not Jeyne or Sansa, Arya. ’’

There is silence stretching between them and for a moment, all Arya hears is the hum of blood in her ears, boiling with anger.

She crosses the room in two long strides and slams her fists onto Gendry’s back, furiously hitting him until he turns around and seizes her wrists.

‘’Ough, Arya, seven hells-‘’

‘’How dare you!’’ There are tears spilling down her cheeks, hot tears of anger, but she just doesn’t care because how dare he. ‘’You think – just because- you think it’s only for Sansa? That I cannot be good at anything like that just because I’m – I’m-‘’

Against her best intentions get drowned in sobs and suddenly she falls forwards into Gendry’s arms, her forehead pressed against his chest. He’s anxiously patting her back, mumbling to her to calm down, but all she can do is cry.

‘’Just because I’m ugly, do you think I cannot be any good in dancing?’’ she sobs, her voice drowned against the leather of his doublet and she gasps in surprise as he grabs her shoulders and tears her away from him, leaning down to look her in the eyes.

‘’Arya, what are you even talking about?’’ he whispers, clumsily wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘’You’re pretty. So pretty. How can you even – don’t listen to Sansa, gods.’’

Gendry is a honest lad. He does not really try to kiss anyone’s arse or  play pleasantries. He has also never been in  any way dishonest to her. But now… now he’s both serious and honest, as he, once again, takes her hands into hers and repeats, loud and clear:

‘’You are not ugly. Don’t ever think like that.’’

She bits on her lip, searching for any note of falsehood in his voice, on his face. But she comes empty-handed.

‘’So why did you get angry?’’ she asks quietly, lowering her eyes to their linked hands.

He also looks down, suddenly sheepish, with faint blush coloring his cheekbones.

‘’It was stupid. I was stupid, I’m sorry. I just thought that you’re not interested in – all of that. And that maybe now you decided to mimic other girls. Which you don’t have to do. Sorry.’’ He shrugs and Arya knows that if he had free hands, he would be scratching the back of his neck.

‘’I am not.’’ She admits. ‘’I’m not – I’m not trying to be Jeyne. Or Sansa. I still think most of those things that Septa Mordane teaches me are stupid. But I like dancing.’’ She pauses for a moment, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. ‘’And I like this dress. And I think – maybe I don’t have to be one thing only. Maybe I could be a good dancer and a good horse rider. And I don’t need breeches to be a good archer. Maybe... I could be just me. ’’

Mother would gasp at her logic, Father would shake his head with this kind, sad smile of his.

Gendry just nods slowly, straightens his back and pulls them into a starting position again, this time leading her on the floor with a grace she would never suspect he possesses. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reply to her words. He just smiles at her softly, his grip gentle, as they move through steps and figures. And she knows that he understands exactly what she means.

***

The night before Gendry leaves Winterfell, she jumps from under the covers the exact moment when Sansa starts to snore and quickly wraps herself up in furs to keep the chill away. The castle is quiet and basked in the light of the full moon; not that it matters in slightest.  She could probably make her way blindfolded, for how well she knows it.

She finds him exactly where she expected; he adds some extra logs to the fireplace in the forge, stripped to his shirt and breeches. When she loudly coughs to announce her presence, he swiftly spins on the balls of his feet and greets her with a smile devoid of even an ounce of surprise.

‘’Came to say goodbye, didn’t you?’’ she asks, trying to keep her tone light, but she obviously fails, cause his brow immediately furrows and the corners of his lips drop down.

‘’Yeah.’’ His voice is soft like kitten’s fur, softer than ever before. He sits on the workbench and motions for her to move closer. Settling on the worn-out wood, she feels something heavy dropping in her stomach. She has been in this forge a thousand times and more already, but without Gendry here, she will have no reason to come again.

It’s almost as if he’s to take a part of her home away with him.

She lays her head on his shoulder and he takes her hands in his (when did his hands grow so big, how did that happen?) and for a moment, they just sit in silence uninterrupted by anything except the crackling of the fire and the sound of their breathing.

‘’I’m gonna miss it so much.’’ He admits at last, keeping his head low as always when he’s being very serious.

‘’The forge?’’

‘’The forge, Winterfell. The North. Your family. Jon.’’ he counts down. ‘’Hmm, and I suppose I will maybe miss you. Just a little though. Finally, some rest from your blabber.’’

Arya gasps at that, showing him off the bench to the floor, where he lays, laughing.

‘’I do not blabber!’’

‘’You do, sometimes.’’

‘’I do not!’’

They shoot back and forth, until Arya quiets down and bites on her lip. No more bickering.

Her eyes sting a bit, so she closes them and flops down on the bench.

‘’Will we ever see each other again?’’ she asks, refusing to look at him and swallowing the bile in the throat. She instantly wishes she did not utter this question, because how will she make it through if he says they won’t?

But Gendry is Gendry, so he doesn’t.

He raises up on his feet and sits down on her right side, this time wrapping his arm around her and pressing her closer to him, so that her head is resting on his chest.

‘’We will.’’ He answers, full of will and conviction. ‘’I don’t think there is anyone who could stop you from doing what you  really want, Arya. So if you will ever want to see me, you will find a way. And I-‘’ he hesitates for a moment as if he was trying to phrase his thoughts in a right way. ‘’- and I will find a way to see you again too.’’

‘’Okay.’’ She says softly, gripping the material of his linen undershirt and pressing her nose to it, trying to memorize how he smells, how he sounds, how he feels, trying to burn it in her mind. ‘’Okay, Gendry. No goodbyes, then.’’

He rests his chin on her head and when he breaths out deeply, her stomach does a somersault. Suddenly, a thought crosses her mind like a flash;  how we must look like, sitting like this. What would someone say, if they saw us now?

But it quickly evaporates, when his lips brush her hair and she hears his whisper.

‘’Aye, Arry. No goodbyes.’’

***

To her despair, Jon soon follows Gendry; riding back to King’s Landing, he leaves behind a string of maidens with broken hearts and Arya’s parents pretending they were not trying to find an excuse to make him stay as long as possible.  And with his departure, things start to change for good right in front of her eyes.

For starters, for the very first time in her life,  Arya learns how terribly and crushing lonely one can feel in their own home, surrounded by their own family.  She has already flowered, meaning that even Father won’t allow her to roll in the mud with a training sword anymore – not that she would have any partners in that anyway, with Syrio Forell also leaving, claiming loudly that he’s ‘’too old for living in such a stern climate and freezing his bones off every night’’.

Margaery Tyrell comes to Winterfell, all pretty and smiling, her rose-embroidered dresses too light for the cold and her cheeks always rosy. And Robb falls, even Arya can see that - he falls so hard and quick that it seems almost unbelievable. Soon, he’s all for strolling around the castle, chest puffed like a peacock and his betrothed by his side, too busy with getting out of his skin to impress Margaery to even notice anyone else, let alone his little underfoot sister.

And Arya likes Margaery well enough, even if she’s instantly Sansa’s new best friend the moment she steps through the threshold (she’s kinder than Jeyne, at least) – but the whole flurry of wedding-related activity makes her sick, especially since she cannot sit in the back of the room with Gendry and make fun of all this pomp and extravagance.

Right before Robb’s wedding, Mother starts to get terrible headaches (the aftermath of raising too many children, she grumbles) and is often bed-ridden, which forces her to finally allow Father to send Rickon to Riverrun. He is to stay with uncle Blackfish for a while, with the hope that maybe it will temper his wild energy a little – fool’s hope, in Arya’s humble opinion, but it’s not like anyone asks her for it.

Bran squires for one of Stark’s bannermen and every free time he has, he devotes to visiting Greywater Watch and the Reeds.

Arya is deprived even of Sansa’s meager company as both her sister and goodsister are busy preparing a dowry for Sansa’s upcoming nuptials. Then Sansa goes South, as eagerly as possible, and the castle becomes ever quieter, unnerving Arya so that she feels she’s surely going to go mad.  Robb’s all Lord-like now, Margaery’s wobbling around pregnant and glowing and it’s all terribly, excruciatingly dull.

So Arya fills her days with silently sitting by Father’s and Robb’s sides as they ‘re taking petitions and lonely horse rides with Nymeria. The winter is truly and well coming now, so there is a lot of work with properly securing livestock and supplies coming from the Reach and every pair of hands is needed, even if hers are small and soft.  She goes to visit Lyarra and aunt Barbrey once or twice and tags along with Bran to meet his betrothed, Meera. She practices archery with Theon, bothers Winterfell’s staff for hours with no end and talks with smallfolk more than it is proper. Twice a week, there are kids in the Winter Town orphanage waiting for her to come and teach them letters and it’s honestly far more fun than she thought it would be.

However, there are letters of another kind that become her main source of entertainment; every day she nags Maester Luwin endlessly, inquiring about ravens and looking for them in the sky or locking herself up with ink and quills in her chambers, pouring all the unsaid words on the parchment.  

Jon writes often;  mostly narrations of his days at court and some amusing anecdotes about annoying nobles. His letters abruptly stop coming for four moons around a year after his departure and when they resume,  he is different. Head over heels in love and married.

To his aunt in fact, which would be a little weird in any other case, but Arya supposes they are Targaryens after all. Even if King Rheagar decided to try to stop the traditional inbreeding by sending for Northern bride for his eldest son and marrying Princess Rhaenys into House Tyrell, no one is really that shocked by Princess Daenerys giving her hand to Prince Jon, especially given that her brother, Prince Viserys, has been one of the victims of the Rebellion.

I heard she’s gorgeous. Congratulations on your marriage, Jon. – she replies politely to the announcement and buries her face in her hands, sitting still for hours afterward.

Dear Arya, I am so very happy, becomes an opening line of every Jon’s letter since then and it makes her oh so confused and even more conflicted.

She has taken to watching her parents closer than ever; observing how they speak with each other, how they seem to understand one another even without any words exchanged. How they stroll through glass gardens during sunny afternoons, laughing quietly.

Accidental marriage, that’s what we are, her mother said to Sansa once, forgetting that Arya was also present, which seems to be a theme for women in her family. I was to marry your late uncle Brandon and gods forgive me, I was not very pleased when I ended up with his brother, nor was my lord father. But it all turned out for the best. By the time I became Lady of Winterfell, I didn’t care much for the title at all. I just wanted to be by Ned’s side.

Arya knows she is well past betrothal age. She knows everyone is wondering why her parents turned every single one of her suitors down. She would very much like to believe that’s because they decided to let her never marry and stay in Winterfell forever like she has begged them for many years, but it’s been a long time since that afternoon game of cyvasse with Bran and she is nowhere as naïve now as then.

She is spoken for, promised to, even if silently, even with no one mentioning that at all. And she is still trying to figure out if it makes her angry or not at all.

She feels Father’s gaze heavy on her every time she makes her way into the Godswood, a letter pressed to her chest.

Gendry writes rarely and even when he does, his letters are shorter than Jon’s, which also makes them infinitely more significant. He is not a man of many words and he is very busy now – it is not spoken loudly, but it is practically a common knowledge that Robert Baratheon is well on his way to drink and whore himself to death, so any duties that Gendry’s mother was fulfilling during his stay in Winterfell  fell on his shoulders as soon as he returned.  Arya understands all of that. At the same time, she still selfishly wishes for more; she just misses talking to him, the banter and silliness and honesty – all of it. There’s no one else who gets her better. No one who takes her as seriously as he did.

So she dutifully sends her own letters every week, raven after raven, even when there’s not much to write about, and cherishes whatever reply appears.

One time, sitting in Godswood with Nymeria’s heavy head resting on her lap, she realizes that, at some point, all of it has stopped feeling like living; it feels like endless waiting, holding her breath.  She is still in Winterfell, but what good is that if everyone else is gone or different. Everyone seems to be moving on to some grand things, with only her stubbornly stuck.  

And then.

Do you think still that marriage is always a cage? Gendry writes to her exactly three years after he went away and Arya’s not stupid. She knows where this conversation would lead.

She just isn’t sure if she wants to actually have it.

I think there are cages in which one feels content. - she replies carefully, after trying out tens of different ways of conveying her thoughts and tearing them all into pieces.-  But I still think caging a wolf may not be the wisest idea at all.

That time, the letter from Storm’s End comes quickly, probably as quickly as the raven managed, poor thing.

She goes riding for half a day until she gathers enough courage to read it, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of parchment all spotted with fat blotches of ink, as if Gendry pressed his quill way too hard in several places.

Even wolves have their hunting grounds, right? Vast, with a lot of space to breath. Their pack around them, running together. Not a cage, but a home.

With her heart beating fast, she closes her eyes for a second. All of it feels so heavy, so final. Couldn’t they just go back to being children in Winterfell? Why must they all grow up?

It makes her so angry. Where are those summer afternoons, what happened with them – with Gendry’s hands innocent on her ankles, keeping her safe and secure?

But then she comes back to reading and gasps at the next paragraph.

Arya, I am no bard, really. You know that. Must we do it this way? I need a lady and miss you so much and gods damn me, if you weren’t always the only lady for me.  Come to Stormlands. Marry me. I promise, I will never cage you. You can call yourself a lord. You can call yourself a blacksmith’s wife. I don’t care. Please, just be with me.

‘’Stupid.’’ Arya murmurs under her breath, feeling fondness filling her head to toe. Gendry always had a way of making things simple, of making her feel at ease.

She looks out of the window; at the silent courtyard, empty, save for a few servants hurrying to the kitchens for their supper. She supposes she could stay here, or tell her parents she will marry close to home and come back as often as possible. She doesn’t have to leave or cross the entire continent.

But her days would be long and empty; her nights -  cold. She would feel like a tree with its roots unmovable, forever in Winterfell’s soil. Bored out of her mind and static. She would be content enough, probably, only it’s never what she wanted. What she wanted was an adventure –

And what is a bigger adventure than going South? Managing a castle the way she wants? Spending the rest of her life with her very best friend?

There’s also the issue of duty, of course. Her duty towards her parents, towards the North. As much as Arya hates politics, she’s aware of how powerful betrothals are. Marriages mean security and supplies and wellbeing of the Houses involves and those, who serve those Houses. It was a coincidence that Robb’s bride came from Reach just as the winter was about to come for good. And her marriage to Gendry would potentially bring many, many benefits for the North, for the still-too-empty coffers and stocks.

Besides. Much better her best friend than some random Northern lord, who would take her Needle away and delegate her to women’s quarters to bear one child after another and gossip with other ladies until her ears fall off. Gendry would never do that to her, of that she can be sure.

Maybe it will be summer again, by his side.

***

Arya likes long letters, rambling and elaborate.

But her last one is the shortest by far, sent just before she straightens her back and knocks on the door to Father’s study.

Dear Gendry,

Just to make it clear; don’t ever expect me to bow down to you.

But aye. I will marry you.  

Yours, Arya

***

Ned Stark listens to her words with a solemn expression on his face, but when she’s finished, the corners of his lips raise up slightly.

‘’I knew this day would come someday.’’ He sighs heavily, reaching for one of the parchments laying on his table and placing it in front of her, so she could read it. “This is what Robert left me, along with Gendry.’’

The contents of the letter make her eyebrows shoot up.

It’s a godsdamned, straight-up business proposal of Robert Baratheon to her father, asking him to consider marrying her or Sansa to Gendry. There’s a lot of bullshit about joining families and old history, because Robert is still beyond obsessed with aunt Lyanna, even after all those years.

But at the root of it, it looks like any trade agreement she has seen in her life. And that just makes Arya so, so mad.

‘’I’m showing it to you now, because I feel you have a right to know.’’ her father says, before she has a chance to respond. ‘’But I don’t think it should influence your decision. As far as I know, Robert did not mention his wish to his boy either, which means you two chose each other on your own free will. That’s a good groundwork for marriage, Arya.’’

Does free will really exist?  - she wants to ask him, anger dying down into something akin to cool resignation in her gut. – Will I marry Gendry out of any feelings I might have for him, or out of loneliness or lack of a better alternative? Or maybe because it will make you and Mother happy? Does it even matter?

Ultimately, in a world she lives in, it doesn’t. So she closes her mouth and nods slowly when Father asks her if he should write to Lord Robert officially.

She just wishes it wouldn’t feel so bitter.

‘’Do you think we will work well? Together?’’ she asks quietly just before leaving the study and this time her father chuckles, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

‘’Aye, in fact. I do, Arya. I like this lad.  And he always smiles around you and you only.’’

***

So now she’s where she is,  Storm’s End on the horizon and anxiousness bubbling in her stomach.

Mother forced her into a proper gown in the morning, deaf to Arya’s arguments that Gendry has already seen her in breeches and linen shirts and still asked her to marry him, so she does not need to be all dolled up. At least the dress is nice – forest green, embellished with golden embroidery and with a corset that somehow allows her to breathe.  It, unfortunately, shows off more cleavage than she’s comfortable with, but she supposes it couldn’t be allowed with those stupid Southern fashions. She braided her hair herself – it’s so long now that it reaches the small of her back, so she opted for a simple Northern style, nothing too fancy, even accounting for the yellow ribbon woven through it. Her hands are clean, nails trimmed. She supposes she looks pretty, as much as she can.

She’s no Sansa. But, as far as she knows, Gendry never wanted Sansa anyway.

Why am I so nervous?

It’s just Gendry.

Three and a half years. How much did he change during that time?

How much did she?

They open the gates for them and suddenly she is the one riding into a courtyard of a foreign castle that she’s now supposed to call her home. I should’ve asked him how it felt like for him.

Storm’s End is just one drum tower, unlike any other holdfast she has ever seen. But it’s a very tall tower, she’ll give it that. It shoots up into the sky like a giant’s fist, the tip of it seemingly tearing through grey clouds above them.

Only Hightower in Oldtown is taller, as far as the towers go. Quality over quantity. -  Bran said to her cheekily sometime before she left Winterfell. –  I heard Lord’s chambers are up on the very top; you will have a nice view of the sea. It must feel like sleeping in a nest.

This castle fits Gendry somehow, with its strong, simple build. There are no frivolities in the grey walls, only endurance. Not a single unnecessary element, just brick and mortar and magic that helped it survive centuries and centuries. Solace and safety.

Arya thinks that even if she cannot love it like she loves Winterfell, she can at least respect Storm’s End for this one reason.

The whole staff stands in the half-circle around them, lowering their heads and curtsying when they dismount. Mother has insisted on coming, despite her aches – maybe because she still doesn’t seem to be very convinced Arya has actually agreed to marry someone – so she slowly and stiffly emerges from the wheelhouse. And Arya stands still, reigns in her hand and her eyes glued to the ground, because if she dares to look up – if she even steals a glance –

But before she can make that decision by herself, someone kneels on the gravel in front of her, making her stupid heart beat faster in her chest.  Of course, of course, he does that, because he is one big, stupid oaf.

‘’Hello, my lady.’’

Despite her best efforts, her lips curve into a smile and she lets him take her hand.

Gendry Baratheon’s voice is still warm and deep, and his eyes are still bluest she has ever seen.

But when he kisses her knuckles… oh, they are truly grown now. And betrothed to each other.  And it all comes crashing down on her suddenly, this realization.

He’s going to marry me. I’m going to marry him. Oh, gods.

Her panicked train of thoughts is interrupted by the collective gasp of gathered people when something big and grey moves from her side and pounces on Gendry, making him lose his balance and land on his ass on the ground.

Arya’s honestly a little bit annoyed with Nymeria, because the way she behaves is just ridiculous. She’s supposed to be this proud, scary direwolf, reminding those damned Southerners that Arya remains a Stark no matter what, that she has North in her blood and her very bones. She is supposed to be wild and untamed.

Instead, her horse-sized wolf hops in circles around Gendry, wagging her tail like an overly-excited puppy, not letting him stand up, before and resting her front paws on his chest, tongue lolling out and begging for scratches behind her ears.

And Gendry complies, laughing when Nymeria licks his face and patting her head.

‘’Hello, girl! Missed me much? You’ve gotten so big.’’ He coos at her as if she was a babe and, in the corner of her eye, Arya sees shocked expression of a petite blonde woman who surely must be Gendry’s mother, given the finery of her gown and how she immediately schools her features, and  curtsies gracefully in front of Father, along with three dark-haired girls surrounding her.

Aelin. Lara. Elinor. My soon-to-be-goodsisters.

‘’Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn. Lady Arya. Welcome to Storm’s End.’’ Lady Isabelle Baratheon greets them politely, pointedly ignoring the fact that her son has just been tackled to the ground by a direwolf.  Lacing her gloved hands in front of her, she fixes her bluebell eyes on Arya, surveying her head to toe, until Arya starts to sweat under her stare. ‘’I am afraid my Lord husband is unwell right now and he is not able to attend to you properly. However, I hope that he’ll be able to join us at supper. Please, take your bread and salt.’’

Gendry, back on his feet after finally managing to untangle himself from an overenthusiastic Nymeria, stands by his mother’s side and bows deeply in front of her parents, giving her opportunity to see him better.

Those few years only did him good.

He’s so tall now; he has always been taller than all of Starks, even when they were kids, but now he positively towers above her and Mother, standing even higher than Father. When in Winterfell, other boys called him The Bull and the reasons for that also did not change. His chest, his shoulders, his thighs – all broad and muscled; Gendry could’ve been as well chiseled from solid stone. He’s still got those disheveled black hair, only now paired with a neatly trimmed beard. But his eyes are still as lovely and blue as in her memory, shining, when he steals a glance at her.

He looks more or less the same, truly. Only, either he got even more handsome or she just views him all differently now, because seeing him kissing her mother’s hand and hugging her father makes her feel all funny inside.

‘’Well then, shall we go inside? There is a lot of things to discuss.’’ Lady Isabelle says and something heavy like a stone lands in Arya’s stomach.

***

It seems like her wedding will be the event of the year, which should not surprise her but still somehow does.

Due to the fairly convenient location of Storm’s End and early announcements, nearly all Lord Paramounts of Seven Kingdoms confirmed their presence and Martells are sending Prince Trystane and Prince Oberyn which honestly is probably even bigger honor. Nearly all Tyrells apparently decided to show up, just for the kick of it. The King takes both of his queens with him and of course, Prince Aegon and Sansa will travel from Dragonstone to be earlier than the rest of the guest so that her sister could help with preparations.

Even Gendry’s gruff uncle Stannis will be there and he hates parties.

The pomp and extravagance are simply beyond everything Arya has experienced so far and she’s suddenly hit hard with realization how truly alien the South really is, compared with the stern, simple North. Nobody even thought of suggesting serving a baked swan at Robb and Margaery’s wedding. Arya’s need half a dozen apparently, paired with trays full of bloody oranges, lemons, and pomegranates, with stags made from sugar, towers of cookies and a truly monstrous meat pie.  There is to be a troupe of entertaining fire-eaters for gods' sake, and gods only know who will pay for it all.

All this talk about guests, their seating and stomachs does nothing, but makes Arya feel vaguely sick. She’s stuck at Lady Isabelle’s solar with her mother and soon-to-be goodmother for hours, completely mute after requesting for Jon and his wife to be seated not far from her. All she has left to do is half-seriously contemplate if vomiting on Lady Isabelle’s yellow silk slippers could potentially win her at least a day of solitude.

She would be happy to see Jon and to meet Daenerys and aunt Lyanna. And to finally reunite with Rickon, who’s coming with the Riverrun delegation. But that’s about it.

Oh, and she would also be very happy to see her fucking betrothed since she’s not seeing him now at all. So far, they barely had time to exchange a few words during meals, not even coming closer to the topics they actually should talk about.

Which is the fact that they’re getting married.

It’s not any more real now. Her mother asks her to choose between identical shades of white Myrish lace and Lady Isabelle regularly has a breakdown about the potential of rain on the wedding day, and the whole ordeal still seems like something out of the dream.

So she feels she should really just sit down and talk with Gendry as long as it takes until she feels grounded again.

Besides… she misses him still. And now she doesn’t even have letters to fill that void.

So, when one morning Gendry gently grips her wrist under the table when they break their fast and slips a note in-between her fingers (my lady, if you can sneak away from our mothers, I’ll be waiting in the stables), Arya almost shrieks with relief.

She quickly makes up some lousy excuse about her moon blood coming soon and feeling rather weak today, which works smoothly without any questioning from Lady Isabelle and makes Mother narrow her eyes in suspicion, but ultimately grants her freedom to hide her face under the hood and make her way through the Storm’s End crowded courtyard relatively undisturbed. Every step makes her stomach twist in anticipation; half-nervous, half-excited, she finds Gendry alone, standing next to a saddled black horse and speaking to it softly while feeding it a carrot.

He used to give treats to horses in Winterfell too,  she recalls fondly, pleasantly surprised with how relaxed she suddenly feels.

‘’Hey, Gendry.’’ she calls him softly, grinning as he stumbles on his feet while turning to her.

‘’Hi, Arry.’’ he responds with the old moniker he once gave her, and it makes both of them smile wider. ‘’You escaped my mother alright?’’

‘’Yours was not a problem. Mine might suspect something tho. By dinner I should be in my chambers, abed.’’ Arya steps a bit closer, her eyes wondering in awe as she takes the sight of the horse standing next to Gendry. ‘’Gods, who’s that beauty? Hello, sweetling.’’

She presents her open palm for the horse to sniff, while Gendry snickers:

‘’Knew you’d like him. That’s Thunder and he’s mine. So you might want to make acquaintance. ’’

‘’Lame name, if you’re asking me.���’ She gently runs her hand along the horse’s neck, enamored by his silky black mane and fine posture. ‘’But I guess it fits your whole Baratheon image.’’

‘’Wait till you see him run. This stupid name is not completely baseless. ’’ he shots back, with no bite in his words whatsoever. If anything, he just sounds fond.

‘’I assume you’re taking me for a ride then?’’ she asks, tearing her eyes away from the animal to look at Gendry.

In the half-shadow of the stables, she cannot see his eyes clearly, but, when he slowly laces his fingers with her, it tells her everything she needs to know.

‘’Would you like to get away from this madness for a while and see a little bit of Stormlands?’’

And to that, she cannot do anything but squeeze his hand and say aye.

***

Gendry was right, all those years ago; leaving all the fancies and properties aside, Stormlands are alike to North in a way indeed.

They ride through thick forests, soft-green and quiet except for the sound of the hooves of their horses. Instead of talking, they sink into a familiar silence, not feeling the need to fill it with words when they can just -

Be next to each other.

And then Gendry leads Thunders through the clearing, moving in-between trees until they find themselves on the open field at the edge of the cliff overlooking Shipbreaker’s Bay; the waves angrily hissing, as they break over rocks down below and clouds gathering on the strangely yellowish sky above.

It’s raw and wild and so beautiful it almost takes her breath away.

‘’Hey, Arry! Better catch up!’’ Gendry shouts suddenly and then Thunder shoots forward, passing Arya on her brown mare and soon leaving them far behind as he gallops along the ridge.

For a heartbeat or two, she sits completely still, breathing in the salty air and watching Gendry’s broad back getting smaller and smaller; she can feel the corners of her mouth rising up until she has a full-blown smile on her face. She lets the moment last.

And then she presses her heels to mare’s sides and follows.

The wind is whizzing in her ears as she rises up from the saddle, leaning along the horse’s neck and forcing her into a gallop, gallop as fast as she can. This is her favorite part, the one she can never get enough of; the sky, the grass, the sea – everything disappears. There is only cold biting her face and mare’s muscles dancing underneath her skin and Gendry’s breathless, booming laughter as she appears by his side. He pulls on the reigns of Thunder to regain the advantage, but even though his horse is swift and strong, Arya is way lighter and, between two of them, she has always been a better rider.

So they gallop together, so close to one another that it’s reckless as seven hells, the hooves hitting the ground in unison and their eyes locked. Arya thinks they could’ve run like that for a thousand years or more, but then, out of the blue, lightning splits the sky and rain starts pouring down mercilessly, immediately plastering clothes to their skins and making horses neigh and stumble at the loud boom of the thunder.

‘’We’ve got to wait it out, follow me!’’ Gendry’s voice is almost drowned by the noise of the storm, but fortunately, she remains close enough to hear them. Her mare dances in place nervously until Arya manages to calm her down and steer her behind Gendry, deeper into the land and back to the forest.

They find shelter in a cave; with its entrance half-covered by the vines and damp stone walls spotted with moss, it’s surprisingly comfortable. At least it’s dry, for what Arya’s more than grateful. She can already feel the cold rainwater freezing her to the bone and her teeth are clattering as she jumps from the panicked horse and pats her neck with stiff fingers.

‘’Hush girl, it is all fine. We are fine.’’

Thunder is pacing back and forth along the wall, only calming down when Gendry roughly grabs the reigns and whispers something into the horse’s ear. Soon, Arya’s mare neighs quietly and joins him to munch on some of the grasses growing in-between rocks.

Arya lets her go, herself still remaining near the opening of the cave, shifting on her feet to get warmer and rubbing her arms.

The rain falls so hard now that it sounds like a waterfall and, as she raises her eyes to Gendry and meets his stare, she realizes that she got her wish.

They are alone now. Completely, absolutely alone.

Both of them take the step forward at the same time.

‘’Fuck, you’re soaked. Now, take my coat.’’ Gendry’s tugging on the laces of his fur-lined cloak and throwing it on her shoulders before she can even protest. His hair is plastered to his head just like in pools in Godswood and, for a second she finds herself enchanted by the way raindrops drip down his face, along the line of his jaw.

‘’No, you’re cold too.’’ She shots back, grabbing his hands in hers, meaning to rub them together as she used to with Rickon’s and Bran’s in the North. But somehow, miraculously, Gendry’s skin is wet but still warm and she yelps in surprise, his heat making her fingers tingle.

He grins at her smugly.

‘’No, I’m not. What did you say about South being too warm for you, my lady?’’

‘’It is too warm.’’ She huffs in annoyance, trying to gather the will to drop his hands down and not finding it. ‘’But it’s hard not to get cold in a godsdamned thunderstorm. Should’ve known you’d be abnormal.’’

‘’I got caught in the storm too many times to be much affected by it.’’ He shrugs. ‘’Got used to. To be honest, they may be more sudden and vicious than the ones in the North, but you will see that they last far shorter.’’

‘’I didn’t know they sky can turn such a color.’’ She observes, stealing a glance outside behind her shoulder. ‘’It looked almost yellow before it turned dark.’’

‘’How do you think, where did Baratheon colors came from? We took them from Durrandons, who took them from the Stormlands’ sky before. Gods, you really should’ve dressed warmer.’’ Arya bites on her lip just in time to keep the gasp from escaping, as Gendry raises her hands to his lips and blows on them.  Hot air of his breath warms her palms and then travels through her veins; to the tips of her fingers, to her wrists and the crook of her elbows, to her neck and face, making her tremble slightly.

‘’You still have the smallest hands I’ve ever seen.’’ he grumbles, his thumb tracing circles on her skin.

‘’My hands are not small. Yours are just too big.’’

‘’Blacksmith’s hands. Mikken has always used to say so.’’ he recalls sadly, gleam disappearing from his eyes as he leans on the wall of the cave.

‘’You’re not working anymore?’’ she unlaces their fingers in favor of wrapping his coat tighter around her and moving closer to his side. ‘’In the forge, I mean.’’

He just shakes his head.

‘’Don’t have time to. Storm’s End… there’s a lot of things to fix, if I’m being honest. ‘’ his Adam’s apple bobs and Arya really wishes he wasn’t so tall, because then she could see his face better. ‘’And I really hope I can be honest with you, Arya.’’

‘’Of course you can.’’ she’s almost offended he can even think otherwise. ‘’We’ re-‘’

Friends, she wanted to say we’re friends, but we aren’t anymore, are we?  We are betrothed.

‘’Friends.’’ Gendry finishes instead of her, turning his head to lock his eyes with hers. ‘’No matter what, we’re friends first. And.. uhm… everything else…  next.’’

It’s quite dark in the cave, but even in the shadows, she can see blush blooming on his cheekbones. And maybe this sight of vulnerability gives her the final push to ask the question that has been burning in her gut far longer than she cares to admit.

‘’Why do you want me to be your lady, Gendry? You could’ve tried for Sansa’s hand. Or any of the Stormlands’ ladies. Hells, even Princess Daenerys or Jon’s younger sisters, if you were quick about it. Why me?’’

Rain’s still pouring down outside, but it does not matter, cause Gendry’s voice is nowhere as quiet and tentative as hers.

‘’You still have no idea, don’t you?’’ he chuckles, leaning his head back against the rocks and raising his eyes to the stone ceiling. ‘’Gods, Arya, I don’t know even where I should start. You’re - you’re so smart. No one has your head for numbers. And you are an excellent horsewoman. Not to mention a great archer. And undefeatable with your Needle. And you care so much for people! I mean, do you even notice that? You have such a big heart for everyone. You want to take care of those around you, even those lowest. You-‘’

‘’Stop it!’’ she raises on her toes and presses her hands to his mouth, silencing his words. She has never heard Gendry saying so much at once and she has definitely never heard him praising anyone the way he just praised her. She can feel her whole face burning.

Gendry’s blue eyes gleam like twin gemstones. He slowly raises his own hands and grips her wrists, pulling them down from his face.

‘’Will you let me continue?’’ he asks softly, but it does not sound like a question at all. One of his arms sneaks around her waist and he lowers his head so now they’re standing pressed to each other, nose-to-nose. She can see drops of rain sticking his eyelashes together. ‘’You are the strongest, bravest woman I know. The most willful. Most – most beautiful.’’

Air escapes from her lungs. Beautiful. Beautiful. He called me beautiful.

With his other hand, he cups her face and she can see his eyes hesitantly searching for any sight of discomfort from her part, but he will not find any.

There is no discomfort in Arya.

She is no scared.

All she feels is warmth, warmth engulfing her head-to-toe. Warmth like the forge in Winterfell, cause Gendry’s embrace doesn’t feel like anything else but home.

You chose each other. That’s a good groundwork for marriage.

She crooks her head slightly, letting her cheek fully lean against his palm. Still, in silence, her lips part as he rests his forehead against hers.

‘’I was not lying Arya, when I told you I don’t want to be a lord.’’ His voice drops to the lowest of  whispers. ‘’And after seeing how it looks like here, I definitely didn’t change my mind. The only way I will manage to do it, is with you. Nobody else, but you. Will you be the lady of those lands with me?’’

‘’I’ve already told you, stupid.’’ She huffs, placing her own hand on his cheek and smiling. ‘’I’ve already said yes. To you and to everything. But I hope you know, I’ll be the real pain in your arse.’’

‘’Ha, I know that.’’ He chuckles. ‘’That’s the only thing I’m sure of.’’

‘’What would you promise me in return?’’ she asks playfully, biting on his lips and watching as his eyes darken.

‘’Well, what would you want me to?’’

‘’Humor me. I’m giving you my hand, it better be something nice.’’

She’s thinking they surely must look like idiots, holding each other’s faces and smiling at each other, close enough that they share air and their noses bump.

But she just can’t seem to mind that.

‘’I promise to always be true to you.’’ His voice is like laughter and sun and weirwood leaves; his voice is like gravel on the Winterfell courtyard and the smell of the forest, the sound of waves crashing on the cliff. He is both the most familiar and the most unknown and there is nothing that Arya doesn’t feel when he whispers; ‘’To love you and to keep you wild. ’’

***

Sansa and her husband arrive two weeks before the wedding and her sister takes maybe two steps out of the wheelhouse before Mother runs to her and wraps her arms around her, Father soon following.

Arya watches the whole meeting from the sidelines, standing next to Gendry and trying not to bite on her lip too much. Sansa’s even more beautiful in her memory; she seems to be glowing from inside out the way expecting women are supposed to.

But well. She was always an expert in doing things she’s supposed to do. Why would pregnancy be any different for her?

Prince Aegon also remains in distance to the general merry-making, instead politely greeting Lady Isabelle and Lord Robert, who was wheeled outside on a chair, and whose head sags against his chest as if he was far older than he really is. Arya honestly admires Prince a little bit for coming so close to him, even going as far as kneeling on the ground to make talking to him easier. Robert Baratheon makes her feel a lot of things, pretty much none positive; and her general opinion of him is not improving due to the way his bloodshot eyes follow her every movement whenever she’s around him, a weird mix of nostalgia and desire written on his face.

Robert may hate all Targaryens with burning intensity, but apparently even he is not stupid enough to be rude to the Heir to the Iron Throne. Or maybe he doesn’t have the strength to be, gods only know. Anyway, he seems to be talking with Prince Aegon quite politely, every second word interrupted by the fit of coughing.

Arya thinks she’s probably staring at him a little too intensely, but she cannot help her curiosity; because she did not attend Sansa’s wedding, this is the first time she’s meeting her good brother. And what a sight he is – tall and lean like a willow tree, fair-haired; slim where Jon is broad, lithe where Jon is bulky. One would never guess they are half-brothers.

Where Prince nods his head in front of her, she notices his beautiful blue eyes, darker even than Gendry’s; like the evening sky long after sunset.  

“Arya.’’ Sansa calls for her from Father’s embrace, a small smile on her blushed face and her hands cupping the slight bulge of her belly. ‘’It’s so nice to see you, sister! Please, come closer.’’

Is it really? Arya almost scowls, but Gendry lightly pinches her side before she has a chance to and offers her his arm and, when they’re crossing the courtyard together, she’s feeling strangely giddy. Gendry’s wearing this doublet she likes, the one with claw marks along his shoulders (being subtle has never been his strongest suit) and it’s so good to be by his side, his longer strides matched with her quicker ones.  Marveling at that, Arya manages easily to kiss Sansa’s cheek and politely congratulate her on her pregnancy. She thinks she could even, maybe, possibly, do a little wedding-related small talk on her own free will… just as long as Gendry would be holding her hand the whole time.

***

When Sansa asks her to take a walk around the castle’s gardens, she does not think much of it. Maybe Mother asked her to, maybe she wants to gloat a little, or maybe she lacks female companionship. There could be a number of reasons, all ultimately unimportant.

At first, it goes as expected; they stroll agonizingly slow, Sansa babbles excitedly about the wedding and her babe and how beautiful Dragonstone is and everything else, and Arya listens to her quietly, trying not to look as bored as she is.

But then Sansa sits down on of the benches, taking yet another break. She quiets down for a moment, before lacing her hands on her lap.

‘’Are you in love with him?’’ she asks suddenly, her voice low and serious; a far cry for her previous cheerful tweeting. She keeps her eyes glued to the ground and refuses to meet Arya’s confused stare.

And Arya is simply dumbfounded. Not only to hear this question from Sansa, of all people, but to hear it at all. No one ever wonders about being in love. It’s a silly fancy for women of their kind and even Sansa, so enamored by the tales of knights and fair ladies must already know that. Love is something that one can wish for, but it’s not an end goal. Even Mother and Father have never mentioned it. Gendry and Arya like each other a lot, enjoy each other’s company, are of an equal station and actively asked to be matched, so it was far more than enough for them to be married.

But Sansa is asking about something else entirely. And so Arya finds herself quite at loss to what to say.

‘’I’m not.’’ – she says at last, deciding on the most honest answer she can think of. – ‘’But I think maybe I will be. One day.’’

‘’But you love him, don’t you? And even if you don’t, you know him. You know…’’ Sansa pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. – ‘’ I am so very jealous of that. Have been, since the moment I realized you will be married to him one day. I met Aegon a week before we were wed and did not know a single important thing about him.’’

The sea breeze plays with stray pieces of Sansa’s beautiful auburn hair and the fringes of her scarlet dress. With her swollen belly and porcelain skin, she’s stunning beyond belief, just like she has always been. And yet, she’s sitting here and telling her, little Arya Horseface, that she’s jealous of her.

When Arya looks at her, really, truly looks at her beyond the perfect exterior Sansa pulls off so well, she notices a few things she has never bothered to see.

There is an unhealthy paleness of her sister’s cheeks and the sheen of sweat on her brow even though they were moving at the snail’s pace during a relatively chilly morning. The Targaryen red shade of the velvet of her gown crashes terribly with her hair. She looks-

Honestly, she looks unhappy.

‘’I still feel like I don’t know him at all.’’ Sansa adds quietly, putting her hands on her belly delicately. ‘’But you two grew up together and he was always so obviously fond of you. Didn’t even spare me a glance, same as Jon. I don’t know if Father intended one of them for you from the beginning, but even if he didn’t, it was soon decided.’’

And of course, Robert Baratheon wanted a Ned Stark’s daughter to marry Gendry right from the start.

Arya thinks about Bran’s absolute conviction, aligning now with Sansa’s words. Was it truly so transparent for everyone, that only she couldn’t see it?

But then again, Arya never wondered much about betrothals and marriages when she was a kid, definitely not even half as much as Sansa. So maybe she just never bothered to notice the clues right in front of her.

How Mother never forbade her running around with Gendry and Jon, long after it stopped being proper. Why would it matter if she got ruined, if it was by her future husband?

How Father turned his eyes away from Arya’s sneaking out to ride with Gendry through wolfswood and how he never said anything against him giving her piggyback rides to her chamber after the supper.

Arya opens her mouth and closes it back, finding no good answer to Sansa’s words.

‘’I think he hoped for either of us to marry him.’’ she says slowly, carefully. ‘’Because Gendry’s Robert’s son. But I’m sure at the beginning he was thinking about you more than me.’’

‘’He won’t be a bad husband to you. He wouldn’t be bad for me also, I’m sure.’’ Sansa chimes and Arya suddenly feels quite faint. Gendry marrying Sansa. How would that feel like? Would she feel anything at all, watching the two of them in front of Septon? Maybe not, if she didn’t know how it feels to stand in his arms, his body so warm and strong against hers. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

‘’But Aegon’s obviously a better catch.’’ somehow, Arya’s statement sounds more like a question.

‘’Oh, he is.’’ Sansa’s giggle is as delicate and lady-like as possible. But the scowl on her face isn’t. ‘’True prince from my dreams. I’ll be his Queen someday, just like I always wanted. What an honor.’’

Her words sound empty. Her eyes are empty; two blue glass marbles set in a lacquered mask.

It’s a particularly pretty spring morning. Soon, they will both go back to the castle and Sansa will surely throw herself into choosing right flowers for the ceremony or pleasantly chat with Lady Isabelle and Gendry’s sisters about the weather for hours with no end. During supper, she’ll sit by Prince Aegon’s side and smile politely, eat like a bird and retire to her chambers early.

But for now, Arya’s standing in Storm’s End gardens in front of her beautiful older sister and, for the first time, pities her.

And maybe it’s just enough for her to bury all the resentment she feels for Sansa deep enough to sit on the bench next to her and lace his fingers with her.

Just enough, that when Sansa’s eyes widen in surprise and her hand twitches in her grip, Arya doesn’t let go.

***

Three days before wedding, they sneak out again; this time, to the beach below the castle.

There’s Gendry, his eyes laughing, his cheeks pink from harsh sea breeze; his pants cuffed so the material won’t get wet in the shallow water, standing next to her and showing her ships sailing somewhere in the distance.

And there’s also this insistent, dangerous thought that keeps on blaring in her mind on repeat ever since they left that cave.

Kiss me.

Kiss me, kissmekissme

She bites on her lip just to keep this plea inside, but he notices, of course he does, cause he is infuriating like that; how can one man be so absolutely dense one second and then suddenly turn perceptive like a hawk?

‘’What?’’

She lowers her gaze to her feet. Pale and submerged, they look like weird fishes.

‘’What, what?’’

‘’What’s going on?’’

The seagulls are shrieking, but it’s nowhere loud enough for her not to hear the sounds coming from the castle. Horses and people and everything. All this fucking noise.

Water splashes around Gendry’s ankles as he moves closer to her. She takes a step back, but he sneaks an arm around her waist, keeping her in place.

He’s so warm. Against sea and wind and sky, he is the warmest thing that exists, warmer even than Nymeria’s fur and Winterfell hot springs.

‘’Arya.’’

Even his voice is warm. Yet, his fingers still make her shiver when he raises her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his.

‘’I just- It’s stupid.’’

‘’I doubt it.’’ He says, so confidently that she almost laughs.

‘’How do you know that?’’

‘’Well.’’ He puts his other hand on her lower back. She is now locked in his embrace, her feet in-between his, his arms around her. ‘’You are not a stupid lass, Arya. So I don’t thank whatever you want to say is stupid either.’’

‘’That’s a stupid line of thinking, tho. Even stupid people sometimes say wise things.’’ Before she can stop herself, she puts her hands on his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck. With the sway of the tides that makes them sway also, it feels a bit as if they were dancing.

‘’Gimmie an example of that.’’ He demands. He’s smiling; he’s always smiling when he’s looking at her, just like her father said. How could she not notice that before?

‘’You. Sometimes you manage to say a thing or two that makes sense.’’

He barks with a booming laughter, loud enough that he startles a few little terns that were resting on the rocks next to them.

‘’Oh, my lady, no one sweet talks me like you do.’’

He’s really, awfully handsome. If Sansa saw him like that, Arya thinks, she would die of jealousy. But I’m the one he wants, I’m the one he asked for.

He saw me, dancing with a practice sword on the courtyard, running around with my hair messy and dress muddied. He saw me and he saw Sansa. And between us two, he chose me. He’s the only one who ever chose me.

Gendry, still chuckling lightly, tucks stray streak of hair behind her ear and stills.

And he is the only one whom I could ever choose.

Courage fills her lungs as she admits sheepishly, in haste, before she can think it over;

‘’I don’t want my first kiss to be in front of all those people.  The king, the queens. My parents. All those lords and ladies. It’s just- I know you don’t – I mean-‘’ she starts to mumble and it suddenly feels too hot in his arms, too scary when he looks at her like that. She’s getting nervous again. Oh, gods. What did she even want to say? It was all a bad idea, the worst. ‘’I’m not asking you to- oh, fuck that, it was stupid, just forge-‘’

Suddenly, underneath blue, blue sky, ankle-deep in cold, cold sea, Gendry’s kissing her.

Her feet on the sharp, slippery pebbles, seagulls shrieking and thunder rumbling somewhere in the far distance, Gendry’s kissing her.

Smiling against her mouth, his lips chapped and warm, Gendry’s kissing her.

And she supposes she’s glad she brought it up at the end, cause it would be embarrassing as hell to gasp like she just did in front of all the guests; to freeze first and then close her eyes and melt, raising on her tiptoes and burying her fingers in soft, dark hair at the back of his head to press him closer to her. Their teeth clash and she winces, but he coaxes her lips to part with his tongue and – oh.

Oh.

***

The Royal House Targaryen streams through the open gate with all the pomp and extravagance possible.  And even Arya has to admit, they are truly a sight to behold. It’s hard not to gawk.

King Rheagar rides first, on a stunning white horse and clad in silver, which, paired with his skin and hair,  makes him look a little bit like a fallen star, as if he was out of this world. He’s far older now than when he took the throne from his father, but still as handsome; and those melancholic eyes are only part of the appeal… at least that’s what Arya’s handmaidens at Storm’s End claim. Then, there are his two Queens, who simply couldn’t be more different from each other; Elia Martell, dark and subtle, her eyes lined with kohl and swaddled in sandy yellow gauze and purple velvets versus Lyanna Stark, pale as the moon, her long brown hair cascading down her back and wide grin on her lovely face when she spots Arya’s father.

But as much as Arya wants to finally meet this woman, her eyes keep on searching, impatience burning in her veins until she spots Jon.

Prince Jaehaerys hops off his horse the moment the procession stops and, ignoring all protocol and curtesies, crosses the courtyard to gather Arya in his arms, spinning her around until she wheezes with laughter.

‘’Jon, let me go!’’ she kicks her legs underneath her skirts, suddenly feeling like a little girl again.

‘’I will, but only so I can take a look at you.’’ he chuckles, finally setting her on her feet and surveying her head-to-toe, his dark eyes gleaming. ‘’Well, you did not grow much, didn’t you.’’

She thinks her mother would positively whip her if she hit a crown prince of Seven Kingdoms in the presence of the rest of the Royal Family and that’s the only thing that stops her from doing just so.

‘’You, on contrary, should really stop growing. Nice to see you, friend.’’ Jon turns to Gendry, who grins in return and soon they’re patting each other’s backs, playfully wrestling like they used to back in Winterfell.

‘’My love, maybe you could introduce me?’’ soft, melodic voice breaks their reunion bubble and soon Arya’s looking at someone who surely must be the most beautiful girl she has ever seen.

Jon’s face splits into the most lovesick and sappy smile in the history of lovesick smiles as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

‘’You’re right, of course. Gendry, Arya- my wife, Princess Daenerys.’’

‘’Dany. Just Dany is enough, we are amongst friends, right? I heard so much about you two, you have no idea.’’ Daenerys winks at them playfully. She’s wearing a simple lilac dress and her silver hair is down, already messed-up by the wind, but Arya supposes it doesn’t matter at all if her face is so strikingly perfect and her body seems to be carved from marble by someone’s loving hands. Daenerys Targaryen would probably still be heart-stopping if she was barefoot and in rags.

‘’Oh, I think we may have some idea about the things he could tell you,  Your Highness.’’ Gendry lowers his head respectfully and Arya takes it as a clue to curtsy also. ‘’Welcome to Storm��s End.’’

‘’Please, no ‘Your Highness’ me. I told you, my name is Dany.’’ Daenerys clasps Arya’s hands in hers. ‘’I heard you have a similar problem with titles. Please, support me here.’’

‘’Of course – Dany.’’ Arya finds it easy to return the smile, squeezing Princess’ fingers. ‘’Besides, we don’t title Jon. It’s only fair not to do that with you.’’

‘’You’re only not titling me, because you have seen me sprawled half-naked on the snow after that prank that Theon pulled.’’ Jon murmurs grimly, but Arya can see how content he looks like with their introduction to his wife. ‘’After all, it would be impossible to remain dignified after that.’’

Daenerys’ eyebrows shoot up and she narrows her eyes.

‘’I don’t believe I heard this particular story.’’

‘’You don’t have to know everything, Dany.’’

‘’Oh, but I definitely do.’’ Princess turns back to Arya. ‘’Can’t wait to learn what else he hid from me. We must get to know each other better. Please?’’

And because Jon looks so unquestionably happy when he stares at his wife and because Dany’s plea sounds so incredibly honest-  it’s enough for Arya to exchange a glance with Gendry before they both nod in unison.

It’s different now, when there is an additional person in their old good triumvirate. But somehow, she thinks this might be a change for good.

***

On the morning of her wedding, she wakes up too early - it’s barely grey outside, silent in the whole castle.  Even Nymeria is still deep in her slumber and apparently dreaming of running, judging by the erratic movements of her paws.

Arya jumps from under the covers, walking barefoot on the stone-cold floor to the window to check if Gendry was right yesterday, when he told his mother stop fretting about the weather -  it turns out he was indeed, because the sea is still and flat like a table and the wind has died down, leaving only chill breeze that makes her shiver and wrap her arms around her.

Tomorrow, she will wake up in different chambers, with a better view. And just like the water outside, she is strangely calm with this perspective on the horizon. It’s all right. It’s all good.

It will be fine.

One big, fancy ceremony and she will forever be allowed to kiss Gendry whenever she wants and they will never ever have to sneak out again to go for a horse ride. It doesn’t seem like a too big price to pay.

Alright then. Let the madness begin.

She bathes in rosewater, her cherry maids scrubbing every inch of her body with sea sponges until her skin is pink and itchy.

Then, her mother and sister dress her up in fine white silk adorned with ermine fur and pearls on the hem and around cuffs. The gown is lighter than a traditional Northern one would be, but still heavy and uncomfortable, and Sansa laces it tight enough that Arya has to stop herself from wincing every time she takes a deeper breath. They braid her hair in a soft coronet, adorning it with silver thread and small blue flowers, and they powder her face and paint her lips and cheeks with the rogue.

Sansa gifted her a long string of pearls from the Summer Islands for the occasion and now she takes it out of the box and loops it around Arya’s neck a few times, so that it would complement her dress. After doing that, she steps aside, with a satisfied smile on her face.

When they put her in front of the mirror, she has to blink a couple times to recognize herself.

‘’Look at you.’’ Her mother says, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she clasps her hands together and covers her mouth with them. ‘’You look so beautiful, Arya.’’

Arya’s heart clenches painfully and she looks down, avoiding Mother’s soft gaze. She has waited her whole life to hear those words.  To fit in. To feel like she belongs.

Right now, standing still in her beautiful gown, dripping with jewels and all dolled-up, she finally looks like a proper noblewoman. Proper lady. Even next to the glowing Sansa, queen-to-be in royal scarlet, she does not look out of place.

Beautiful, that’s how her mother called her.

It doesn’t feel good at all. It feels empty. It is empty, because the woman looking back at her from the mirror is not Arya, just some stranger in her skin.

Gendry, thou. – crosses her mind suddenly, filling her with warmth. – Gendry called me beautiful in the forest, when I had my hair loose and I was soaked to the bone with rain. Why would it matter, what anyone else thinks of me today?

Holding onto that thought, she wills her mouth to curve into a smile. If they want her to play the blushing bride, she will be one for today, easily. Because this marriage won’t be her shackles.

‘’Thank you, Mother.’’

***

First, they marry in Sept.

Storm’s End has a beautiful little chapter, ornamented inside with amber and colored glass, making it look like a jewelry box. When light pours through the windows, it basks people in an orange-golden glow and suddenly everyone and everything becomes simply ethereal. Women are porcelain figures. Men – carved marble. The smell of burning spices is making Arya’s nose twitch, harsh light is making her eyes water. At the back of her head, she registers all of it; Nymeria’s silent presence by her one side, Father’s by the other;  the sound of her maiden cloak sweeping the stone floor; Sansa’s red hair looking like a flame around her face.

But it all feels very much unreal, even when she stands in front of Gendry and watches how light dances on his face, turning his eyes green.  The Septon keeps on talking and talking, gods know what about. She doesn’t hear any of his words, only white noise pulsating in her ears. She is not really here, not really registering what’s going on - not until their linked hands are wrapped with silk ribbon and it’s time for them to say their vows.

For a second, her throat goes dry.

There is no turning back now.

She cannot breathe, cannot think, not will all those people watching her and with those godsdamned spices burning, not with her laces so tight and her heart so heavy-

Gendry’s fingers gently squeeze her own and it’s like a fresh breeze on a hot day, like a bucket of blissfully cold water poured on her head.

This marriage won’t be my shackles.

‘’Father.’’ He starts, his voice confident and loud, echoing through the chapel.

And she breathes in.

‘’Smith.’’ The corners of Gendry’s lips twitch slightly.

And she breathes out.

‘’Warrior.’’ She raises her chin up, looking him straight into the eyes and letting smile bloom on her face.

‘’Mother, Maiden, Crone.’’ They say in perfect unison, and Arya feels how her chest rises and falls, how her heart beats steadily, how everything is a song and she just wants to sing it as long as she’s alive.

‘’I am his and he is mine from this day, until the end of my days.’’ They stand so close to each other, their linked hands being the only thing that keeps their bodies apart; Gendry leans his head down and she does not care for guests or for the feast or for being the lady of Storm’s End when he’s right here and promises to be hers.

The Septon untangles the ribbon and Gendry’s fingers immediately fly to the laces of her cloak; but then, just as suddenly, he drops them.

He sends her a blinding grin and, instead of taking it off, he simply reaches for the Baratheon black-and-yellow cloak and pulls it on top of her Stark one and she’s quite sure no one ever smiled as widely as her at that moment, when gathered guests gasp and Gendry fulfills her promise to her in the most beautiful way he possibly could.

And then.

‘’With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.’’ She almost sing-songs, feeling like a giddy girl about to dip into Godswood pools.

‘’With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.’’ Gendry’s voice drops an octave lower, sending shivers down her spine, before she raises on her toes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

‘’I now pronounce you man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.’’  The Septon announces, and it’s a perfectly lovely line, truly;  but all Arya ever wants to hear is Gendry’s breathy laughter as he embraces her tightly, sweeping her off her feet.

***

They truly do get married when the night falls, at least from Arya’s perspective.

The Godswood here is, of course,  not even close to what she left behind in Winterfell, but it’s easy to fool herself when it’s dark and lit with torches and bigger part of her family is there. Most of the guests decided to remain at the feast inside, so the ceremony is far quieter and simple – only aunt Lyanna, Jon and Daenerys stand next to Lady Isabelle and Gendry’s sisters on the one side of the path, watching as Arya is once again lead towards her husband by her father. From the other side, Sansa sends her a soft smile, locked in Prince Aegon’s arms and Rickon whistles sharply until Mother whacks him on the head.

This time, Father pulls her close before giving her away, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and quietly telling her he loves her and this is when it really, truly hits her- this is goodbye. A farewell. Even of Gendry didn’t take her cloak off… since now, she’ll forever be Lady Arya Baratheon in the eyes of the world.

This makes her cry, just a little and it’s good that Gendry’s close enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

When they kneel on the sweet-smelling grass in front of the bloody-teared heart tree, she closes her eyes and silently asks the old Northern gods of her ancestors to replace Winterfell in her heart with Storm’s End. And for Gendry to never leave her again. And to finally feel that what she has is enough.

***

Aunt Lyanna dances through the whole evening with anyone and everyone who gathers enough courage to ask her; she twirls in her husband’s arms, spins around nearly all Kingsguards, claps along with the rhythm with her son and Prince Aegon, drags Arya’s father to the dancefloor despite his loud complaints.

She even steals Gendry for a song or two, promising Arya to give him back in one piece and just as handsome and bursting into laughter when Gendry turns red.

Elia Martell also dances her with husband, son, nephew and brother, but she is nowhere as blinding as Lyanna, nowhere as attention-catching. She spends most of the feast quietly talking with Sansa and Dayne siblings, only making an exception to sweetly congratulate Arya and Gendry on their union and to wish them to enjoy each other’s company until they’re old and grey.

Funny thing thou; while Elia seems perfectly calm and content to sit at the sidelines, Arya catches Aunt Lyanna longingly stare a little too long at the Stark sigil hanging from the ceiling along the Baratheon one; and, while she’s still a relatively young woman, there are crone’s lines deeply carved in the skin around her eyes. If observed long enough, her laughter sounds quite hollow and there’s some unhealthy nervousness about her quick, erratic movements.

She truly does resemble a caged songbird.

Beautiful and sad, that’s what Gendry said about her years ago. And although probably no one else would call her the latter, Arya supposes he was not wrong at all, just more perceptive than others.

King Rheagar’s sadness is out in the open. For Lyanna’s, one has to dig a little deeper.

But Arya’s  pondering about the subject is rudely, if deliciously, interrupted as Gendry’s lips suddenly brush her earlobe when he whispers:

“Would you do me an honor of dancing with me, my lovely wife?’’

She turns towards him, cheeks blushed, breath catching. Wife, wife, wife.

He’s straight-up fucking beaming at her. She hasn’t been even aware that he can make an expression like that. And when she immediately puts her hand in his, no hesitation, his smile stretches even wider, making his eyes crinkle and highlighting this tiny dimple he has on his chin.

It is unmistakable, how unabashedly happy Gendry looks like.  Oh gods, how could she even think about anything else than him this night?

‘’Lead the way, husband of mine. And try not to step on my toes.’’ She teases and bursts into laughter as he pulls her in-between dancing pairs and spins her around.

***

‘’Maybe we could just ran away.’’ Arya whispers, gently tracing the slope of Gendry’s nose with the tip of her finger. The guests behind their doors whistle and shout obscenities, but they could as well be far away in the North for how little attention Arya pays them. Her and her new husband are laying on top of Gendry’s magnificent featherbed, stripped to their small clothes and in no hurry whatsoever, all hushed voices and feather-like caresses. He’s playing with her hair. She’s exploring his features. Time feels sticky; thick and sweet like honey.

She wants to savor it, every single drop.

‘’Drop the titles, the castles. Just be us.’’ She sounds dreamy and, ultimately, it is exactly what she plans on doing. She’s gonna daydream. She’s gonna talk and talk with him, the way they have always did. And just hope that whatever follows won’t be the first thing that won’t come easy to them.

‘’What would we do?’’ he plays along, gently grabbing her hand and kissing the delicate underside of her wrist, his eyes shining in the moonlight, his lips parted. There’s something written on his face tonight and she does not know how to decipher this message; she only knows it makes her toes curl, her fingers tremble.

‘’You’d be my blacksmith.’’ Arya braces herself for a moment before she swiftly rolls on top of him, settling her hips against his and chuckling when he groans.

‘’And you’d be my Arya.’’

Mine, mine, mine – her blood sings, her breath catches as she watches how he lays spread underneath her, both rough and soft, vulnerable and strong and hers, hers to keep.

His hands rest on her waist and then move upwards, finding her breasts and she moans involuntarily under his touch,  evoking a wave of loud cheering from the corridor. Gendry’s pupils are blown wide, his eyes are so dark that they don’t even look blue anymore.

‘’Aye, I would be.’’ she agrees before lowering her head to capture his lips with hers. ‘’I would always be yours.’’

Never believe things men will tell you to bed you. They won’t mean it, not truly. - Septa Mordane used to warn her and Arya briefly wonders if the opposite is maybe also true. Right now, she would say everything and anything to get Gendry to move, to touch her, really touch her.  This dance they’re doing is marvelous, is delicious, is unlike anything else she has ever felt before. With the anticipation making her dizzy, with want making her silly, there are not many lines she wouldn’t cross.

‘’Say it again.’’ He demands in between kisses, twisting her nipple in-between his fingers and using her moment of weakness to flip them over, swallowing her breathy gasps with his mouth. ‘’Please.’’

‘’Yours. I’m yours, I’m yours.’’ She pants, giddy and happy, and letting excitement bubble inside her as he replaces his fingers with his mouth.

‘’And I’m yours.’’ He vows sweetly, pressing short, burning kisses down her body, stripping her of any shame until everything else disappears without a trace, wiped from the face of Earth, leaving only place for the two of them, together.

***

The next morning, Gendry takes her to the stables with her eyes blindfolded with a silk shawl.

‘’I know where we are going.’’ She whines, feeling more than a little ridiculous as he leads her like a child. ‘’I know you’re gonna give me a horse. Why do we have to do it this way?’’

‘’I’m a fan of all things proper.’’ Comes his answer and Arya’s absolutely sure she must be red to the roots of her hair cause there was abso-fucking-lutely nothing proper about how Gendry spread her thighs and licked her into oblivion just a few hours ago.

‘’Oh, surely you are.’’ She snickers, making him chuckle in response.

‘’Are you suggesting I did not – took care of you properly last night?’’

When did he become such a tease?

She’s just about to shoot something back, but Gendry takes her hand and places it on top of something incredibly delicate and warm.

‘’Say hello, my love.’’ He tells her softly, undoing the knot at the back of Arya’s head. ‘’I hope you’ll be satisfied.’’

In front of Arya stands the most magnificent pale sand steed she has ever seen. It is elegantly built, with the long neck, thin legs and small hooves; even while standing still, it looks like an epitome of grace. From underneath its grey fringe, dark eyes stare intelligently right into hers. The beast is calm like the untouched surface of the lake and Arya can do nothing else but stand and gawk, her hand still resting above horse’s nostrils; she’s just too enchanted to say anything.

‘’Trystane and Oberyn brought her with Dorne on my request.’’ Gendry continues, patting the horse’s side. ‘’How do you like her?’’

How do I like her?

Suddenly, Arya feels a strange urge to cry.

She has dreamt of a sand steed all her life. To just jump onto one and  - ran away, as swiftly as possible, faster than the wind. To disappear somewhere of the horizon, in the lands unknown. To become a tale incarnate. And Gendry knew it all well, for how many times she talked his ears off with her ice dragons, leviathans, Old Valyrias, Elisa Farmans, Princess Aereas and Sea Snakes.

And yet – he gave her this beautiful, beautiful horse and trusted her not to use it to leave him and shame him.

He’s looking so proud of himself. – she thinks, her heart fluttering in her chest like a moth around the flame. Gendry’s eyes are twinkling and he has his arms laced on his chest, standing tall and strong. He’s smiling at her, as always. – And he has a right to be.

‘’If you- if you expect me to call her Lightening to match your Thunder, you will be sorely disappointed.’’ She manages to utter at last, trying to keep her tone playful. – ‘’This would be ridiculous and we won’t be doing that.’’

Gendry barks a laughter, leaning back on one of the wooden pillars and glancing at Arya fondly as she lets the horse sniff her palm before gently pressing a kiss to its nose.

‘’How will you call her then?’’

Arya combs through mare’s fine, silvery mane with her fingers and recalls the feeling of steel grey waves crashing around her calves as Gendry was kissing her on the shore. The feeling of galloping with him on the cliffs, cold rain soaking their clothes. The Old Nan’s stories of the Northern Sea, filled to the brim with monsters from the wildest imagination. The image of the clear sky after the storm, pure and light.

The night they have just spent together.

‘’Shiver.’’ She finds herself stating, with one side of her face pressed to the horse’s warm, strong neck. Her mare smells like sand and sun and salt. Like the only freedom her husband can give her; the freedom to be who she is. ‘’Her name is Shiver.’’

***

As they’re seeing the royal guests away, Aunt Lyanna surveys them both for a moment silently, before exhaling deeply.

‘’Look children, I know you received a lot of well wishes already, but please let me add to the pool.’’ She reaches out and take their hands in her small, glowed ones – Gendry’s in her right, Arya’s in her left. ‘’I hope that your wedding was not the best day of your lives. I hope you will get many, many better in the future, each one more wonderful than the previous. I hope your years together will be as joyous as they can be.’’

Arya’s eyes involuntarily escape from Lyanna across the courtyard, finding Father’s still figure. Her parents are going to accompany royal family to the Capital before going back North and simply the thought of it makes her want to throw up. After they’re gone, only Nymeria will remind her of home.

After they’re gone, there will be no more ceremonies and pleasantries, or formal dinners to suffer through. Only day by day, years passing by.  

‘’My dear.’’ Aunt Lyanna pats her cheek delicately to regain her attention and looks her straight into the eyes, grey meeting grey. ‘’I know it’s hard for us, she-wolves of Winterfell, to live in the South. But you are strong. You will survive this separation – and soon, your childhood will become just a sweet memory to cherish, not something that makes you ache. Believe me.’’ She finishes quietly, quickly bidding them goodbye and hurrying to her horse with skirts fluttering around her ankles as if she was afraid she said too much.

Her voice rings true and Arya suspects she believes in her words. But Lyanna still looks so small and bittersweet in her blue gown, surrounded by the sea of crimson and black. She stands out, a single winter rose in the garden of glasshouse-grown ones. From one side, King Rheagar glances at her, brow furrowed. From another, Jon shoots her a concerned look, wrinkle on his forehead deep like a gash.

Mother hugs her tightly, caressing her hair and saying something about being proud of her, but Arya’s more or less fine until Father appears in front of her and stares down at her so lovingly that she’s sure her heart will break clean in half from the pain.

She can feel her lower lip trembling and before she can even notice, she’s locked in Ned Stark’s warm embrace, surrounded by the familiar scent.

‘’My girl.’’ He whispers softly, letting her tear up against his shoulder and holding her tightly. ‘’My girl, I love you so much. You are going to do so good, you’ll see.’’

‘’I’m going to miss you.’’ She cries, not even carrying if anyone hears. Let them know Starks love their pack. Let them know whose example she is going to follow. ‘’So much. But I’ll do my best.’’

‘’I know you will.’’ Father says warmly, his voice laced with such a certainty that she smiles through tears. ‘’You are a natural; you were born to order people around. And I’m sure you will be happy in Stormlands. Right, Gendry?’’

Arya still has her face pressed to Father’s fur collar, but she’s fully aware that he fixes  a particularly icy stare on her husband, because Gendry’s ‘’I’ll see to that, Lord Stark.’’ sounds a little nervous.

‘’You don’t need to scare him, Father.’’ She says quietly. ‘’You said it yourself; he will be good to me.’’

‘’Oh, I don’t worry about it. But it’s better to be extra safe than sorry, right?’’

So this is how she says goodbye to her family; her face wet and the corners of her mouth up, her husband squeezing her hand tightly as the horses disappear, swallowed by the woods.

***

A week later, just when she thinks all the hard talks and surprises are behind her, Lady Isabelle invites her for a tea in her solar.

Dressed in a teal gown and with her blonde locks half-up, her goodmother looks as delicate and bird-like as always and Arya wonders for the thousandth time how a woman like that put up with years and years of Robert Baratheon, how did she survive giving him a son and three daughters. If Isabelle is akin to a dove, Robert is nothing but a boar; big and loud and vulgar.

And still in love with another woman, even after all those years.

‘’Oh, Arya. Sit please.’’  The woman sets down her embroidery hoop on the table and reaches for a teapot. ‘’I hope you like tea? I heard Xingise don’t drink anything else.’’

‘’I do enjoy tea a lot, goodmother.’’ Arya dutifully takes a seat and watches as Lady Isabelle is pouring dark, sweet-smelling liquid into her cup. There are fresh cut roses in the vase between them and one of the petals falls off just as Arya’s trying to remember if the two of them were ever alone before. To be honest, she cannot recall such situation.

With a cling of porcelain, Gendry’s mother puts teapot back on the tray and announces simply:

‘’Robert and I will soon leave Storm’s End.’’

Arya’s eyes widen. She has expected – fuck, she doesn’t know what she expected, but definitely not this.

‘’Where to, my lady? I thought Lord Robert’s condition doesn’t allow him to travel.’’ She asks carefully, trying not to sound too brash, or, gods forbid, too happy. Even if she is a little bit happy. Which probably makes her the worst person ever.

‘’You are not mistaken.’’ Isabelle purses her lips into a tight line. ‘’But my husband is barely holding onto life the way he is now. Him and I will only trouble Gendry, and he does not need extra problems on his head. Especially… now that he already has you.’’

She could’ve as well slap Arya, for how painful this subtle jab was.

‘’Let me make something clear, Lady Arya.’’ Isabelle continues, any trace of sweetness gone from her voice. ‘’I was against this match, same as I was against Gendry being fostered in Winterfell, especially since we could’ve send him to Eyrie, to my family. Bringing you here is an insult to me, considering – well, considering.’’

Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna. Why won’t you just say her name? We both know you’re thinking about her.

‘’My son is a good man, I made sure of that. I thought there is not a trace of Robert in him, except his looks. But it seems I was wrong.’’

‘’Gendry is different than his father. Completely different.’’ Arya protests, but her words seem distant and distorted as if she was under the water. This whole conversation threw her completely off balance. Where did this woman hide this venom for all those weeks?

‘’Not when it comes to taste in women, apparently. ‘’ Isabelle scoffs and Arya curses in her head, this goddamn shadow of Aunt Lyanna always stuck to me. ‘’Still, I respected his choice. But you should know, you would never deserve him. Never.’’

Looks like an innocent flower, but there’s a true furious stag underneath          

Arya cannot hate Lady Isabelle; she cannot even dislike her now, not when it turned out she is not so bland after all. Years stuck with Robert, seeing his whores and wine would make even a saint bitter.

Besides…  she does understand where her good mother’s fears come from.

Arya laces her fingers on her lap, more lady-like than ever, and takes a sip of her tea.

‘’So let me be honest also; I love your son. And I intend to be a good wife for him. But I will never take your road. I won't ever let him harass me into becoming who I’m not. However, I believe I should thank you for raising him... Because I know he would never do that.’’

Lady Isabelle stares at her for a moment, before nodding slowly.

‘’He wouldn’t. He won’t. Hope you know how lucky you are.’’

In fact, Arya feels like she’s been slowly realizing that from the moment she stepped onto the Storm’s End courtyard and it’s only becoming clearer with time.

‘’Anyway.’’ Isabelle reaches for her own teacup, only the slight tremble of her wrist indicating she has just straight-up insulted Arya. ‘’I wish to visit my older brother and his wife in Runestones. I hope clear mountain air would do Robert well, not like the clammy heat here.’’

Oh, it will certainly do him good. – Arya narrows her eyes, trying to stop herself from chuckling. – So will being tossed in the wheelhouse for weeks, on the hard terrain, when he’s already so weak. You minx. I underestimated you.

Her goodparents do leave eventually, against Gendry’s loud and explicit wishes, and taking his youngest sister with them.  It takes five men to load Lord Robert onto the wheelhouse as he coughs and wheezes and Maester of Storm’s End refuses to see his lord and lady away, whispering to anyone who would listen that this whole idea is pure lunacy.

But it is easier to breathe in the castle without them and Gendry smiles more when he doesn’t have to visit his father every day and see him fading away. Even his two remaining sisters, Aelin and Lara, seem to be a little bit more carefree and talkative, and Lara goes as far as starting to practice water dancing along with Arya.

For all this bliss, Arya doesn’t kid herself into believing that is the last she sees of lady Isabelle. After all, she is of House Royce and Maester Luwin taught Arya her houses well.

And Royces of Runestones have a very memorable motto indeed.

We remember.

***

Little Lady, that’s how smallfolk has taken to calling her. Little Lady and Lady Wolf and Winter Rose even, sometimes, after someone starts to marvel at her likeness to Queen Lyanna. It stung at the beginning, made her stomach turn with irritation and her eyes roll. She could stomach Lady Wolf – it sounded kind of bloody fantastic, to be honest – but all the rest she was honestly despising.

Soon enough tho, a new addition come in front of each of her many names, the one that completely turned everything around.

‘’Our Little Lady’’ - servants address her tenderly, when they think she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Our Lady Wolf!” –  village children would laugh, crowding around her on the streets, tugging on her clothes and begging for sweets and stories.

“Yes, our lady is simply amazing, isn’t she?” – guards would whisper in between each other, after not-so-discretely watching her practice archery in the courtyard on a sunny afternoon.

She does not like being The Lady any more than she thought she would. But she supposes could be their lady, the lady of those people, when ‘’our’’ sounded like a bigger honorific that whatever followed it.

Stormlands grow on her, slowly and surely, like a vine covering stone. This beautiful, violent lands; deep, dark woods, blindingly white cliffs of Durrandon’s Point and Shipwrecker’s Bay’s angry, stone-blue sea.  The sky that seems to always be in motion, just like in the North. Storms, so constant and yet so breathtaking, leaving a peculiar aftertaste in the air. She spends every free moment on the horseback, riding from village to village and along the coast, exploring every inch and nook and letting Nymeria roam loose, until her wolf collapses by Gendry’s feet in the evening, panting and satisfied.

To be honest tho, there is not much time for Arya to waste it like that.

She’s keeping  herself busy, filling her days with bookkeeping and trade negotiations and construction of guilds, with breeding hounds and tending to horses. There is a lot to mend; Robert was a reckless spender and his wife loved unnecessary frivolities, but Arya’s sure they can pay off their debts just fine  if they will manage without peacocks for suppers for a while and cut the amount of lavish feasts in half.

Gendry shows her the maps of trade routes in the region and they spend hours upon hours of reviewing the stream of goods, arguing about the possible new harbors on the coastline and the construction of roads. She’s losing her sleep in favor of counting taxes, monitoring the state of their coffers and wondering what else they could possibly produce. Arya would’ve never guessed all of it would be so engaging, but it is. And all the work feels so very rewarding, so useful.

It’s easy to have a clear objective, when it has a name and a face, be it freckled Mel from the kitchens, her favorite guard Willen or Old Tom that sits in the docks all day long and gifts her with fresh clams every time she’s passing him on Shiver. It’s easy to work for them, to make their lives better. Especially because Arya’s and Gendry’s lives are already so good.

Soon, she introduces her favorite Winterfell tradition of dining with a different resident of the households, be it the Captain of the Guard or the Head Stablemaster. But instead of moving to sidelines like her mother used to, Arya sits on one side of their guest and Gendry on another one, asking questions together. Maybe, just maybe, she even talks more.

Maybe she generally does just as much governing as him, definitely more than is expected of her. Maybe people talk behind her back about how improper it all is.

Maybe, but Gendry himself certainly doesn’t seem to mind all that.

At night, he hoists her legs up, rests her calves on his broad shoulders and fucks her, long and hard and slow, nipping on her neck and collarbone now and then, or suckling on her nipples until she’s trembling like a flame in the fireplace, desperately beginning him with a broken voice that she doesn’t even recognize as hers to please, please, just go faster and finish her off.

She told him she would not bow to any man and she keeps her promise; she does not bow to him. She surrenders thou, gladly and sweetly, if only because it makes her all hot and wet every time he puts his hands on her and pins her down forcefully to cover her body with his. His grip is strong and bruising and maybe she should feel violated by that, but how does it even matter, if his kisses are so gentle and his eyes so loving? This is safety; this is her Gendry. She could close her eyes and moan all she fucking desires and he would never, ever hurt her.

She leaves scratches down his back and he leaves her skin peppered with love bites and they ruin and devour each other in the most delicious, delirious way there is.

How her mother and her sister warned her of a marriage bed. She wants to laugh every time she thinks about it.

***

A raven comes with news of Sansa bearing a healthy girl named Alyssa, said to be red of hair and purple of eyes.  And, as on cue, Arya’s moon blood comes once, twice and then stops.

Soon, her breasts fill up painfully and she stops sleeping well, fruitlessly tossing and turning in bed until Gendry sleepily gathers her in his arms and caresses her hair, calming her down.

And then she barges into the kitchens one day and demands, very loudly, for the cook to stop preparing fish, seven hells, can he just not, is it really that hard to understand that fish makes her sick?

And she knows what it means. She’s not blind or ignorant. But this knowledge feels heavy, so heavy that she’d rather leave it untouched than try to carry it on her shoulders. They have just settled into some kind of routine. This… this will turn everything around yet again.

Unfortunately, she did not marry a stupid man either. A little silly sometimes, but not stupid.

So, when he buries his face in-between her breasts one evening and her gasp clearly a pained, not an aroused one, he carefully rests his chin on her clavicle and breathes out deeply.

“Arya.’’

‘’Gendry.’’

He huffs in annoyance, raising himself up on his elbows and taking his weight off her.

‘'Arya, please.’’

‘’Yes?’’

If he plays dumb, she will also.

‘’Are you with a child?’’ he asks her, straight-up, and his voice – gods, his voice. Everything rings in it, every possible emotion; fear and excitement and anxiousness and hope and love. So much love and he doesn’t even try to conceal it.

And maybe it’s the babe – she seriously hopes so, because otherwise she’s just getting soft which is simply ridiculous – but Arya can feel her heart painfully clenching in her chest as her husband’s blue eyes flicker in the candlelight.

She gently cards her fingers through his thick curls, pushing them away from her face.

‘’Would you like me to be?’’ – she already knows the answer, but she still wants to hear it. Just.. just to be sure. Just to lean against his unwavering strength and drew from it when her doubts eat her alive.

He swiftly rises to a kneeling position and pulls her along, settling her on his lap with her arms looped around his neck and her bare thighs straddling him. A fresh wave of arousal crushes over her and she hums in delight as he places his hand on her hip, his fingers digging into her skin.

‘’Arya. I would be by far the happiest man in the world if you were.’’ He says solemnly, his other hand cradling the back of her head. ‘’But being honest, I am already happier than I ever thought I will be, having you with me. So tell me. Please.’’

He lets go of her hip to tentatively cup her still-flat belly and she just cannot drag it any longer, not when he seems to tremble in anticipation underneath her.

‘’Aye.’’

He breathes in and out deeply, his eyes still locked with hers. There is a dazed expression of his face and Arya’s sure no one has ever looked at her that way; the way Septas look at figures of Mother in Sept, the way Jon was looking at dancing Dany at the wedding, the way sunsets are supposed to be looked at.

He looks at her as if she was a gift sent from gods.

“Aye?’’

‘’Aye. I am.’’ She’s nodding and oh fuck, when did she start crying? When did she start grinning, when did he pull her head closer to his? When did he start kissing her, laughing against her mouth and tasting salt on her lips?

Aye, aye.

Aye.

It seems all the sweetest moments in her life start with just this one word.

***

Dany and Jon come to visit, just as they promised during the wedding; they arrive with a surprisingly small escort and the whole trip seems as informal as possible, for what Arya’s eternally grateful.

She has started to throw up so often and so much that she has grown frail, which drives her insane and irritable. It doesn’t help that the more she vomits, the more Gendry frets, so with the guests at Storm’s End at least he has something else to occupy himself with besides asking her if she’s fine the thousandth time a day.

Which she is. She is perfectly fine and perfectly capable of riding a horse or managing her duties. Thanks gods he has enough reason not to question it out loud, or else she would positively stick him full of holes with a Needle.

Which she is also capable of, just to be clear.

Dany, of course, looks like a daydream. She brings Arya a ton of books and even starts teaching her Old Valyrian, laughing at her butchered pronunciation. The Princess is also far more vocal about the situation at King’s Landing than Jon has ever been and all that she’s talking about gives Arya lots to ponder over in her head at night.

Especially Queen Elia revelation.

‘’I’m honestly surprised it’s not public knowledge already.’’ Dany simply states, ignoring Arya’s wide-opened eyes. ‘’They’re not even trying very hard to be discreet anymore.’’

‘’But – Arthur Dayne? And your brother, he allows it?’’

‘’Arya, please. In this whole situation they have, my brother is the one with the least power whatsoever. After all – ‘’ Dany takes a sip of wine from her goblet, smirking a little, ‘’- he is the one who caused this mess. First, he married Elia even though he didn’t want to. Then he married Lyanna because he wanted to. And one could argue whether or not he was right in any of those cases.’’

“And the children? I mean, doesn’t anyone question if they are really his?’’

Daenerys gracefully rests her chin on her hand and humms.

‘’Well, Aegon is Rheagar’s, there is no wondering about that at all.’’ Arya supposed it was true, given her good brother’s true Targaryen coloring. ‘’Rhaenys, well, maybe one could dig deeper when it comes to her, but why should one bother? It’s not like she is the heir of anything. She’s married now, shipped to Highgarden and, as far as I know, greatly enjoys wreaking havoc there.’’

Arya bites on her lips, looking out of the window and the busy courtyard.  She can hear the sound of hammered steel and that involuntarily makes her smile. They did a few changes in the staff of the castle and now they have such a good steward that Gendry manages to steal a few hours a week to work in the forge. He looks happier now; calmer. Even when he frets over her, it’s less frantic.

‘’You two are adorable.’’ Dany giggles, which makes Arya wheeze.

‘’Please, stop it.’’

‘’No, I’m serious. It really shows how much you care for him. And him for you.’’ Dany’s looking at her with eyes sparkling with mischief and Arya has only a second to brace herself before her almost-goodsister asks: ‘’Is it good in bed? I’m sure it’s good in bed.’’

‘’Dany!’’

‘’What? You’re with a child, do you think I’d believe a stork brought it to you one afternoon?’’

***

‘’Did you know that my father wanted to marry Ashara Dayne before the whole situation with uncle Brandon?’’ she asks Gendry one afternoon, making him tear his eyes away from the scroll he’s currently studying.

‘’What?’’

‘’Oh, yes. Apparently, they were very much in love.’’ She rubs the gentle curve of her belly absent-mindedly, looking at the gathering storm outside. The babe has just started quickening, and she’s starting to get used to the strange sensation. ‘’It’s not like it was not possible. Although that would surely be unexpected, to have a Dornish woman so far North.’’

Gendry murmurs something under his breath which sounds suspiciously like bloody Daynes.

‘’Oh please, stop it already. Ned’s a perfect noble knight.’’

‘’There’s nothing noble in the way he devours you with his damn eyes every time he visits.’’

Arya giggles, trying to imagine honorable, bland Ned ogling anyone.

‘’I think you are irrational. But rest easy; soon I’ll be too fat for anyone to devour me, with their eyes or otherwise.’’

This time Gendry’s groan is even louder and perfectly clear.

‘’Damn you woman, stop whining.’’ He raises from the chair and collapses on the bed next to her, making the mattress bounce. ‘’You know you’re beautiful, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Even more beautiful now. How many times will you make me say it?’’

‘’Take off your boots.’’ She grumbles, but softly. It’s hard to be irritated at him when he gets like that; when the candles are so short and she just wants to curl by her husband’s side and talk with him about just anything and everything until they fall asleep.  Gendry sneaks an arm around her waist, pressing her closer to him and resting his forehead on her back, between her shoulder blades.

For a moment they’re just laying like that; under the yellow canopy and buried in the soft furs, with a distant sound of thunder outside, as the room gets darker and darker.

‘’Sometimes I’m wondering if any marriages are happy at all.’’ She lets out with a sigh, making Gendry stir awake from his half-nap. He props himself on the elbow to take a look at her face.

‘’Your parents are happy, I think. Even if they wanted to marry different people at the beginning.’’

‘’Yeah, but- I don’t know. Can you really forget your first love completely?’’

Arya saw Ashara Dayne at the wedding, peering at her father from underneath a fan of dark lashes, her violet eyes so striking and her still pitch-black hair so lovely that even Catelyn Stark’s pale irises and greying red locks didn’t stand a chance in comparison.

And surely Mother must’ve looked at Father many, many times through the years and wonder about uncle Brandon and what could’ve been-s. How weird it must have been for her to live with him and aunt Barbrey those first few years?

‘’I cannot possibly know that.’’ Gendry says gently, raising his hand up to caress the side of her face and then placing it on top of her swollen belly. ‘’You were my first love anyway.’’

‘’You have never told me that before.’’ She breaths out. The babe flutters inside her anxiously and she reassures it inside her head everything’s perfect, everything’s fine. She has never asked him, truth to be told, but she did not kid herself into believing Gendry did not have any flings before he asked her to marry him. ‘’Did you – back in Winterfell?’’

‘’Of course I loved you in Winterfell.’’ He grins, spreading his fingers wider on her middle and trying to feel tiny kicks better. ‘’You were small and always dirty and absolutely unafraid. And underfoot at all times. And you loved to talk, but you would listen so patiently. I was gone before I even knew what’s going on.’’

Cold mud in-between her fingers , crusting her hair. Gendry making faces at her from across the table. How they made wildflower crowns for each other and the one she made for him fell apart in seconds, but the one he gave her stayed intact for the whole weeks.

She loved him then, that was never a question.

‘’But it was different.’’ Her voice is small, laced with too many emotions to untangle them all.

‘’Damn well it was different. ‘’ his arm sneaks underneath her back, pulling her closer until they’re face-to-face. ‘’Until I saw you in that green dress. It was like a lightning strike.. You have frighteningly nice tits Arya, really.’’

‘’Oh gods.’’ She starts to giggle, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. His skin smells like iron and steel and fresh breeze and she inhales it as deeply as possible. ‘’One can always trust you to ruin the mood, Gendry. Here I thought it’s the time for grand confessions, but you just wanted to admit you married me for my tits.’’

‘’Not only for them.’’ He pinches the side of one of her breast lightly, making her yelp. ‘’But they were definitely a factor in my decision.’’

‘’I love you, you big, stupid idiot.’’ She admits in-between fits of laughter, her lips moving against his skin and shivering violently when he hitches up her nightgown to touch her naked waist that has just began to widen considerably.

‘’I love you too, you wild woman.’’ He chuckles, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of her head. His hand travels down and she can feel her eyelids already fluttering. ‘’More than I ever thought I would love anyone. And I really hope I can prove you wrong – with this no happy marriages thing.’’

‘’You’ve already did.’’ He slips his fingers in-between her folds and curls them, so her voice comes out like a sigh rather than a statement. The hell with how he disarms her, with how he makes her feel. ‘’Because I am happy, I really am.’’

She would never lie to Gendry, she’s sure of that. However, she also does not think she has ever been  as honest as she’s now, saying those words.

***

But the sky falls down upon them anyway.

Arya wakes up in the middle of the night, in the pitch-black chambers; Gendry’s still snoring beside her, the two of them cocooned by the soft furs. She keeps her eyes closed and tries to fall asleep again, to come back to the ever-pleasant dream of running through the Stormlands’ woods on all fours, searching for the prey. But some deep, unsettling sensation inside her keeps her awake; it raises in intensity until it transforms into  pain in her lower belly sharp enough to make her gasp. She shuffles a little, her hand immediately shoots to cradle her bump; and instead of easing, it gets worse with the change of the position, forcing her to kneel on the mattress with her thighs spread.

What’s going on? What’s going on, what’s going on – is running through her mind on a loop and she’s still too sleepy to really get scared until something within her tightens like a bow, making her spine arch and she’s sure she must let out a moan or whine, because Gendry stirs a little. And then whatever was tightened lets lose suddenly, only it does not feel like letting loose; it feels as if someone tore her insides in half, the way maids tears old shirts into rags.

Hunched-over, her lids shut close, and more awake than she has ever been, she begins to pray.

Millions of women  has surely prayed like that before and will pray like that until the end of times. There is only one prayer for a moment like that, the one no one had to teach them; no pretty hymn, but a broken litany.

Don’t, dear gods, don’t, don’t kill my child, please, please don’t let it happen, please, I’m begging you

But it’s for naught, of course.

When she opens her eyes, all she sees is blinding crimson spilling out of her, sticking to her skin, staining the sheets, staining everything.

There is wind blowing outside and wolves howling in the woods and Gendry sleepily asking her what’s wrong, but she does not hear any of that; all she’s hearing is white noise ringing in her ears endlessly, drowning her desperate no-s and please-s in it.

**

Arya's handmaiden Irene is everything Arya isn’t and more; tall and rounded, and fair-headed. Graceful. She curtsies beautifully and wears her hair up often, exposing the beautiful line of her neck.

But most of all, she has two small boys with identical gaps between their front teeth. They herd around Gendry’s legs in the courtyard like the rest of the children at Storm’s End, begging him to play hide-and-seek with them and shrieking with joy when he starts to chase them.

And the very sight of that grips Arya’s throat with an icy fist, stealing her breath away.

She used to play with those children too, teach them letters during sunny afternoons, telling them stories about North and defending them from the cook when they were caught in the kitchens with sweets in their hands. She used to love their presence, their high-pitched laughter and little hands. They were the only ones who listened when she asked them to call her by her name, not ‘’Lady Baratheon’’.

But ever since she lost her babe, she hasn’t been able to muster the courage to tend to other women’s children, Irene’s least of all.

Her boys are dark-haired and blue-eyed, and that inevitably makes Arya wonder, suspicion festering in her heart like maggots on the open wound. How old are they? Three and four? How many years has passed since Gendry came from Winterfell back to Storm’s End?

Numbers are swimming in her mind, stealing her sleep as she lays at night by her husband’s side, having once again escaped from his arms. She curls with her back to him, knowing full well she’s being stupid and inconsiderate and ridiculous. Gendry promised her he’d be true and gave her no reasons to believe he would ever break this promise.

And yet.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he had Irene on a side, or any other woman. Why wouldn’t he?

It’s been a long time since he was a boy with fine leather breeches stained by the Winterfell’s mud and she was a little girl, laughing together after they ate summer peaches, juice dripping down their chins.

Now they’re older and she is nothing but broken.

***

‘’My lady, would you like to go for a horse ride after dinner?’’

‘’I’m sorry, I don’t feel so well today. I think I’ll go and lay down for the afternoon.’’

‘’Lady Arya, would you like me to accompany you on your walk?’’

‘’There is no need Lancel, I’ll be fine on my own.’’

‘’Please, eat some more soup. Or maybe you’d like something else? Some ham or bread with cheese?’’

‘’No, it was enough. Thank you.’’

She burns letter after letter after letter; the fire in their chamber never dies down, fed constantly with Ned and Catelyn’s words, with Jon and Dany’s words, with Sansa’s words, with Bran’s words. Her words are the same and constant, on every parchment she sends back.

I’m fine, don’t worry about me.

It feels easier to lie when they are so far away.

It’s not so easy to lie to those who surround her, and so, for the first time in her life, Arya turns into a lone wolf. Her days are long now; nights even longer - stars obscured by the clouds and corridors of the castle empty and dark when she strolls through them hours before dawn, Nymeria following her soundlessly on her soft paws like a shadow, baring her teeth at anyone who dares to come closer.

It’s weird how washed-down everything has suddenly became, all those things that used to be vibrant and thrilling. The sound of Shiver’s hooves hitting the ground, the icy waters of Shipbreaker’s Bay washing her feet, the stone walls warmed by the sun. Her husband’s eyes. Food in her mouth, air in her lungs.

She naps plenty during the day and in her dreams, she’s back in Winterfell, she is still one and ten and the sky is still the right color. She’s running through the Godswood laughing; she doesn’t see her pack but she knows they’re there, she can hear their voices, she can almost see them in-between trees. And every time, just as she’s about to reach them, the dream turns into air and mist. No matter how fast she’s running, no matter how loudly she calls for them.

Time after time, she wakes up; one second she’s full and another - empty again.

***

One afternoon, as she’s sitting in her solar and reading a book still in her nightgown with Nymeria curled by her feet, Gendry all but barges in without knocking.

She almost jumps, startled, and her direwolf lets out a warning growl but Gendry crosses the room in three long strides and drops to his knees by her chair before burying his face in her lap. All without uttering a single word.

His fist clutch the material of her skirts and when she tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder, he starts to tremble.

‘’Gendry..’’ she sighs, as Nymeria licks his exposed forearms and flops back on the floor, apparently deciding he’s not a danger of any kind.

He’s still not saying anything, so she cards her fingers through his hair – how soft it is, she almost forgot it –  and dragging her hands along the sides of his face before gently pulling his chin up.

He’s crying.

He’s kneeling on the floor in front of her and crying, his blue eyes all wet an eyelashes tangled and she has never seen him like that before. And if she thought she was heartbroken before, she was damn wrong, cause this is what heartbreak feels like. She cannot even breathe.

‘’Gendry. What’s-‘’

‘’I should be asking you that. What’s going on, Arya? Where did you go?’’ he lets those word out of himself like arrows, fast and true. - ‘’Where are you?’’ he asks desperately, staring at her with such intensity that her first instinct is to hide.

‘’I don’t know what you’re talking about.’’ She says weakly and almost winces herself at the falsehood of this sentence.

Gendry’s face breaks.

‘’Arry.’’ He scrambles to his feet, instantly towering above her as he leans down to cup her face in his hands. ‘’Arry, please, don’t do this. Please, come back to me. Please.’’

His tears roll down his cheek and drop on her skin and it’s like the dam inside her was broken, because suddenly a sob escapes from her chest, once, twice, before turning into a wail and she doesn’t even notice  when or how, but she’s in Gendry’s arms, crying her heart out like never before in her life.

‘’Arya, Arry, my love, please.’’ He’s whispering sweet nonsense in her ear, letting her stain his shirt and holding her tight enough that her ribs hurt. He caresses her hair: ‘’It’s alright.’’

‘’No, it’s not.’’ She manages to let out in-between sobs. Her body feels hot; she’s shaking like a leaf on the wind and her crying only intensifies with every passing second. ‘’You don’t – you don’t understand.’’

‘’Arya, it was my babe too-‘’

‘’It died inside me!’’ she’s positively hysteric now, but it doesn’t matter cause he still doesn’t get it. She tears herself away from him to look at his face, her eyes stinging from salt so much that she’s barely seeing anything at all. ‘’I felt it die inside me, spilling out of me! You don’t understand – you don’t understand.’’

‘’You’re right.’’ He leans his forehead against her. ‘’I don’t, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Arya, I’m sorry.’’

She thinks he must be crying almost as hard as she is, for how many times he apologizes to her, their noses bumping and breaths shaking, until she buries her face in the crook of his neck and he embraces her again; they’re rock back-and-forth together like that for what seems like hours until her sobs turn into hiccups and he starts to speak again.

‘’But you didn’t give me a chance, Arya. You took it all and locked inside and – how do you expect me to compete with your stubbornness, huh? You cannot.’’

And it’s a testament of how much she loves him and how well he knows her, that, against everything, she quietly chuckles at those words.

‘’I’m sorry too.’’ Her voice sounds small and teary, but also like hers and it’s something that she hasn’t experienced for far longer than she realized.

There’s liberation in how they’re sitting, wrapped up in each other on the floor, faces wet and clothes disheveled. He breathes in; she breathes out. She can even feel his heart beating so steady and strong next to hers. She cannot remember ever feeling closer to him than in this moment, pouring all this pain and suffering she’s been feeling onto him and only getting love back.

‘’I- I should’ve talked to you.’’

‘’You should’ve. Or I should’ve never let you get so far. I will never make this mistake again.’’ He rubs her back in circles, his lips pressing to her exposed shoulder blade the sweetest of kisses. ‘’Please, don’t leave me alone. You promised you’ll be with me, you remember?’’

‘’Of course. We are family, right? Even if-even if I-‘’ she cannot force herself to finish this sentence, no matter that the words already hang in-between them heavily. Even if we won’t have children.

‘’Don’t think like that.’’ His arms tighten around her. ‘’We’ll get another shot. And yes, even if we won’t .. you’re all the family I need. Now and always. You are enough. More than enough.’’

She loops her arm around his neck, pressing his face closer to her body until he rests it on her shoulder. Her fingers tangle in the shorter hair at the back of his head and there are fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, but she’ll let them flow. It’s about time for them.

‘’You are enough for me too.’’  

***

This evening, the lady of the castle walks down the stairs in black-and-golden dress, hand in hand with her husband, and sits down by his side in the Round Hall of Storm’s End without any big ceremonies. Her eyes are a little red and she’s still too pale… but it’s nothing that good stew and a little bit of sunshine won’t fix, the cook reasons, peaking at the table from the kitchens and barking at the servers to bring some of those lemon cakes she likes so much to Lady Arya, gods, cannot they think about such things for themselves, must she tell them everything?

Arya’s not laughing, but she smiles and eats, and, when they pour wine into her goblet, she accepts. There is a traveling bard dining with them tonight; when asked, he sings some song about Nymeria of Rhyone and the corners of Arya’s lips rise up slowly, almost shyly, as she rests her head on Gendry’s shoulder and listens.

Some keener-eyed servants notice that Lord Gendry is holding her hand under the table through the whole meal and of course, every maid in the castle starts swooning, because how romantic is that? How lovely?

Stable boys, stewards or guards don’t care much about all this nonsense, or at least they claim so – even if they are quietly wondering how much time will pass since a certain short figure will appear on the courtyard again to order them around. Regardless of them, one thing remains true; all of the residents of Storm’s End, the oldest and the youngest alike, stare at Arya and Gendry this night and let out a collective breath of relief.

Arya would have to be blind not to notice that.  And she won’t be lying; it makes her feel a little bit soft inside.

***

Gendry turned out to be right in the end, as he as an infuriating tendency to be – they do get another shot.

At the height of the blooming spring, little Ned is born, piercing the ears of everyone at Storm End’s with his cries ever since his first breath.

Arya’s heart sings when they lay him down on her bare chest and he looks up at her – her boy, her sweet little boy who blinks his gray eyes at her and seems to know exactly who she is – and she caresses his chubby cheeks with her finger.

‘’Oh, hello, darling.’’ She must sound ridiculous, but it does not feel ridiculous at all. Not when Gendry first holds their son in his arms and stares at him with this pure adoration written in every line on his face and then doesn’t change the expression at all when he raises his eyes to her.

Not when she breaths in Ned’s perfect baby scent and then breathes out and realizes it’s the end of walking on eggshells and acting as if she was made of glass like they did throughout her whole pregnancy. Their babe is with them and he’s just – he’s just theirs to keep and to have and to love.

Not when Ned falls asleep on her breast while nursing and a drip of milk escapes from in-between his tiny lips and Arya notices he clutches a strand of her hair in his fist.

And definitely not when she wakes up in the middle of the night because it’s so hot and finds Gendry walking around the room shirtless, rocking Ned gently and singing to him lullabies quietly, his eyes shining in the darkness and the sound of summer storm outside.

It does not feel ridiculous.

It feels like she can finally stop searching for some unknown things; it feels like a cue to stop where she’s standing and let her roots grow deep.

Gendry snoring, his face so soft and smooth when he’s dreaming. Ned napping, his tiny head pillowed on her clavicle. Storm’s End; strong and ancient and hers and home, the sea always humming outside its walls.

All my summers and winters are yours. She makes her vow silently and lets her lids drop.

[poppinsx]

a comprehsive list of the best lyrics in each taylor swift song (my opinions <3) since fearless:

jump then fall: but i’ll hold you through the night until you smile

untouchable: untouchable like a distant diamond sky

come in with the rain: i know you by heart, and you don’t even know where i start

superstar: i’m invisible and everyone knows who you are

other side of the door: and the faded picture of a beautiful night

fearless: you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless

fifteen: when you’re fifteen and your first kiss makes your head spin ‘round (how did she know!!)

love story: i was a scarlet letter

hey stephen: all the other girls, well, they’re beautiful, but would they write a song for you? 

white horse: this is a big world, that was a small town

you belong with me: i know your favorite songs and you tell be ‘bout your dreams

breathe: but it’s killing me to see you go after all this time

tell me why: why do you have to make me feel small so you can feel whole inside? 

you’re not sorry: and you got your share of secrets and i’m tired of being last to know 

the way i loved you: and my heart’s not breaking cause i’m not feeling anything at all

forever & always: were you just kidding? 

the best day: don’t know if snow white’s house is near or far away

change: it’s hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

mine: braced myself for the goodbye ‘cause that’s all i’ve ever known

sparks fly:  my mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea

back to december: it turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

speak now: i lose myself in a daydream

dear john: i lived in your chess game but you changed the rules everyday

mean: you have pointed out my flaws again as if i don’t already see them

the story of us: you held your pride like you should’ve held me

never grow up: remember that she’s getting older too

enchanted: my thoughts will echo your name until i see you again

better than revenge: no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity 

innocent: today is never too late to be brand new 

haunted: something keeps me holding onto nothing 

last kiss: i never planned on you changing your mind // i’ll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep and i’ll feel you forget me like i used to feel you breathe (this song is too much of a masterpiece to choose)

long live: i had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

state of grace: we learned to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts

red: moving on from him is impossible when i still see it all in my head

treacherous: i can’t decide if it’s a choice getting swept away

ikywt: and the saddest fear comes creeping in, that you never loved me

all too well: you call me up again just be break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest (naturally)

22: it’s miserable and magical

i almost do: i can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye

wanegbt: this is exhausting (hehe)

stay stay stay: you took the time to memorize me

the last time: all roads, they lead me here

holy ground: for the first time, i had something to lose

sad beautiful tragic: you’ve got you demons and darling they all look like me // silence, train runs off its tracks

the lucky one: you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used

everything has changed: all i know is pouring rain

starlight: we could get married, have ten kids, and teach them how to dream

begin again: thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end

welcome to new york: kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats under coats

blank space: stolen kisses, pretty lies

style: could end in burning flames of paradise

out of the woods: the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming color

ayhtdws: i’ve been picking up the pieces of the mess you made 

shake it off: and to the fella over there with the hella good hair 

i wish you would: i wish you knew that i miss you too much to be mad anymore

bad blood: bandaids don’t fix bullet holes

wildest dreams: someday when you leave me i bet these memories follow you around

how you get the girl: i want you for worse or for better

this love: this love left a permanent mark

i know places: love’s a fragile little flame, it could burn out 

clean: just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it

ready for it: burton to this taylor

end game: your handprint’s on my soul

i did something bad: you gotta leave before you get left

don’t blame me: i would fall from grace just to touch your face

delicate: are you ever dreaming of me?

look what you made me do: i’ll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

so it goes: you did a number on me but honestly baby, who’s counting? 

gorgeous: whiskey on ice, sunset and vine 

getaway car: but with three of us, honey, it’s a sideshow

king of my heart: say you fancy me, not fancy stuff 

dancing with our hands tied: i’m the mess that you wanted

dress: even in my worst of times, you could see the best in me

tiwwchnt: feeling so gatsby for that whole year (bonus points for the haha i can’t even say it with a straight face)

call it what you want: i brought a knife to a gun fight 

new year’s day: please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognize anywhere

i forgot that you existed: it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference

cruel summer: he looks up grinning like a devil (!!)

lover: with every guitar string scar on my hand

the man: they wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this i deserve

the archer: i’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you

i think he knows: lyrical smile, indigo eyes

miss americana: american glory faded before me

paper rings: the moon is high like your friends were the night that we first met

cornelia street: that's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend

death by a thousand cuts: but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages? 

london boy: don’t threaten me with a good time (also the intro, ofc)

soon you’ll get better: desperate people find faith, so now i pray to Jesus too

false god: you’re the west village

you need to calm down: shade never made anybody less gay!

afterglow: fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

me: i know i never think before i jump

it’s nice to have a friend: you’ve been stressed out lately, yeah, me too

daylight: the luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

(update 1/14/21)

the 1: you know the greatest loves of all time are over now

cardigan: trying to change the ending, peter losing wendy

the last great american dynasty: and in a feud with her neighbor, she stole his dog and dyed it a key-lime green

exile: you never gave a warning sign/i gave so many signs

my tears ricochet: when you can’t sleep at night, you hear my stolen lullabies

mirrorball: the masquerade revelers

seven: please picture me in the weeds before i learned civility

august: you weren’t mine to lose (but also, just the entire song)

this is me trying: you’re a flashback in a film reel 

illicit affairs: a dwindling mercurial high

invisible string: one single thread of gold tied me to you

mad woman: it’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together

epiphany: sir, i think he’s bleeding out

betty: i don’t know anything, but i know i miss you

peace: all these people think love’s for show, but i would die for you in secret

hoax: you knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score?

the lakes: i want auroras and sad prose

willow: life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

champagne problems: she would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head

gold rush: at dinner parties i call you out on your contrarian shit

tis the damn season: to leave the warmest bed i’ve ever known

tolerate it: i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it

no body, no crime: good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy (honorable mention to the way taylor says “just” in “she thinks i did it but she just can’t prove it)

happiness: i hope she’ll be a beautiful fool

dorothea: you’re a queen selling dreams, selling makeup and magazines

coney island: do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? 

ivy: your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

cowboy like me: forever is the sweetest con

long story short: long story short, i survived

marjorie: you loved the amber skies so much

closure: i’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles

evermore: barefoot in the wildest winter

right where you left me: she’s still twenty-three inside her fantasy

it’s time to go: that old familiar body ache that snaps from the same little breaks in your soul

[outrealm-gates]

Mun I beg of you, can you do a sentient fat based Camilla and Selena prompt? Turn the tsun into more of Camilla’s goddess chest, maybe a touch of tender tummy fluff!

“Selena......is this true? You wish to offer yourself to my hunger?” The thicker, taller princess asked worriedly, fretting and tutting over her adorable red-headed retainer.....red heads were always her favorite....but was Selena positive?

“I-I said it didn’t I? Yeah......I’m not gonna let you go hungry.” Selena was aware of just what cravings Camilla had....the urge to consume people whole and alive. She physically and mentally craved a sacrifice of this nature every now and again, yet a suitable maiden wasn’t about. Instead of outraging the public and abducting a girl in broad daylight, or sacrificing castle staff, Selena desired to be the maiden Camilla ate.

“But....Oohh....dear Selena...” Camilla came close and hugged Selena tight, her pudgy stomach grumbling as a sudden weakness overcame her. She didn’t want to lose her precious retainer, just like how eating Beruka would be a terrible thing, but one idea did come to mind. A little spell....that may keep her beloved little redhead nearby for a time to come....until Camilla’s final days....

Camilla demanded that if Selena would offer herself, that the night would be one to remember. Both would spend the rest of the eve together, dining in the hall on the food that couldn’t sustain the special need in her gullet, nevertheless she and her meal stuffed themselves on the finest available. Wine and sweets abound, Selena seemed to show a much more tender side with her liege, showing Camilla just how much she appreciated everything, and wanted to be a willing, happy sacrifice. The wine loosening her up may have contributed a tad~ Camilla lavished her retainer in affections, nibbles and kisses, one may believe the two decided to become lovers. And in a sense....thats what Camilla would want it to be with the spell she’d prepared. Her previous meals had their souls return to wherever they do when one passes on, Camilla digesting their physical forms and adding them to her already fertile and curvy frame, but this spell would keep Selena’s soul close to Camilla’s heart....specifically, it would bind her soul to Camilla’s breasts, turning Selena into sentient adipose that would remain with the princess, and feel all the pleasure and stimulation she would. The lavender haired devouress found this to be the best idea to honor her lovely little retainer’s selfless sacrifice, to hold her as close as possible and offer her a long afterlife of sexual bliss, and the occasional jostling between pleasuring herself and the distension that came with consuming people whole.

**Rest under a readmore bc longpostislong**

“Camilla, can I...make one request before you take me?” Selena lay nude on Camilla’s lavish bedspread, her bedframe reinforced to handle her growing body as she fed this dark hunger of hers. The red-head’s blush matching her crimson twintails, and her eyes spoke of a deep desire. “I.....I want to kiss you the way a lover would....and when you deem it fit, I want to be taken head first....” Camilla’s heart leapt in her chest, the hunger was beginning to weaken her again, but she couldn’t possibly deny this request. It also happened to be along the lines of what she wanted as well, a sultry smile and such a jiggly strut adorned the princess as she came towards her delicious dear. “Yes.....of course I will silly, you deserve nothing less. It will be the last time I can pleasure you like this, but you will stay with me until i say....right here....in the breasts everyone envies so....Lucky you, my sweet~” The bed would creak and groan as Camilla joined her meal, both girls on their knees right against each other as they embraced, arms wrapping around each other as they pressed lip to lip, breast to breast, waist to waist and tongue against tongue. Camilla’s experience showed, and gently she guided her retainer into a rhythm that had them conducting a symphony of wet noises and moans long into the night, no matter how hard her desires urged her she would provide Selena her last wish. The two would finally pull away with a string of saliva connecting their lips, which Camilla playfully licked up. “Haa....La....Lady Camilla.....I’m ready, and tha....Thank you....I-I’m ready to be your tit-fat....y-you better....play with me a lot...g...got it~?” Selena huffed through her exhaustion and arousal. The thought of living on in a sense as her heaving, supple breasts.....enjoying the warmth of her body and the protection of her armor and clothes, being cradled and fondled by Camilla....it was almost as arousing as giving herself to Camilla, or the kiss they just shared. “I will darling....I’ll cherish the heft you add to my bosom, and you’ll recieve kisses before bed every night....I adore you Selena, thank you for being my dessert tonight.....” Camilla murmured to her meal before giving one last smooch. The ominous gurgle came once again, and Camilla’s mouth began to open. A yawning void of flesh beckoned Selena in.... And it surrounded her. In one deft lunge Camilla had taken in the girl’s whole head, a thick slimy organ running over Selena’s face and tasting her attractive features. Sucking wind through her nose, The eldest Nohrian princess immediately let out an animalistic grunt of satisfaction at Selena’s taste, savoring and suckling at her face and head before widening her maw to accommodate those soft shoulders. Selena lay slack and limp, save her knees so that Camilla didn’t have to work harder. The fleshy pulsing walls around her created an organic siren’s song, peristaltic waves and the princess’s hands moving her deeper and deeper towards the source of this call, her stomach. Strong arms brought more girl into Camilla’s mouth, her retainers small breasts gracing her slimy tongue and causing a full body shudder at their exquisite taste! Selena was a cut above the maidens she would often send to their delicious demises, Camilla may even refer to her as the Fillet Mignon of women~! She needed more....her hands firmly grasped and raised her meal by her ass, stopping to grope it a bit and lament her lack of time to admire it properly....but there was no turning back now. With another push she was halfway done with her meal’s consumption, her tongue questing into Selena’s navel for a short spell to tease her before another shove forced that plump rump into Camilla’s cheeks. Tender slow licks to the redhead’s pussy teased out a powerful orgasm that had her meal squirming and writhing in her throat...and ohhh was it a delicious nectar to add to her meaty ass. Such a feast, such a delicacy!! Thick thighs would graze the princess’s teeth as she gently nibbled her way down Selena’s remaining body, her ability to breath improving as she finished up her dear retainer. Dangling out of her mouth now remained the feet of her devoted dinner....the final part of Selena to savor. With the same fervor and passion as their kiss, Camilla took her feet into her mouth and suckled at them, moaning as she gently chewed them to give her retainer some final bits of affection. After her last fleeting tastes, she gave the final, powerful gulp....and Selena would find herself finally curled up in her stomach, whole and wriggling. Camilla stayed awake well into the night, trying to bring some level of comfort for what came next....Digestion. It was not gentle, her stomach treated Selena like any other meal, churning and reducing her to nutrients. Like every maiden before her, she met her ‘end’ in Camilla’s stomach, her physical form now forfeit to the predator’s digestive tract. But upon Selena’s passing, she could feel a tingle in her breasts, a presence in her mind.....The spell had worked! Further digestion lulled Camilla to sleep, but true to her word she kissed both of her full milky breasts before she laid back on her disheveled bed for rest. Long into the night the sounds of Selena’s body being reduced to nutrients could be heard outside of Camilla’s chambers....said sounds of digestion becoming somewhat of a haunted rumor of the castle. Not all the rumors were false however....simply details of the gurgling coming from a dragon or demon being a bit tall. Early in the morning Camilla had a special urn available instead of her chamberpot, proper disposal for the souls sacrificed to her hunger. This urn would be filled with what remained of Selena, sealed, and taken to a mausoleum in the lower depths of Castle Krakenburg.....And Camilla? ...would be much more affectionate to her fat, overflowing breasts...so eager to show off her new gains, knowing the attention flustered her passenger-retainer. But oh how the added focus must endear her~! ((Whoo boy. Hope peeps enjoy this, Big super mega long prompt post that I had a blast making ^^ Thank for the ask anon friend.))

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Where is Home?- Hizdahr zo Loraq x OC

Hizdahr zo Loraq x Kiyara Tallhart

Description: Kiyara receives a letter from Daenerys stating that the Sons of Harpy have been vanquished for good and invites her to return for good. This leads both her and Hizdahr to question where their home lies. 

Word Count: 1.9k

Kiyara stood from her chair with a start. Outside, she could hear gasps and screams of surprise followed by a familiar roar and the flapping of large wings. Quickly setting her book down, she practically ran outside to see what was going on. She was more than surprised when she arrived in the town square. Nediss, the dragon that had flown her and Hizdahr to safety after the Sons of Harpy attacked one of Meereen’s fighting pits, had just landed on the ground and was waving his head around, seemingly looking for something - or rather - someone. 

As soon as the dragon’s eyes landed on Kiyara, he began making his way over to her. The townspeople moved out of his way hurriedly, afraid of what he was planning. But Kiyara stayed still, she’d been around Daenerys’ dragons more than long enough to know the signs of malice, and Nediss showed none of them. He stopped right in front of her then bowed his head. Kiyara lifted a hand to pet his scales. 

“What are you doing here?” She questioned softly, resting her forehead against his scaled head. The townspeople watched in awe as Nediss pulled away and turned his head a bit, showing a rolled up piece of parchment attached to his chained collar that sat near the base of his neck. Kiyara’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and after making sure it was okay with Nediss, she reached for the parchment. She shot him a quick thank you then unrolled the paper. 

Dearest Kiyara, 

             I am writing to you today with some very good news. Thanks to Tyrion Lannister and Daario’s efforts, the Sons of Harpy have finally been vanquished from Meereen. The town is once again safe for all, including you and Hizdahr zo Loraq if you so please. I have returned to Meereen for the time being to conclude some unfinished business and would be honored to see you once again. I truly do hope to see you again and eagerly await your response. 

Your dear friend,

Queen Daenerys Targaryen 

Kiyara stood there shocked upon reading the letter. Could it be true? Could the Sons of Harpy really be gone for good? 

“Kiyara,” she heard Meralith warn softly, which made her look up once more. Nediss was sniffing around the butcher’s shop, eager for some food. 

 “Bona iksos enough, Nediss (That is enough, Nediss),” Kiyara instructed firmly. She spoke in Valyrian, something she hadn’t done in nearly a year since they had arrived at Gylladhor. 

 “You know this dragon?” Josion, who stood beside his wife, asked curiously. Kiyara nodded, looking at him. 

“He is a dear friend’s pet. He’s the one who brought Hizdahr and I here,” she explained. 

“I thought a wagon brought you to Gylladhor,” Meralith pointed out. Kiyara sighed softly then looked away. 

“I did not want to scare any of you away, not when we were in dire need of help. I hope you understand.” 

“Of course we do,” the tavern owner, Keb, responded kindly. “So long as that dragon doesn’t try to make a meal out of us.” 

“He’s friendly,” she alleviated their worries. “He’s just hungry from the long flight,” she paused to look at Ryak, the local butcher. “So you have sheep meat?” Ryak laughed softly and nodded, leading her inside to get some. She paid for the meat then led Nediss to her home as everyone went about their business once more. She then fed Nediss before sending him on his way. 

For the next hour or so, Kiyara read the letter over and over again. Her mind was reeling with questions. What did this mean for Meereen? What did this mean for her and Hizdahr? Would her husband want to go back? Did she want to go back? 

“I didn’t realize I slept in so late,” Hizdahr’s voice came from behind her. A small smile appeared on her face and she turned her head to look at him. 

“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” she explained softly. “Seems like it did you some good.” 

“That it did,” he agreed as he walked over to her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head shortly before noticing the now re-rolled parchment in her hand. “What’s this?” He inquired. 

“See for yourself,” Kiyara responded softly, holding out the letter for him. Their fingers brushed together as he gingerly took it, which gave her some semblance of comfort. She watched him unroll the parchment and his eyes scan over the letter. His eyes widened upon finishing it, much like how she did, and he looked at her. 

“This is real?” He inquired, a hint of urgency in his tone. 

“It would seem so,” she answered simply, but Hizdahr could tell there was something lurking behind her otherwise nonchalant expression. He took a seat beside her and leaned forward. 

“What is it?” He questioned softly, resting a hand over hers as they sat in her lap. Kiyara didn’t answer at first, not wanting to ruin the happy news. But she understood that Hizdahr would find out either way and she might as well just get it out into the open. 

“Do you want to return to Meereen?” She asked in response. Hizdahr’s eyebrows shot up and he stayed silent for a rather long time. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, still looking like he was deep in thought. A patient smile slipped onto her and she moved one hand from under his to gently grab his arm to get his attention. 

“Why don’t you give it some thought then come back to me when you have an answer,” she suggested tenderly. Hizdahr grinned at her in thanks then silently stood, walking back to their shared bedroom. 

Dinner was silent that night, the both of them too lost in thought to speak to one another. Kiyara had already made up her mind, she didn’t want to return to Meereen. Aside from the year that she spent there, she had no attachments to the city. Besides, she was happy where she was. They were surrounded by people who liked them, they had a roof over their heads, food on the table, and were never bored. She had no problem living without luxury since she had done so before Daenerys came along. The only problem was that she didn’t know if her husband felt the same way. 

Her husband, on the other hand, was emotionally conflicted between his choices. The answer seemed obvious at first, of course he would want to return to the place he called home for a little over twenty years. His family was there, his mother and brothers Hegar and Grahar. So were his old friends. But then he continued to think about it. Going back to Meereen meant leaving Gylladhor, leaving all the new friends they’d come to make, leaving behind the house they built and made a home out of. It meant leaving behind the life that his wife loved. He knew that she would follow him to the ends of the earth if he wanted to go there, but did he really want to make her leave their new life behind for his sake?

While Kiyara slept peacefully beside him, Hizdahr didn’t actually sleep much that night. His mind continued to weigh his options, finding pros and cons in both of them. There were several times when he would just stare at Kiyara’s sleeping form. A caring smile developed on his face when he cupped a gentle hand on her cheek followed by her leaning into it subconsciously. 

When he awoke the next morning, it was nearly midday. He sat up in bed, groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kiyara’s side of the bed was empty, but he wasn’t surprised. The girl never liked staying in bed once awake as she falls asleep rather easily and would be difficult to get up. And she would prefer not to sleep all day. Despite all his debating last night, Hizdahr still could not come to a conclusion, and he continued to think it over as he got dressed and made his way to the kitchen where he smelled something cooking. 

“There you are,” Kiyara greeted upon hearing him walk in. “I was just about to go wake you up for lunch. You slept heavily this morning.” As she talked, she walked over to him then kissed his cheek after finishing. Though she didn’t say anything, Hizdahr could tell that yesterday’s conversation was still running through her head. She would want an answer soon, but that would come in a minute. He shot her a charming grin and leaned one hand on the counter beside them. 

“I’m sorry, my darling. With such a beautiful creature laying next to me, it was difficult to close my eyes,” he responded. Kiyara blushed and looked away shyly, which made Hizdahr’s smile widen. He loved getting that sort of reaction out of her. 

“Such a flirt,” Kiyara teased, walking back to the stove. “I’m making sweet pumpkin stew for lunch, how does that sound?” She nearly jumped when her husband’s arms wrapped around her from behind and his chin lowered to her shoulder, his lips just inches from her ear. 

“I’d much rather prefer you,” he teased quietly. Kiyara gasped then turned to smack him away. 

“Such a naughty tongue, zo Loraq,” she joked, though he didn’t miss the blush on her face yet again. “Go sit down,” she instructed before he could say anything, pointing to the table. 

“Yes, my queen,” he responded dutifully, moving to take a seat at the table. Just moments later, Kiyara set a bowl of steaming soup in front of him before sitting in the seat across from him. For a small while, it was silent as they ate. Kiyara thought it would be like dinner the previous night, but then Hizdahr spoke. 

“I believe I’ve made a decision,” he finally informed her, which made her look at him. He could see curiosity swimming in her eyes. 

“About Meereen, I mean,” he elaborated. “Well, sort of. I have a proposal.” Kiyara raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh? And what is this proposal?” She inquired, setting her spoon down

“We return to Meereen,” he started slowly, continuing when her eyes widened. “For just a visit. Just to see how things are now. We stay for three days, then on the final day we decide if it is something we want to be part of. If so, then we gather our things and move back. If not, then we stay here to live out the rest of our lives. No matter what, we stay together, like always. We’re in this together no matter what.” Kiyara stayed silent as he explained his offer. She hummed thoughtfully, seemingly staring off into nothing for a few minutes, before finally looking at him. 

“Sounds fair to me. I’m willing to give Meereen a shot if you are,” she responded softly. 

“Are you sure?” He asked seriously. “If you’d rather just stay here then we can. Your opinion is just as important as mine.” Kiyara smiled at his thoughtfulness. 

“I’m sure, my love. Like you said,” she reached over the table to take his hand. “We are in this together. No matter what.” Hizdahr nodded with a wide smile and squeezed her hand affectionately. 

“I guess we have some packing to do then,” he stated, making her laugh before going back to her soup.

[littlemisskookie]

Énouement

Énouement Ship: Captain!Jungkook | Soldier!Reader Description: Mulan!AU | War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. Warning: Dom!Kook, Character Death, Gore, Angst, Choking, Intercourse, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Punishment, Oral, Hair Pulling, Public Nudism  Word Count: 19,554 A/N: This is the longest thing I ever fucking wrote but it was so worth it. Mulan is one of my favorite movies of all time, and there were some such iconic scenes that I found so great I had to include them here as well, because I love simply describing the most heart-leaping scenes in my own words.

“Oh, dear, make the waist tinier! Tie it tighter!” Mother fretted, making the maids and workers tie the ribbon around your waist so tight that you thought your eyes would pop out of your skull. You could hardly breathe, but when your mother gave a gasp of delight, the maids tied the bow at the back, making it stay that way. “Oh, darling, you look beautiful,” your mother went on, stepping forward to lightly cup your face in her hands, careful not to touch the makeup of your pale face or ruby lips.

“Thank you mother,” you mumbled, trying not to think about the way you had to puff up your chest or suck in your stomach.

Tonight was a very special night. You’d be meeting the matchmaker to seal your fate for who’d become your future husband, and to carry the family honor. It was what your late father had wished for you to do, and now that you were of age, you were glad to fulfill his last wish regarding you and uphold the honor carried to your surname. He was a brilliant man, who was a war hero- just like your brother, Yoongi- but died because his injury eventually caught up with him.

When he died, your brother, Yoongi, decided to honor him by joining the army himself in the midst of a still-raging war. While your father was able to retire for his great work in the war, his overworked muscles and straining himself during his younger years eventually wore into his age, and he died before he could even hit the age of fifty, where Yoongi took his place and also became a great hero to serve during the end of the war.

However, no matter how much you had prayed to your ancestors, Yoongi returned injured and on the near brink of death. You were but twelve at the time when you were busy praying to the ancestors, your forehead pressed against the cold floor of the family shrine when your grandmother, old and frail as she may be, still strong, rushed to you, shaking your small body so violently where you fell to the floor, your head knocking against the stone slab of Great Grandfather Min. Her voice was hoarse, and her eyes filled with a mixture of delight and worry as she screamed at the top of her lungs, letting it echo against the walls. “Your brother! My grandson, my dear, Yoongi! Get your ass up girl, your brother is home!”

She wailed on as you rushed to see him, flying down the steps of the lands your father won, your dress clutched in your hands as you went to meet him, your heart beating frantically to see your brother, who was but four years older than you. Oh, it had been two years, you missed him! And you hadn’t seen him since he was a boy, and now you’d see your dear (though often times nauseating), brother return from the war that was now, at long last, dying!

What you didn’t expect was your mother to be crying over his form, her forehead pressed against his pale, veiny hand.

Your first thought was that he was dead.

But then you saw his faint, gummy smile as he used his strength to push himself into a sitting position, ignoring your mother’s worrisome and fretting hands to push him back down to rest. He smiled at you, and you studied the bruises and scrapes on his face and the bandages that concealed some of the wounds on his body.

“Miss me, sis?” was all he said.

You threw your arms around him, tears streaming down your face, and you two were finally reunited. You tended to his wounds from then on, nursing him back to health whenever your grandmother and mother weren’t nagging you to carry on with chores. Yoongi healed complete over time, save for the limp in his leg that would never heal. He’d never be able to do any serious work without getting injured. Still, you were glad to see him again, the brother who supported you throughout everything.

One night, in particular, you were staring up at where you kept your father’s armor, the same armor Yoongi himself wore into battle. It was coated in dust now, but no one dared to touch it except to clean it, which you reminded yourself to do tomorrow. In the age before guns that could go ‘pew pew’ protection and weapons were less advanced.

You yearned desperately to honor your family, to make them proud of you the same way Yoongi made them proud. While you were always cast in your elder brother’s shadow, you simply wanted to make your mother and grandmother equally proud, though you knew that’d be impossible.

“Looking at father’s armor again?” a voice said behind you. You turned around to see your brother leaning on his cane, a single candle illuminating his face in the darkness, save for the moonlight that crept through your windows.

“Oppa, what was it like on the battlefield?” you asked, hesitant to ask the question your brother always seemed to avoid. It had been years since he returned, and yet he wasn’t quite the same feeble boy who exited your home to go to the war.

“A nightmare,” the boy spoke grimly, shuffling forward, his staff making the clacking sound against the wood that you loved. He reached out, cane still in hand, and touched the sword that was once- and in a way, still- his. Dragging his finger slowly down the metal and over the engravings, he wiped away a single stripe of the thick coat of dust that had formed. “I see how you look at this, and how you seem to yearn to have been in my position. But Y/N, you must know that it isn’t pleasant at all. You have to work rigorously, to push yourself to your limits, because if you don’t, you’re dead. And on the battlefield, any second can be your last.”

“What did it feel like?” you pushed on. “During training, on the battlefield, what was it all like?”

“During training, Father’s armor and sword made me feel invincible and untouchable,” Yoongi smiled bitterly. “But on the battlefield, I felt vulnerable and scared, and all I wanted was to get out alive.”

You nodded slowly, continuing to admire the armor.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to go,” Yoongi spoke. “I still have nightmares. And my leg still aches, though not as much as it did before. Since Shownu.”

You were aware of the story of Shownu. He was known to be invincible, practically, and legends from his country would spread about him. Poems and riddles were released, but it is said that he traveled to another country altogether when he was but a small boy for his fortune. He traveled far, and some speculate he went to an Oracle, and this was the poem she told.

You���ll grow brave and strong, with your own clan, Who can only be defeated by one more than just a man In your efforts, you may steal an empire as your own Or from a dragon of stone, you shall be overthrown

The poem was famous, and many knew it by heart. It was a great mystery to all, and no one knew if it was true or simply an old tale. Shownu had started the war, who your own father fought against. Shownu was but in his early twenties, as your father was an older man who fought bravely against him. Brilliant as your father was, he managed to stab Shownu in the shoulder, thus removing him from the war for a while. When your father left and died, however, the war seemed to pick up better than ever, with Shownu fully recovered and ready to try to take over your country again. This time Yoongi happened to one of the many to take a swipe at Shownu, who was now in his early twenties, though one of the few to survive. Yoongi managed to badly injure Shownu, as rumors spread, by stabbing the man’s cloak to keep him in place, and then pushing him off the cliff the battle was taking place on. But right as Shownu was pushed, he managed to give one last hit, stabbing your brother in the leg, and leaving him crippled forever.

Some speculated that your family had the one who was more than a man that the poem was about, but when Shownu hadn’t returned, they all assumed that was the end of it. Besides, there was no third male in your family to be the man to defeat Shownu, because you had scarcely any cousins of such, and most suspected Shownu to be long dead before you produced an heir. Others simply speculated some of the others who fought against Shownu, because certainly, your family wasn’t that special to be the only ones to mark the legend and monster, or perhaps you were simply liars about your grand brother being the one to kill Shownu. Besides, who ever heard of a dragon of stone?

But still, Yoongi was given some credit, though for some odd reason the most he really got was a medal and a ride back home. You yourself speculated it was because there was no body to prove Shownu was dead, and some still speculated he was out there, lurking, waiting for the moment when the country was least suspecting to strike. The war seemed to have been on break since the attacks have been few to overthrow your country, but no surrender and no announcement of the dead leader, nor of another taking over.

But it seemed as though the war was on break for the past few years. Though it hadn’t been officially announced, boys were no longer being drafted to go into the army, and life seemed to go back to the mundane type, where instead of worrying about whether or not your boys would come back from the war, you had to worry about which one to marry.

Yoongi held something out in front of your face, making you stop from staring up at the armor to stare at the silver pen in front of you.

What was this?

As though reading your mind, Yoongi started to explain. “It’s a ‘pen’. You write with it. It’s nothing like the paintbrushes we use for writing, but I got it from a foreigner when we were traveling to battle. I was planning on giving it to you since you always seem to have your mind on the war, though it ended now. But the foreigner said it was far ahead of the time, and you don’t have to repeatedly dip your paintbrush in ink to write with this. They aren’t supposed to be made yet, and he said he made the very first one. An odd fellow, really. He had light hair and funny goggles and such, and pale skin. Anyways, he translated this phrase for me into Korean, saying 'The pen is mightier than the sword’.”

“You can’t kill someone with this,” you remark, looking at the weird object in your hand.

“You shouldn’t want to kill, Y/N,” Yoongi frowns. “Besides, that’s not the point. You can use your words instead of a sword to affect someone. Words are powerful you know, and violence doesn’t fix everything.”

“Well, what’s it supposed to mean, exactly? The pen is mightier than the sword?” you asked him quizzically. “I don’t get it.”

Yoongi frowned, thinking to himself thoughtfully. “I think it means brains beat brawn, essentially.”

“Hm,” you hummed. “Hey, oppa, do I have brains?”

“With your noodle arms?” Yoongi laughed. “Brains is all you have, though you don’t really seem to have much since you want to go to the war or have some action or something. You’re a girl, I hate to say it, and why you want to go out and get yourself killed is beyond me.”

You pouted. “I dunno… I just want to honor our family, like you.”

Yoongi patted your head. “I know, kiddo. But the only way you can do that is to marry a man who’ll add on to the family name. That’s the only way you can honor us. That’s how you’ll make Father proud. And I know my baby sister will find a great husband. You just need to have a little less spirit; men don’t like girls with more passion than they do. It makes them feel insecure in comparison. You’re too independent, you know, and guys like to know they’re relied on.”

You sighed to yourself, staring down at the pen in your hand. You toyed with it, your thumb pressing down on the button on top, for a small tip to appear at the bottom of the cool metal… pen. Carefully pushing your long sleeve up to your elbow, you dragged it across your skin, surprised to see a small, black line tracing along. This was useful, why wasn’t this created dynasties before? Yoongi’s words rang in your head, and you nodded.

“I’ll to it,” you promised. “To honor the family. To make Father proud.”

And that’s exactly what you did, seeing that you were now dressed beautiful enough to look like a bride, one to be envied, and one that looked so delicate and fragile you might as well have been made of porcelain and ivory.

Yoongi stepped past the curtains as the maids- who were hired specifically to help you into your outfit for that day- put on the last and final touches. You smiled timidly at your brother, who leaned on his cane and studied you with absolute admiration.

“I’ll have to beat off the suitors with my own cane,” he grinned at last. “Until we find the perfect man for you. The matchmaker will do a fine job, I’m sure. But until then I’ll slap every boy upside the head.”

“Why she’s a prize!” your mother gushed, wrapping her arms around her son’s, looping their arms together to stare at you. “My, she’s beautiful, and with a war hero brother and father, every eligible man will be rushing to her.”

“Father would be proud,” Yoongi nodded, looking up at you in approval.

“Thank you,” you said in response, trying your best not to think about the shoes that made your feet ache or of how tight your hair was. Fuck, you wanted nothing more than to scream curse words at the top of your lungs, or to slip out of the tight dress to escape on your beloved horse and go out for a ride.

But no, you knew what your position was. This is what you had to do.

“Let me walk you to the matchmaker’s,” Yoongi offered, glowing with pride over his sister. “I meant what I said, I’ll beat them off with a stick.”

You giggled but caught yourself. No more of that. A perfect wife here was demure and quiet, unfortunately, the two things you were rather terrible at. Looping your arm in your brother’s, you both set out to head to the matchmaker’s, your mother waving goodbye, your grandmother looking over and beaming a proud smile to you.

You two weren’t far from the matchmaker’s- which was a short walk from the preparation maids- when you heard the sound of the city gong being rung overhead.

“What could that be?” you piped, surprised. That usually meant a grand official was coming to visit the city, typically the town square, where you were now, but ten feet from the matchmaker’s. In came horses and the dirt roads blew puffs of dirt to billow out. Crowds formed, worrisome and curious as they speculated to the horses that showed up in their square, or more importantly, the soldiers and officials on them.

A man in a blue robe sat on top of one horse, a tall hat and a prestigious scowl that told anyone nearby he wasn’t one to be messed with. His face was grim though as he made his announcement.

“Shownu is alive!” he cried out, eliciting shocks from the crowd. Your eyes darted to Yoongi, who kept his stare trained on the official, not so much as daring to lock gazes with your worried one. “He is alive and is planning to take over Korea! A draft is being sent out for one male of every family to join the army to serve the emperor!”

One of the soldiers next to him handed him a scroll, which he unraveled as he began reading the surnames of the families that would spare a son for the emperor. You clutched tightly onto your own hands, and you noticed Yoongi’s eyes drift down to them, as though he was wondering why you weren’t clutching onto him, your dear brother, who you depended on, instead.

And then you heard it.

“The Min family!”

Your face was pale, and Yoongi shoved his cane in your hand, knocking what little breath you had in you out momentarily, as you stared warily at your brother, accepting his form.

“Wait!” you cried out from impulse. Pushing every small voice in your head that begged you to stop, you rushed towards him, blocking him from accepting the letter. “Please, sir, my brother has fought against Shownu already, he’s a war hero! Why he’s the one who pushed Shownu off the cliff, and he cannot fight again!”

“Stand aside. You’re a bride to be, learn to keep your mouth shut! You should be on your way to be sold off to a man, shouldn’t you? Besides, maybe next time your brother will succeed at killing Shownu, which he miserably failed at, now that we already have blood spilled and Shownu in our borders,” the official glared, snapping at you.

You flinched, looking at your brother with a pleading look. “Please, Yoongi, tell them! This is stupid, you’re injured!”

Yoongi grimaced at your words, scowling at once and accepting the form. He turns to you, his face full of disdain and red with either anger or embarrassment. “Don’t embarrass me further just because I can do what you can’t, Y/N,” he spat, pushing past you. You were hushed, your eyes trained solely on the limp your brother bore, as he did his best to shuffle away from you. The crowd around you seemed to have hushed whispers and judging murmurs, and your cheeks flushed red, thankfully masked by the heavy, pale makeup you wore.

You ran out, and your brother was nowhere to be seen. He could handle himself, you knew that. Besides, he’d only be further embarrassed if you ran to him, worried about him without his cane. Instead, you rushed to your home, going to the stables with tears running down your cheeks and your makeup dripping down onto your silk dress. You didn’t care though, running to the stables to your horse, sobbing as you saddled and mounted him quickly, letting him carry you far and to the lake, which was the only place you’d be able to cry in peace.

And there you stayed, not even going to the matchmaker. You had wiped off the last of your makeup on your silk sleeves, ruining the expensive fabric that had been imported from China. You huffed, ripping the tight ribbon around your waist off to throw into the water, noting that your dress was now covered in dirt and makeup. You kicked off the tight shoes, letting your feet stretch and breathe.

Your horse was faithful, staying by your side as you laid in the grass under one of the blossom trees that hung over the lake. You stared into the reflection that was dimly illuminated by the moonlight that appeared after hours of sobbing and staying by the water’s side. Your rippling reflection was small, showed barely through some of the flowers and petals that had fallen into the lake.

God, why was your brother such an idiot?

“Why are you crying? You’re not the one going to war,” a voice piped behind you. You sniffled, turning around to see your brother, a pained expression as he leaned against the blossom tree, one of your horses by his side.

“Oppa, you can’t go,” you said quietly, reaching for the cane you had put by your side, holding it out to him for him to take. “You know you can’t. You’re injured. In fact, I have your cane here, you need it. God, do you want to injure yourself further? You-”

“God, do you ever shut up?” Yoongi snapped, making you retract. He swiped the cane from your clutches, leaning against it. “For God’s sake, you’ve gotten your makeup ruined and your dress in shambles! You didn’t even go to the matchmaker, did you? You had one job, and you couldn’t even do that. Father would be ashamed to have you as a daughter if he were here right now.”

You felt yourself starting to cry again, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yoongi, don’t be such an idiot! You almost got yourself killed last time, you’re going to die this time! Accept the fact you aren’t as strong as you used to be, you can’t just fight in this war, this is ridiculous! You don’t mean a word you say, you’re just embarrassed because I hurt your so precious ego!”

“I mean every word I say!” Yoongi snapped, though you heard his raspy voice beginning to shake. He didn’t mean it, you saw past every lie he told, and this was one of them. “I thought you’d mature by now. You want to uphold the family honor so badly? You couldn’t even do the one thing you’re supposed to do! Face it, the only thing you can do is get married and have kids, and that’s all you’ll ever do!”

“Better than what you can do, going around and trying to act stronger than you are! You live behind a lie, and you’re trying to act like a man, but in reality, you’re simply acting like nothing more than a pussy!”

“Watch your mouth!” Yoongi spat, his fire-like gaze burning into your own. “I’m done with this conversation. I’ve got to go to camp tomorrow, and I’m not losing sleep over my bratty sister’s jealousy that I’m something she’s not.”

With that he spun around, hobbling away angrily on his cane, leaving you with fat, hot tears to roll down your cheeks.

Father would be ashamed to have you as a daughter if he were here right now.

You’re brother sure knew how to be an asshole when he wanted to.

But you knew you still loved him. You knew he still loved you. This was one of the worst fights you two have had in years, since before Father died, since before Yoongi stopped being such a scared little kid and started turning into a man. But perhaps so much time after the war and hidden away in your care made him think nothing could touch him anymore, and now he was acting just like the hot-tempered scaredy-cat you grew up with.

You knew you couldn’t stand aside though. Not when your mother and grandmother were spending that night clutched in each other’s arms, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, not letting Yoongi out of their sight because they knew it’d be the last time. You didn’t miss when Yoongi hobbled up to the shrine, praying and crying to the ancestors for either a quick death or survival.

And you knew you had to do something. It wasn’t about proving yourself, it wasn’t about proving that girls could do whatever boys could do; it was about doing what was right.

That night you took the pen Yoongi gave you, placing it by his bed as you stole the scroll. The boy didn’t make a sound, deep in his sleep and unaware of what you were doing.

You, too, visited the shrine that night. Your family always had a tradition when it came to guardians, one slightly different. While most would have the ancestors pick a guardian to watch over them, your family picked your own, as though it was to symbolize the choice of putting your fate in your own hands, though assistance would surely be needed.

Your father chose the Monkey, who was the wisest. It was to help him think his way through the army to keep him from harm’s way he could avoid. Your brother Yoongi, however, chose the Rabbit, who was the swiftest. If you can run fast enough, he put it, sometimes you can evidently run from your problems long enough to think of a solution.

You chose neither, instead praying and choosing the Dragon, who helps in strength, power, and luck. You lit a few candles under the statue of who you’d hope would be your protector, letting the herbs you sprinkled on the ground give the scent and desired feel to please the ancestors on letting you have this one as your guardian. When you choose your guardian, you become one with it. It is believed the spirit of the guardian inhabits your soul for when it is needed, and so you would be the dragon for the time being. At least, your willpower would.

You’d need all on your side tonight, and you knew that even as you prayed.

And so you went to your Father’s armor, freshly cleaned from a few days ago out of impulse. You grabbed the sword, the blade still as sharp as it was during the days of battle. Your long hair was tightly gripped in your hand, and while holding your breath and saying your prayers, you chopped it off with a single slice, letting it fall around you to reveal new, shoulder-length hair. Tying it into a tight bun, you leave it in a ribbon, quickly dressing in the armor. A sword by your side, you ran to the stables, kicking off to the camps.

You knew that your brother wouldn’t dare reveal your secret, in risk of dishonoring the family further, and in risk of your own life.

You came to the camp, putting in your form for which family you came from, and went out and about to meet the other fellow soldiers, all of them bonding, a few throwing punches, and some seeming so disgusting you were tempted to gag. You kept in mind to show some of the boyish traits Yoongi would tease you about when you were younger, as well as the ones he showed from time to time. You had to be a man, and you had no idea for how long.

You accidentally bumped into one man, and he growled, shoving you back as well and growling. “Watch where you’re going, huh punk?” he snapped, baring his teeth as he gave you a menacing look. His cheeks were slightly red in anger, and your eyes spotted how toned and buff he was underneath his sleeves.

You gulped nervously as he stepped forward, but arms wrapped around him to pull him into a tight hug, a pair of lips singing a soft lullaby in his ear. “Now, Jiminie… control your temper,” the taller man said in a motherly voice, swaying with the boy in his arms. “Repeat after me… Maybe I-I can never fly~!”

Jimin’s lids drooped slightly, his red face going back to its natural color, and a sleepy tone taking making his voice soft has he reluctantly repeated after his friend. “Maybe I… I… can never… fly,” he hummed, and the man stopped rocking him, and Jimin waved his hands at you in annoyance. “Agh, you’re not worth the trouble.”

You nodded, and a man behind you started laughing. “Ah, Jin-hyung, this kid’s lucky you’re here,” the man laughed, and you supposed the motherly one was Jin.

“Taehyung, it’s rude to laugh like that,” Jin scolded, though he nodded in agreement. “Though it is lucky for this fellow I suppose.”

You laughed awkwardly, trying to give that deep, throaty chuckle you remember your Father had. You turned around to walk away, but not before you heard, “You know what? I change my mind.”

You turned around, seeing Jimin’s fist flying towards you. You shrieked, ducking down, which resulted in Jimin punching the other boy in the throat. Taehyung coughed and sputtered, falling to the floor as Jimin gave him an apologetic, angel-like smile. “Sorry, Tae,” he apologized.

Taehyung scrambled up, his fists flying to you in fury rather quickly, and you jumped to the side, hearing the thwack as Taehyung hit someone nearby. Before long, a brawl had started, and everyone was punching everyone, and you definitely had to throw a few hands to defend yourself in the chaos erupting.

“ENOUGH!” someone bellowed, the loud shout causing everyone to look up. General Kim Namjoon, followed by another boy. The general’s face was stern, and he nudged the other boy, looking to him. “Well, Jungkook? This is your troupe, little brother. You’re in charge now.”

Jungkook- who was apparently in charge- narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. “LISTEN UP!” he shouted,  his voice gruff and commanding. You all stiffened under his glare, and he immediately shouted, “LINE UP!”

You all scrambled from the floor and each other’s clutches to line up single file, and after some confusions and a few gruff shouts, you were all lined up. Jungkook and the general walked along the line, inspecting the face of each soldier, and you prayed you just got enough scrapes and cuts to where any feminine features you possessed were concealed.

Your mind recalled something Yoongi told you, about General Kim Namjoon having a half brother by the name of Jeon Jungkook, who was born later but was also working in the army to lead troupes in the army.

“Good job,” Namjoon nodded to the younger. “You’ll make a fine captain, you know. I’m lucky you’re younger than me because I’d be overshadowed by you quicker than I’d be able to so much as pick up a sword.” The two shared a good-hearted chuckle, and you found yourself wishing your relationship with Yoongi was more like that. Well, it was at times, but from how things were left, it’s natural for you to wish it was like that more often.

“Thanks,” Jungkook chuckled, but quickly wiped it off, as though remembering where he was and who he was. He continued walking down the row, and his eyes landed on you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Oh shit, he saw right past you! And he’s hot! Shit.

“What family are you from?” Jungkook questioned, quirking a brow at the question.

“Min,” you spoke, doing your best to keep your cool.

“Min? As in the same family as Min Yoongi, and his father?” Namjoon asked, impressed.

“No, no!” you hastily replied. “A different Min. I’m… I’m adopted, yes… so I’m from the Min family. They don’t talk of me often.”

Jungkook eyed his elder brother, “Not one 'more than a man’, technically. Besides, the riddle is rubbish, you and I both know that.” He looked back to you. “What is your name, soldier?”

“Er… Sonyeon,” you blurted, eliciting odd stares from the men around you. (The joke here is that 'Sonyeon’ is the romanized version for 'boy’ in Korean.)

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Sonyeon?”

“Min was a great soldier,” Namjoon said wistfully. “Though perhaps not the best when it comes to names…”

Jungkook shrugged.

Namjoon’s eyes raked down your comparably scrawny figure. “Just remember, brother. This one might be scrawny, but even the smallest grain of rice can tip the scale.”

“Of course,” Jungkook agreed, and you let out a breath of relief.

“When your army is ready, meet us at the front,” Namjoon ordered. “I ought to get going. I’ll see you soon, Captain.”

Jungkook gave a grim nod, “See you soon, General.”

Namjoon grinned, walking away to his horse, riding out of the camp. Glares were sent your way, particularly from Taehyung, Jimin, and Jin. Jungkook simply gave you a bored stare before addressing the rest of the troupe.  His glare intensified, and he stared down the men, his chest puffed out and chin held up high.

“Now, listen here,” he called out in a stern voice. “There will be no fights breaking out in the troupe. The only one you’re supposed to fight is Shownu and his army, and we won’t get anything done if you’re fighting each other like children. My job is to transform you puny boys into men, and it’s going to be a long journey to get to that point, as I can already see by your bad behavior. Tomorrow we will begin training, but for now, you are to clean this camp and build your own camps. And tomorrow, the real work begins.”

Grumbles were shared as your captain walked away, and glares were definitely being sent to you directly. That night you dealt with the shoves and jeers, mainly from the three you met earlier. You set up your own tent, a small one, and you weren’t to have any roommates like the others. Partly because no one wanted to room with you, and the other part was because you were sure awful things would happen in your sleep had that happened.

The next morning the soldiers lined up, right as the sun was rising over the camp. Everyone was tired, and you were being greeted with taunting jeers and threats. Your captain stepped out from his tent, which was set much farther from the other tents in the camp, and your eyes widened at his glory as he slipped off his shirt. You might be pretending to be a boy, but you it slipped your mind your captain had an undoubtedly impressive physique… although more than likely you weren’t the only one impressed.

“Oh, lookie, tough guy,” Jimin snickered to Tae, rolling his eyes.

Jungkook wasn’t even looking Jimin’s way, but you swore you saw a smirk quirk the man’s lips up as he grabbed a bow and arrow, pointing directly at Jimin. “Jimin,” he said, eliciting a shocked and surprised look from the other man. Last minute, Jungkook pointed the arrow at the pole, shooting it off where it landed perfectly towards the top. “Thank you for so graciously offering to retrieve the arrow.”

Jimin was stunned momentarily, and Taehyung and Jin were trying to hide their snickers. You yourself even let a smile slip onto your lips, but Jimin greeted you with his death glare. “With pleasure,” Jimin growled, stomping off to the pole.

“Wait!” Jungkook stopped him, holding a box in his hand. “You can’t do this on your own.” He opened the box, revealing medals of gold. Wrapping one around each of Jimin’s wrists, he held them up in example. “Strength,” he raised the other hand, “and discipline. You will need  both to reach the arrow.”

Wow, such a metaphor.

Jimin grumbled to himself, dragging the weights along as he gripped around the pole, trying to drag himself up, only to fall down in misery.

You all had a lot of work ahead of you.

You’d like to say that your training for the next few months was easy, and you were a natural at it, but in reality, you were perhaps the worst soldier in history. You were tossed around like a rag doll in hand to hand combat, and you repeatedly fell down on your head as you tried to retrieve the arrows. The boys didn’t make it easier either, because at some point Taehyung stuck a scorpion down your shirt, which caused you to swat everyone around you with your staff, squirming around and shrieking as you hit everyone in your way. Jungkook was by your side within seconds, but only after you knocked everyone down, and he yanked you by the collar of your shirt, glaring at you as you winced at his words of 'encouragement’.

Hell, he might be hot, but this was the army. One mistake and you’re dead.

Swiping for fish only resulted in you swiping at other men, dunking them in the water. Balance was something you frankly sucked at, and as you ran across the pegs sticking out of the river, you’d fall and slip into the river’s current, only resulting in your captain retrieving you because everyone else was busy laughing. You hit your head against stones and sticks, and you were surprised you didn’t have a concussion already.

Occasionally on one of your major screw ups, Jungkook would insist it was because you didn’t believe in yourself. You yourself thought it was because you were too weak, no match for the bulkier, stronger men surrounding you, who’s lives you endangered with your constant screw ups.

It was after a hike on a mountain, where you carried water in buckets with sticks across your back, that Jungkook decided enough was enough. You were falling behind, and Jungkook had to take your load himself, looking at you in disappointment. It had been six months, and even you knew that had you not dragged everyone behind, they’d be ready to fight with the others. With his brother.

That night Jungkook took your horse, carrying a small sack full of food, and tossing it to you as he dragged you from your tent.

“You’re through,” Jungkook said, his voice dismal and stern. “You can’t complete the training, and you’re dragging everyone behind. Mistakes can cost your own life, and others as well. Go back to your family. It’s too bad that not even their adopted son could accomplish what they could. I wanted to believe in you, but we don’t have all the time in the world. Shownu is coming, and I can’t make you into a man. I guess I was fullish to think you could be anything more than a boy. Go home, you’re through. How could I succeed with you?”

You were broken, staring at him in shock as he walked away to retreat to his tent, leaving you to return home in shame, with your family honor broken.

But you wouldn’t give up.

You refused to believe a word of what he said, the words echoing in your ears even as you snuck into the weaponry and training supply tent, getting the medals. You dragged them behind you, the moonlight reflecting them dimly as you strained to hold them up. You stared up at that arrow, gritting your teeth and trying to climb up the pole, only to fall down time and time again. Others tried climbing up there even without the weights, but it was impossible.

You stared down at the weights in absolute frustration. How the hell were you supposed to do this? This was impossible! But staring up at the arrow, an idea sparked in your mind. You swung both medals around the pole, your arms wrapping around the wood. They clinked together, locking in place as they twisted with one another. Your eyes were wide in amazement, and you tugged against them, making sure they’d stay in place. You started climbing up, hugging onto the pole, the weights supporting you and your feet kicking up. You were about halfway up the pole when the sun started rising over the camp, the golden light meeting your small frame.

Men were getting out of their tents, staring up at you, Sonyeon, who was closer to the arrow than any of them were able to. They cheered you on, and you got to the top, sitting atop the pole and yanking the arrow from it’s taunting throne, victory having a sweet taste on your lips as you smiled, the men below giving hollers and whoops of encouragement and joy. The captain stepped from his tent far below, and even his broad shoulders and tall frame seemed so tiny from all the way up there. You were light-headed, either from the lack of air or from the giddiness you felt at the moment for finding a resourceful solution.

When Jungkook walked closer to the pole, you threw the arrow as accurately as you could, landing at his feet. You didn’t even have to be up close to tell his smile was matching your own.

From that moment on, you believed in yourself. You were equal to these men, their taunting jeers turning into shouts of encouragement and you leaped ahead, catching bountiful fish, progressing further and further instead of stumbling behind. You were running ahead, getting swifter and stronger than ever before, and once even beat the great captain himself in hand to hand combat, though he grinned in pride at your improvement.

Within the next five months, you were one of the star soldiers, where instead of using just brute strength and brawn, you used your resourcefulness and quick thinking. Instead of knocking you down, your fellow soldiers helped you up, seeing you more as an equal than a burden. You even got a bit closer to Jungkook, admittedly, where his compliments to your hard work made your heart flutter, and you hid from the others any sign of your blushing cheeks. There was no room for a crush in the army, and you did your best to suppress it.

One of the few 'feminine’ habits you still kept was hygiene, and it was late at night when you were finally able to wash up in the lake, letting the fresh water replenish your battered skin, your calloused fingers running over your skin to rub off dirt. Sure, you were risking your secret being discovered, but your horse was nearby with a towel draped over his back for coverage, and you did this so many times you were surprised you weren’t discovered yet.

But then you heard the hollers.

You quickly his behind a rock, your eyes wide as saucers as you saw three men strip down of their clothes, jumping into the lake with cheers of joy. Shit, you recognized those cheers. Taehyung, Jimin, and Jin!

“Hey, Sonyeon!” Taehyung called out, swimming towards you. Your eyes were wide, and you had no doubt in your mind he was completely bare beneath the water. “How are you doing, bud?”

“Oh, hi Taehyung-ah,” you coughed, using the deeper voice you had to use around the boys nowadays. “Well, you guys can have the lake to yourself, I’m about to head out. Bye!”

Just as you were about to swim away, Taehyung grabbed your arm, grinning. “Wait, wait! Look, we were awful before, and we’re sorry. We were idiots, but what about a fresh start? Hi, I’m Tae.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake, a boxy grin on his face as you shook his hand nervously.

“Hi, Tae,” you smiled nervously, pulling your hand back, only for it to smack flat against Jin’s chest.

“And I’m Jin,” the older man smiled at you.

“Hi, Jin,” you laughed.

You heard the sound of wet feet stepping onto the rock, and you looked up in horror to see a naked Jimin- while his glory was… glorious- with his hands on his hips and a smug grin as he stared down at you and the boys. “And I’m Jimin!” he crowed haughtily, water dripping down his body as you tried to avert your eyes, your cheeks flushed. “King of all you pussies!”

“Oh yeah?” Tae grinned, “Sonyeon and I can whoop your ass.”

“How about we not,” you laughed. “We could just… leave? Or close our eyes, play some Marco-Polo or whatever?”

“Don’t be a wimp, let’s fight him!” Taehyung encouraged, grabbing onto your arm to try and drag you away. “We’re together, Sonyeon-ssi, we can do anything! Beat anyone! As long as we’re a team, we can kick who ever’s ass we want. And I say we kick this so-called 'king’!”

“Kids, don’t roughhouse too much,” Jin said in a quiet tone, though you could tell from his mischevious grin that he wasn’t going to stop anything. Taehyung stood on the rock, trying to drag you up as well to fight with Jimin.

You tried to think quickly, and you shouted at the top of your lungs, “SNAKE!” Splashing wildly, you heard the men around you scream in fear, Taehyung letting go of you and jumping up closer to Jimin on the rock, and Jin scrambled up as well, the splashing concealing your lie. You dived under, swimming to the shore and to your house, hiding behind him and getting the towel, wrapping it around your body.

“Ugh, never again,” you groaned to yourself, running to your tent.

Later that night, disaster struck. The sounds of shrieks and yells are what alerted you at once, and you ran outside your tent to see your camp being attacked. They found you! Quickly, you got dressed in your father’s armor, his sword in your hand, and you joined in on the fight.

You tried to recall everything Jungkook had taught you because the time had finally come for you to fight. Your sword clashed with another’s, the metal hitting metal. You yelled a warrior cry, breaking away and trying to hit again, the blades pressing against each other. You two pushed against one another, both gritting your teeth and trying to push the other down. You spun around, bringing your foot up to kick the enemy in the face, the jaw more than likely being dislocated as they fell to the floor. You grabbed their sword, looking down as you stabbed your attacker in the heart.

Tossing the blood-stained sword to the ground, you turned around, seeing another attacker. You swiped, clashing swords and kicking at each other. You fell to the floor, kicking his feet out from under him and bringing out your sword, the tip sinking down into the belly. Blood splashed that night, and you took numerous more lives, until you heard your captain’s mighty cry, on his horse as it ran past the fights breaking out, and he did his best to attack while he was on the animal, more bloodshed being spread on the dirt and grass.

“Captain!” you cried out, seeing an archer aiming directly at Jungkook. You ran towards the archer, tackling him as you immediately brought your sword down on his neck, the blood spilling everywhere. Your captain looked to you, and you nodded on, pointing to another enemy approaching him. You were panting hard, and you heard the sound of hooves repeatedly beating against the ground, and turned around to see a large figure on a dark horse, getting nearer and nearer, a jagged sword held out to his side.

You knew who it was immediately from the tales that both your brother and father told. The huge figure was none other than Shownu, from his enormous size, long, flowing hair he kept in a ponytail, and from the faithful sword, he never let leave his side. Your heart was leaping out of your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you started running in the opposite direction, but Shownu was gaining on you.

He was so close you could see the malicious grin he bore, and you turned around, your sword clashing against his so hard sparks seemed to fly. His horse kicked in the air, it’s front hooves waving in the air as you fell, rolling away to scamper off. You were scared to death, your heavy sword shaking in your hands, and you were trembling in your blood stained armor.

Shownu’s expression turned dark, and you could only hear the one word he seemed to growl out. “Min!” he shouted out, recognizing either your armor or your frightened expression, perhaps the same one your brother wore. He made a swipe so quick you didn’t have time to react, and he cut into your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain and fall to the floor.

You heard someone shout out, “SONYEON!” and without another word, Shownu ran off, the rest of his army following shortly after. You had no idea why Shownu left you without killing you, but as you saw his army finally disappear, and the dead bodies scattered on the field, you shakily stood up on your legs.

Your sword was heavy in your hand, and you felt light-headed. All you could smell was blood right now, and the slight smell of urine, undoubtedly from the men who peed from fright or others, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was running down your own leg. Your limbs felt numb and cold, and there was a certain weight as you stared down at how you were covered in blood from the numerous lives you probably took and your sword that was stained with the blood of many. Lives were taken because of you, and the thought made you go dizzy. You pressed your palm against your stomach, bringing it in front of your face to reveal it soaked in blood.

“SONYEON!” the same voice shouted out, and your captain’s horse approached. He leaped off as you staggered back, eyes wide as he tried to get a hold of you, stabilizing you by gripping onto the sides of your arms. “Soldier, are you alright? Can you hear me, boy?”

“Jungkook…” you whispered, the first and probably only time you- or any of the soldiers- called him by his actual name instead of captain. You collapsed in his arms, the shock that was keeping you awake wearing off at last, and your vision faded as Jungkook shook your shoulders, trying to wake you.

“Ugh…” you groaned, blinking up. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t your tent either. Yours was much smaller than this one, and rather shabby in comparison, to be frank. “Where am I?”

You heard a small sound, and you tried to sit up, seeing Jungkook running his blade across a stick, making the end pointed. You glanced down, the blanket covering you slipping down to reveal bandages around your wound, and your breasts were briefly revealed. You gasped, using the blanket to cover yourself again. You looked up to your captain in absolute fear, “I-I can explain!”

A slow smirk spread on Jungkook’s face, and he didn’t meet your eyes, his eyes still trained on the small knife and the pointy stick. You gulped, and he looked back to you.

“You know, you never did seem quite the same as your comrades,” he mused, his eyes mischevious. “There was always something off. Sure, you fell behind in the beginning, and it was rather impressive when you started to excel. I had suspicions, but none of them were like this.”

“I did it for my brother,” you whimpered, looking down in shame. “He was injured because of Shownu last time, and our father has been dead for years. Had I let Yoongi go, he would’ve died instantly.”

“So, you impersonated a soldier, and pretended to be a man?” Jungkook stopped, quirking a brow at you. “I must say, I’m impressed.”

“I understand if I must meet the death penalty, sir, but I’m so sorry- wait, what?” you looked up at him in shock.

Jungkook smiled. “That’s right, I’m impressed. You rose above your peers, and had I known, it would’ve made a lot more sense why you were so lacking in the beginning. But the fact that you usurped grown men, fought and trained alongside them- and for almost a year! Why I had no idea. How did you do it?”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” you asked feebly. “I committed a crime, and the penalty is death. W-Why are you…”

“Sonyeon,” Jungkook paused. “Alright, not Sonyeon, sorry, it slipped my mind for calling you that for so long. Man, you couldn’t come up with a better name?” He laughed. “That should’ve been a red flag to me or something, it’s funny now that I look back. But look, you’re a hero, girl or not. You even went face to face with Shownu, and you survived. That’s rare, and it’s just like your father and brother. Sure, sort of like that old riddle, but everyone knows that’s bullshit. No matter though, the point is, I’m not revealing your secret. You’re one of my best soldiers, and I’m not pompous enough to throw you away because your physique is… different.”

You blinked in surprise. “I’m… Thank you, Captain.”

“Might I ask your real name?” Jungkook asked you, putting down the objects in his hand to face you completely.

“Y/N,” you spoke.

He smiled. “Yes, Y/N. I think I spoke to your brother about you, before. He was a good man, spoke very fondly of you, in fact.”

“Well, I doubt he’d do that now,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“And why is that?”

You hesitated. But he knew your most dangerous secret, and it’s not like you could afford to keep more secrets from him or get on his bad side. “The day we were ordered to send a man from our family here, I was supposed to go to the matchmaker. But I was so upset with the situation, and my brother and I got into a nasty fight.”

“And you still chose to take his place?”

“He’s my brother,” you countered. “Wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

“In a heartbeat,” Jungkook admitted. “You’re brave, Y/N. Not just as a soldier, but also as a person.”

“What happened after…” You trailed off, not wanting to think of the horrific acts you saw and performed.

Jungkook’s mouth went small. “You fainted in my arms, and your friends, those three goofballs, I’m sure you know, were insisting on taking care of you. Several of our medics were killed, unfortunately, and they were going out tending to the others, trying to find survivors. I knew enough to treat wounds like your own, so I decided to treat you myself. But once I saw you weren’t exactly a… boy, I immediately rushed you to my tent to finish tending to your wounds and to hide you from the others. I didn’t know if they’d react the same as me.”

“Oh,” you breathed, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the fact that Jungkook saw your goods.

Jungkook’s cheeks seemed to turn slightly pink, and it was evident that he was thinking of the same thing you were. Though, never in all the months of him training you had you seen the man blush. “I mean, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine, you saved my life,” you interrupted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We’re going to be joining my brother,” Jungkook mentioned. “We can’t stay at this camp, and seeing you all fight yesterday, it’s evident you’re ready by now. The messenger, Hoseok, sent me a letter from my brother this morning, in fact, saying that he needs backup at the front immediately.”

“Yes sir,” you nodded. “I’ll pack immediately, Captain.” Jungkook shifted at your words, something making him slightly uncomfortable. You looked at him in surprise. “Is there something wrong, Captain?”

“Hm?” he hummed absentmindedly. “What? Oh, no. I’ve just never heard a girl call me Captain. But I suppose we’ll have to still call each other by the honoraries and such, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“What about this, Y/N,” Jungkook began. “What if we just called each other by our real names when we’re alone. It’s exhausting having to act so… stern and official every day, and it’d be good for someone close to you- or, for you to be comfortable with the only one who knows your name. Or that’s just me, I just feel like I’m going crazy not being able to talk with anyone one on one.”

His suggestion- request, more accurately- was innocent, and you could sense the slight pleading tone he used. You smiled, nodding. “I’d like that very much, Jungkook.”

He grinned, and his eyes wandered to the outside of the camp. “You ought to get back to your tent to pack before anyone sees you. We’ll talk later.”

You nodded, taking the blanket with you as well as the armor he laid at the side. You bowed goodbye, and the moment you slipped out of the tent you resumed your role as a soldier. Your wound ached, but you were more than capable of moving around enough, so long as you don’t reopen the wound. But you couldn’t deny your heart was beating faster than ever.

It was a weary journey, walking over to the front through the snowy mountains. It had been two weeks of stopping and walking the great distance, mainly because you lacked a trusting map and there were many obstacles through the mountains, and because you brought your horse, you were one of the few who got to travel that way. You kept close to the three boys, a little behind Jungkook, mainly because the boys were actually quite friendly once you got to know them better, and they became your main source for entertainment. Despite the lives they’ve taken, and the atrocities they’ve seen, not to mention the noticeable shrinkage of your troupe since the battle, they were still able to joke around.

The topic they were on- ironic and shocking as it was- was women.

“She has to be at least shorter than I am!” Jimin insisted.

Jin laughed, imitating the sound of a squeaky toy or other. “Oh please, that’s just because you know you’re short!”

“Yah, I’m not!”

Taehyung laughed, “Jiminie-ah, you’re so short, you’re an acorn.”

“Why I oughta-”

“Not right behind the captain,” you warned, though you secretly wanted to see what would happen. The general’s army was in a small village, guarding them by the front because it was one of the main ways to get to the main road. You had spoken to Jungkook a bit about it during your night talks, and he was more than happy to explain to you.

“You’re just saying that cause you’re his new favorite,” Taehyung hissed teasingly to you.

You wore a flabbergasted expression on your face. “What? You’re being ridiculous. Do you not remember in the beginning, how he’d yell at me every other day?”

“Well something’s different,” Jin mentioned. “You two talk often it seems. And you exchange these looks. Do you two know something that we don’t?”

“Oh, we plan on sending you three back home,” you teased, grinning. “Sorry to break it to you.”

Jimin scoffed, “Sure, sure. Just you wait, once we get home, we’ll be heartthrobs! I’ll get myself a nice gal, one who admires my scars and thinks I have no faults.”

“Like she exists,” Taehyung scoffed. “I just want a girl who laughs at my jokes.”

“Your jokes suck!” Jin remarked, snickering.

“Not as much as your dad jokes,” Taehyung fired back.

“They’re not that bad,” Jimin muttered, though it was barely heard over Jin’s squawks of offense.

You rolled your eyes. “Not again,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Well, while you two care for unrealistic things, I just want a girl who will cook with me,” Jin mentioned. “Mm, I can smell the chicken already. I’m getting hungry…”

“Hey, Sonyeon-ssi, what’s your ideal gal?” Jimin asked. “I’d say you were probably a charmer, but seeing you when you first got here, you probably made gals run away.”

You rolled your eyes again, thinking of the irony. “I dunno, I guess someone athletic… to help me around… someone with a brain who speaks their mind… and perhaps can take charge…”

“Boring!” Taehyung yawned. “Gee, Sonyeon, your gal sounds like a man!”

“And she’d be twice the man of any of you,” you hissed back, making the boys guffaw and sputter, about to start another argument. Jimin gathered and packed a pretty good snowball with the snow you were all trudging through, and you were about to block it when he stopped, gasping and dropping it to the ground before him. The boys’ eyes were wide and horrified, and you looked forward in confusion, only to see all you needed to.

It was frames of houses and rags of cloth, the remains of a village that was burned to the ground. You rode closer to Jungkook, your eyes wide and heart pounding in shocked thuds.

Jungkook looked to you in horror, and you knew at once his mind crossed to his brother, who was supposed to be here. “Namjoon should be here,” he murmured to you. You didn’t know what to say, and he turned around, addressing the army. “Search for survivors!”

Soldiers searched through the burned down village, some disappearing down into the valley deeper below. You rode on, unsure of what to expect. There seemed to be no sign of life, and Shownu most certainly didn’t show any mercy. “I… Oh God,” you shuddered. Your stomach dropped down, thinking of the innocent lives of men, women, and children that were taken.

“Captain!” Jin’s voice rang out. You and Jungkook watched in horror as he came up, holding the golden helmet of Jungkook’s brother between his palms. Jungkook took it, examining it, his face pale. You couldn’t read anything in his blank stare, and rode forward, gasping out as you saw hundreds of dead bodies down below in the valley.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, absolutely horrified at what you saw. It was absolutely heart wrenching, and to think that somewhere down there was even Jungkook’s brother, the general. There were even dead horses in the mix, and some were even the bodies of civilians, undoubtedly a few of children.

Jungkook was by your side, his eyes glassy as he struggled to suppress everything in front of his soldiers. He slipped off his horse, unsheathing his sword to stab it into the ground, placing his brother’s helmet on top in memory of him. A grave.

“Jungkook,” you whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, but as the wind started making his red cloak drift behind him, and tears cascaded his cheeks as he looked at the hoards of dead bodies below, he looked at you with pure agony and misery etched into his handsome features. “It should’ve been me.”

While you wanted to argue with him, you knew it’d be best if you didn’t cause a dispute during his time of grief.

“Jungkook,” you said again. “I just want you to know, that if there’s anything I can do to help, to make you feel better, I’ll do it. And I mean anything.”

“I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to, Y/N,” Jungkook said back, shuddering in the frigid air as you two viewed the bodies being inspected.

“Jungkook, I care deeply for you. I’d do literally anything, and I want to help,” you insisted quietly. “I mean it. You’re more than just a friend to me.” You didn’t mean to blurt out the last part, you wanted it to mean you cared for him deeply in a way you’d risk your life for him, but as the words slipped your lips, they sounded very different than what you intended, though it was true either way.

Jungkook froze, and you were about to address the awkward statement you just made when you heard shouts from below. Figures moved fast, and within a second you realized your enemies had arrived.

“Captain!” you cried out, “Get on your horse, Shownu’s men are here!”

Jungkook glanced up from the grave to see that your words are true, and at once he mounted his steed, and the two of you descended into the battlefield. You fought hard, blood being spilled and mixing into the old blood that had already sunk into the snow. Scrapes and cuts were still torn into your sleeves and small ones along your arms and legs, but it wasn’t anything fatal or what could slow you down. Energy coursed through you, and you kept your focus, killing the second set.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t as morally wounding as it was the first time. Guilt didn’t course through you as much as you stabbed man after man, using slices and cuts to tear into the flesh as bodies hit the floor. No, now that you saw that they’d murder innocents, that they dared to harm even the children of your country, you wanted vengeance and to defend the ones who were lost. To defend those who couldn’t protect themselves, who stood no chance.

You were angry and in focus, letting the energy drive you to kill yet another murderer. Kill one, you’re a murderer. Kill a murderer, you’re a hero. A sickening thing that balanced out, and yet, it was the truth. Your warrior cry echoed through the valley, and you weren’t sure if it was your own blood or someone else’s that you tasted on your tongue. Your blade sliced through armor and flesh, and you made a mental note to get it repaired and sharpened again if you were to survive.

You heard a familiar cry and turned to see Shownu towering over a soldier, his blade quickly piercing the young man. Shownu wore a malevolent grin, licking his lips as the young boy fell to the ground.

Taehyung.

You were paralyzed for but a second, staring in shock as your friend toppled to the floor and didn’t move a muscle. Shownu turned, his galloping horse heading straight for one person in particular. Jungkook.

You couldn’t lose two friends, not tonight. You kicked at your horse beneath you as it jolted forward, and you intercepted Shownu to stop him, right in front of Jungkook. “Captain, go!” you encouraged, yelling at the top of your lungs as Jungkook’s blade cut into a man’s skull. Jungkook looked back just as you bared your teeth, your blade colliding with Shownu’s jagged one.

You went on, clashing them together as you neared closer. You did something completely crazy, gripping onto your horse’s mane and partially standing on the saddle before leaping onto Shownu’s horse, that was so close it was but inches from you. You landed on Shownu’s backside and quickly stabbing your blade into his side before he could process what you did or what you were to do, and you fell onto the ground behind the horse as it started running off, it’s owner’s body going limp before sliding right off. The animal rode off into the distance, and you scrambled up from the snow, getting up to run towards Shownu’s body.

“Sonyeon!” someone shouted. You turned to see Jimin running towards you, his sword in hand, and he was definitely in bad shape, either the shock keeping him conscious or the fear that pumped through his veins. This was Hell. “Sonyeon, where’s Tae?!”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, though, because you knew the moment your gazes locked you’d see his- yours as well- friend’s lifeless body flopping down and sinking into the snow.

Besides, you still needed to finish the job and kill Shownu. You ran closer to the spot where he landed, turning from Jimin to the dead body that was responsible for this Hell.

It was gone.

You looked at the place where you were sure that his body had landed here, but it wasn’t there anymore. Nothing was there, except for the vague shape of a body in the blood-stained snow. Jimin caught up with you, gripping onto your arm, his eyes wide. “Where’s Tae? He was here but a few minu-”

“Soldiers!” Jungkook shouted, pointing his sword one way. “Retreat!”

You called to your horse, mounting it immediately and helping Jimin up, trying to ignore his pleading questions, and half hoping that the tears would freeze into ice for you to simply toss aside and forget about.

“Did you see it happen?” Jin asked you quietly. You were busy washing your blood stained armor in a nearby lake since your troupe traveled down the mountain to someplace closer to the warmer regions. You knew within a second that he was talking about Tae, and you gulped.

“Yes,” you admitted, sighing to yourself as you took a break from scrubbing the blood off. “I saw it. Shownu stabbed the boy without a second thought. Taehyung… he didn’t stand a chance.”

Jin sighed, staring into the rippling water. “Taehyung was like a little brother to me. He was even closer to Jimin since they were both constantly there for each other. I know you weren’t as close to him as we were, and hell, maybe you still secretly hold a grudge for how we treated you in the beginning, but I think that his death affected you too.”

You hadn’t even thought back to the moments in the beginning of training, and you had forgiven everyone who mistreated you a long time ago. You knew Jimin was in his new tent, still sobbing his eyes out, broken, and though it had been weeks since the battle, gloom still hung over everyone.

“Of course it did,” you admit. “He was a fine young man and a great soldier. But more than that, he was a good friend.”

“He always tried to make us laugh,” Jin says wistfully. “Jimin always tries to make us happy, but he only shows it when he’s in private, and I’d always make sure that they were cared for and fed. It balanced out. Now, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never dealt with death before.”

“I have,” you nod. “And trust me, it’s never quite easy. When my father died, it took forever to even get stable.”

“That’s right, you were adopted by the great soldier Min,” Jin recalls the lie. “How did you cope?”

“I fought with my brother a little less and started trying to make my mother’s life a bit easier,” you shrug. “Mainly distracting myself from it all with work, and trying to avoid causing conflict in the house.”

“Did it work?”

“For a while,” you mention. “But eventually I faced it, and I learned to move on. I miss him, but I was able to go on and have my life progress, even though he was no longer in it.”

“I’m sure your father would be proud of what a brave young man you’ve become,” Jin assures. “I mean, everyone back at camp was talking of the first time, how you got injured by him and lived, like your family. And now they won’t stop going on about how you saved the captain and injured him, some saw.”

“I couldn’t find his body though,” you confess. “I was trying to find Shownu to finish the job, for the innocents, for Tae, and he was gone. He’s probably not dead, I wouldn’t doubt if he’s waiting to strike.”

“Well maybe this time we can prepare and be ready to finally get rid of them,” Jin says. “Third time’s a charm. Just remember, no matter what, you’re a hero Sonyeon.”

“Yeah,” you mumble wistfully. But there was always a thin line between traitor and hero, depending on who’s side you were on. You were on your countries side, but your gender determined whether or not you were a hero or a traitor, unfortunately. “In some ways, I suppose.”

Jin left you soon after, and it was deeper in the night when your armor was clean and all the men seemed to be asleep, that another presence was beside your own.

“Captain,” you greeted, looking over to him. “What can I do for you this beautiful night?”

Jungkook was silent, simply enjoying basking beside you in the moonlight of the bright, crescent moon. You understood, and he noted he didn’t seem as worn out as he was earlier. After a few minutes filled with silence, Jungkook finally said something. “Y/N,” he said softly. “When you said those weeks ago that you thought of me as more than a friend…”

This wasn’t your captain speaking. It was Jungkook. It wasn’t quite the confident, stern man who’d still yell at you when you screwed up, but instead, the man who is broken by the loss of his brother, who was willing to do anything it seemed to mend his heart.

“I care for you deeply, Jungkook. I’d risk my life for you, and-”

“Are you attracted to me, Y/N?”

You paused. “Yes. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable or anything, and I have been since the beginning, admittedly. But I understand it’s inappropriate, especially with our positions and such, which is why-”

“I’m attracted to you too, Y/N.”

You froze in shock, surprised. You didn’t notice any signs that Jungkook felt the same way to you as you did to him, but evidently, he did. It was more than likely after he found out you were a girl. Now that you thought about it, there were small moments, like how when you first called him Captain after your secret was revealed he shifted in his seat a certain way, or how his cheeks flushed red at the memory of your breasts, and perhaps some other instances you tried to ignore during your late night talks.

“Oh,” you breathed. “I didn’t know that.”

“And, you know when you offered to make me feel better-”

“I meant anything, Jungkook,” you stared him in the eye. “I trust you not to use me in a way I’m not comfortable with, and I’m not planning on using you anytime soon if you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I don’t want you to feel pressured because I’m your Captain or because you feel sorry for me. You must understand that.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I just want to help you, Jungkook. I know how grief is, I lost my father, and I went so long thinking my brother might as well be dead. If it helps you forget for two seconds or just helps you in any way, I’m willing to do anything. You’re more than a friend, and you do mean a lot to me. You helped me grow to defend myself and protected my secret, I owe you my life.”

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t save mine,” Jungkook sighed. “Are you sure about this, though? I just-”

You shut him up quickly by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in to crash his lips against your own, letting him know it was perfectly okay. He was coming to you about this because you made it perfectly clear you wanted to help him, even if it’s through his grief. Neither one of you was preying on each other, and you were taking it in your hands to help mend back together your broken Captain.

And when you said anything, you did mean anything. And that night, when everyone was asleep and the two of you were in a tent much farther from the others, you found yourself forgetting your own heartaches and pressures as well.

“Sonyeon,” Jungkook spoke, calling you forward. Your troupe was traveling to a new space where they were sure you’d all meet Shownu’s army again, and this time, you were all armed with cannons and swords sharper than ever. You steered your horse closer to your captain’s direction, riding next to him.

While there was definitely something a bit deeper coursing in the connection the two of you had, both of you made sure to suppress it, not wanting to risk getting too attached to each other when one of you could easily not live to see tomorrow. Your relationship was a lot of things: sexual, a deep friendship from telling each other things you hadn’t told anyone else, but you would never admit it was romantic, no matter how much your own heart yearned for it to be.

And outside the tent or each other’s arms, you were simply a trusted soldier who saved his life, and he was your captain, who’s every order you had to obey. After days of traveling again, though, you were itching to drop the facade and jump into his arms, knowing that after the three months of this relationship slipped into the night between days of horror, he had learned your body as you learned his, and each time you knew it was more than worth the effort and secrets.

“Yes, Captain?” Your face showed no emotion, and neither did his. Both of you were masters at concealing and sexual tension for any suspecting soldiers.

“How far are we from the field?” he asked.

You whipped out the map, and because you were out of the mountains, this one was far trustier. “Five miles, sir,” you spoke. “We should be there after the sun sets.”

“Very well,” Jungkook nodded.

In the distance, you saw a horse galloping towards your traveling troupe, and immediately soldiers drew out their swords and aimed their arrows, in case it was an intruder or enemy.

“Put down your sword and arrows,” Jungkook ordered, holding a hand up to them. “It’s a messenger.”

True enough, it was a messenger that neared, until he was in front of your captain. “Captain Jeon,” the messenger huffed, a scroll held tightly in his hand. “Urgent news from the Emperor.”

You glanced at your Captain, who quirked an eyebrow at the messenger. “What is it, Hoseok-hyung?”

“Report to the palace,” Hoseok panted, handing over the scroll. “I believe they’re holding a ceremony for the fallen soldiers, and you’re to be upgraded to General officially. Plus, the Emperor would like to discuss your plan for defeating Shownu.”

Jungkook stiffened, and you gripped tightly onto your horse’s reigns to restrict any urge to comfort your captain. Jungkook nodded, “It will be at least a day’s journey to get to the palace.”

“I understand,” Hoseok nodded. “You just have to report there within three days for the ceremony. Now, I must go, I have more news to deliver to neighboring villages.” The messenger didn’t say so much as another word as he turned around and went off.

Jungkook looked to the army, calling out. “We have a long journey ahead of us, so we must rest. Set up your tents, and get ready to call it a night. Rice will be made soon, and make sure to get plenty of rest.”

The soldiers obliged, and each got set on building their tents. The night was spent with eating your rations and finishing up with building and such, but at some point, your old clumsiness had returned for but a second when you were lost in thought, and you fell into a tent that held four soldiers. Your captain returned just as the soldiers were grumbling curses at you, and he gave you a glare of disappointment. “Do you want to be punished, Sonyeon?” he asked, though his tone was laced with something else than pure anger. “I thought we got over your clumsy days.”

You saw from the corner of your eye Jimin and Jin approach, seeing you get scolded. Both winced in concern, but you remained stoic. “Sorry, sir,” you bowed. “I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“I expect you in my tent later on,” Jungkook warned. “Need I remind you of what happens when you weren’t focused.”

Eyes were either purposely averted or fully trained on the scene, and everyone seemed to sympathize with you, not wanting to be anywhere near when you were to be punished. You remember back when you first started training, how often you’d have to get a good scolding or worse punishments of the most vigorous chores whenever you screwed up, so no one would suspect anything when Jungkook was asking you into his tent.

Your cheeks flushed, and those around you mistook it as embarrassment. “Yes, captain.”

Jungkook gave you a stern look, his eyes flickering to the fallen tent. “You’ll help repair the tent, and then we’ll see about your punishment.” You nodded in response, turning to see the others, who all gave you looks of sympathy, a few knowing first hand how harsh your captain could be.

“Captain?” you spoke, waiting outside the tent. Everyone was asleep, none suspecting anything. You were in your sleepwear, waiting patiently to enter.

“Come in,” Jungkook called, permitting you to enter the tent. You stepped in, puffing your chest out and holding your arms stiffly at your sides. Jungkook looked over to you, also in his sleepwear, and stood to meet you. “Ah, Y/N. I trust everyone’s asleep?”

“I double checked,” you nodded, “They’re out like lights, sir.”

“Good,” Jungkook huffed, and you didn’t fail to notice Jungkook’s eyes raking over your body, his pupils blown out. “Now, to discuss your punishment.”

“Yes, sir,” you looked at the ground, wondering exactly what would take place tonight.

“Are you sorry for what you did earlier today?” Jungkook questioned. “Those men must’ve spent a long time setting up their tent, and then you crashed into it. I thought you were past those days.”

“I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” you spoke. You knew better than to get personal with Jungkook when he was in Captain mode. He might call you by your real name, but you didn’t call him by his.

“I haven’t even begun to make you sorry yet,” Jungkook mentioned, “And I think you know this punishment will be very different from the ones months before…”

“Yes, Captain,” you nodded. “I understand.”

“So you’re okay with being punished this way?” he quirked a brow.

“Anything to learn my lesson, sir,” you spoke, meeting his eyes. “To be a better soldier, sir.”

“Good,” Jungkook breathed, his hands coming up to cup your face in his large hands, bringing you in for your lips to collide against his own. You had become accustomed to the likes and dislikes he had, and exactly how he wanted it, and you knew this night would be a bit more severe than the others you shared. He was pent up with stress and energy, ready to unleash it all on you. You could tell from how stiff his figure was all day, and how tense his shoulders were, his jaw clenched. And he himself knew you were more than eager to let him use it on you.

You kissed back fervently, squeezing your eyes shut as he nipped and tugged at your lips, his tongue tracing over the opening of your lips to get them to part for him. You obliged happily, letting his tongue sweep into your cavern to twirl around your own. It ended too soon, though, because he pulled back, and in a breathy voice he commanded, “Lay down.”

Every soldier had a thick blanket to use as a mattress and a pillow, and you laid down on his straightaway. You knew what would happen next and eagerly tugged off your pants and underwear, discarding them to the ground as Jungkook stalked towards you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do to you,” he whispered lowly, getting on all fours as he slowly crawled on top of you, his face close to yours, and he hitched either of your legs around his hips, but being careful not to make any contact with you where you needed him most. He was teasing you, not letting your core rub against him, and his breath soft and warm against your mouth because he was so near. You stared at his intimate and intimidating stare as he spoke. “Perhaps I won’t let you cum, perhaps I’d get your hopes up and punish you the same way I did in the very beginning, making you do rigorous work until you were a tired, wrecked mess from helping do everything to learn your lesson. But luckily for you, that’s not what I settled on.”

“What did you settle on then, sir?” you asked hesitantly, wanting for him to so desperately touch you. As though he was reading your mind, his hand slithered between your bodies, and his thumb rubbed deftly at your clit, making you arch slightly into his touch because you felt so sensitive.

“I’m going to fuck you harder than ever before,” Jungkook assured. “And you won’t be able to make a single sound. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” you panted in a breathy whimper. He looked down at your cunt, slipping in two fingers to push past your entrance and dive into your wetness. His thumb stopped pressing against your clit, and he instead grinded his palm against it as he fingered you, using scissoring motions and curling them to stretch you enough to accommodate his size.

“Not one sound,” Jungkook mentioned when your lips were about to part to let out a small mewl. He stopped fingering you after a while, instead stuffing the fingers in your mouth to muffle any noises you were going to make. “You’re wet enough, I can slide right in.”

It was true, and you watched as Jungkook lowered his pants to hang around his knees, standing up as he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He leaned against the makeshift table he had set up earlier, one that was quick to set up and stable, and quite easy to take down. One of the few pieces that he kept in his luggage whenever you all had to travel. Evidently, your eyes spotted the characters he was writing on the scroll, but your eyes were averted once Jungkook looked to you, and in a single breath, commanded you. “Jump.”

You knew what to do and immediately jumped into his arms where he caught you easily. You clutched onto his shoulders, hooking your legs around his waist. His arms slipped off you, and you realized he wasn’t going to be providing any support for you. You’d be fine, you assured yourself.

“Sit on my dick,” he ordered. You grinded against him, trying to find out how to position yourself. You hooked one arm around his shoulder and neck to support yourself, your other hand finding his member and directing it to your entrance, sinking yourself down on him until you were full, sitting on the base. Your hand went back to clutch onto his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders, forming crescents and scratches that would be concealed or mistook for perhaps intricate marks from battle.

Once you were fully stable, Jungkook fully leaned back on the table, gripping onto it until both of you were completely still and supported. Without warning, he started thrusting into you, singular, and individual thrusts that left you bouncing on his dick, your legs hooked around his hips preventing you from jumping off of him or letting him slip out of you. You sank your teeth into his shoulder, trying desperately to muffle your moans, and Jungkook hissed quietly in your ear at the pain, though he knew it was in place of your moans to show how good he was making you feel. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned quietly. “Mmm, you take my dick so well, Y/N. Shit, you’re so tight. God, can you take it?”

You nodded desperately as he pounded deeper into you. “Good,” he panted. “Because I’m when I’m done with you, your cunt will be practically broken. But that’s what you want, right? You want me to break this pretty little cunt.”

It was as though each time you slept with Jungkook he found your g-spot quicker, and this time was no exception because within a few thrusts he hit the spot that made you light-headed and dizzy. Jungkook muttered quietly in your ear as you clenched down on his cock that was plowing through you repeatedly. “That’s right, take my cock. Fucking take it. You’re a soldier, you can take it. Take it all,” he murmured, which made the pressure in your lower stomach all the more attentive.

His arms wrapped around you, and he stopped for a moment, his hands burying themselves in your hips were you were sure there’d be bruises mixing into the old. His thrusts were slower, harder, and it left you with your eyes rolling back each time until he let you go, letting you stand before him, though your legs were shaking so badly you had to lean into his arms for support.

“We aren’t done yet,” he growled, his hand wrapping around the column of your throat as you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet to fall to the floor, your head dropping against the pillow thankfully. You found out yourself you were quite into choking a little after a month of sleeping with your captain, and it seemed as though it awakened something in him too whenever you delved into it. Something about the lack of air and the feeling of being light-headed, and your lungs feeling as though they were on fire, all while you shook through an orgasm, was perhaps one of the best things you could indulge in your newly created sex life.

Your eyes seem to roll back, and you felt him slide back into you, pounding relentlessly. “Shit, you’re so tight, even after all the times I fucked you, how are you this tight?”

The sound of skin repeatedly slapping against skin, and the smell of musk in the air, it all made you go dizzy. That, and the lack of oxygen, of course. He was going harder than before, and each deliberate thrust seemed to be laced with pure anger that he was unleashing on you. You knew it wasn’t caused by you specifically, but something else pent up. You felt like you were seeing stars, and Jungkook’s other hand quickly shoved your shirt up to reveal your breasts, and he squeezed and tugged at one, palming and rolling it in one hand roughly as he plowed into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook cursed out, and you felt your high approaching. Your hand crept down quickly to rub vigorously at your own clit, the coil in your lower belly being stretched at tugged and unwinded until it finally snapped, and Jungkook had to quickly let go of your throat to shove his fingers down your throat, muffling your screams as tears streamed down your cheeks from being fucked so roughly. You panted, shaking as oxygen slammed back into you, and Jungkook relentlessly slapped himself into you a few more times until you came down from your high, and he pulled out quickly.

You were quickly flipped over, his hands shoving your head down to bury into the pillow, and his hips snapped wildly against your own from behind, your ass sticking in the air in full display to him. “Shit, just like that, ass higher,” he grunted as you complied, his hand roughly yanking on your hair as his other hand pinned it down. You enjoyed the feeling of him solely pulling at your hair, mixing pain into your sex life. Perhaps pain had become some sort of weird, masochistic thing you started to enjoy, like how you’d secretly relish in kicks in the chest that knocked you breathless in training, or even when someone gave you a good punch to the jaw. Just knowing you could take just as much pain, if not more, than the grown and trained men around you made you feel somewhat stronger. Your screams were muffled through the pillow, and Jungkook pressed your face harder into the pillow, grunts and quiet whimpers of pleasure leaving his mouth as you started to whine desperately from overstimulation. Jungkook must’ve known you couldn’t take any more of it, because he stopped, pulling out of you.

He stood, and you eagerly got on your knees, staring at his red and angry cock, that was practically begging to dive into your mouth. Jungkook’s hands tugged and yanked at your hair, maneuvering your head until you finally sunk down on him. You were awful your first few times, you remembered, gagging repeatedly and having to stop giving head to catch your breath. Now you did very well, letting him hit the back of your throat after being so used to having his dick in your mouth in these stowaway nights.

He sunk you down on him until your nose nuzzled into his fine, dark hair, and you squeezed your eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of your lungs begging for air once again. It was addicting, and you seemed to relish in the feeling a bit more each time. Jungkook started slamming his length into your mouth, his high that was already approaching coming faster than ever.

“Take it all,” he grunted. “God, shit, your mouth feels so good around my cock. Keep going, ah.”

He was relentless, sporadically letting his hips snap into your face as you squeezed onto his thighs, trying desperately to stay still for him until he finally shot his load into your mouth, the bitter and salty taste overwhelming your taste buds as he finally pulled out.

“Swallow it, every last drop,” Jungkook spoke, his tone breathy as you did as you were told. These nights always ended with him cumming in your mouth since both of you were careful not to let you get pregnant. The warm liquid slid down your throat, and you wiped any spare drops from your chin or cheeks to swallow instantly.

You both panted, staring at each other as you both caught your breath. You fucked your Captain, your superior, only for the umpteenth time. You grabbed your pants and underwear, slipping them on quickly as you looked at the boy, who was hitching his pants back up as his dick started to go back to flaccid.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, but when Hoseok mentioned the ceremony and everything… is that what upset you?” you pondered. This was normal. As part of your weird relationship with Jungkook, who he was now instead of your Captain, you’d discuss things that happened earlier that day or concerns.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… When I was little, I’d always be so mad that Namjoon was older, and that in the end, he’d get to be general. And now I’m going to be general, and I don’t feel like I deserve it. He was supposed to be General, he was supposed to still be alive. I just don’t feel good having to take his place.”

You sympathized with him, getting up to rub his arm comfortingly, any sexual tension evaporating once you started consoling me. “Jungkook, you’re a fantastic Captain. You’re a great soldier, and I’m sure you’ll make a stupendous General.”

“You really think so?” Jungkook asked, staring up at you.

“Take it from me as both a soldier and a friend,” you grinned. “You deserve all good things that are going to come your way.”

“We haven’t even defeated Shownu yet,” Jungkook sighed. “This war isn’t over until his life finally ends, once and for all. You’ve faced him, twice in fact. How’d you do it?”

“The first time was luck,” you spoke. “The second time was stupidity.”

“It seemed to work for you though,” Jungkook pointed out.

You shrugged in response. “If it did, he’d be dead already.” You gritted your teeth at the memory of when his sword pierced into your friend, and your blood boiled. “Nothing really works out for me, though.”

“You know, I’m sure your father would be proud of you,” Jungkook mentions. “And trust me, whatever happens, I’m here for you. 'Til the end.”

You grinned. “Ah, but I have a guardian for that.”

“Oh, and which one is that?”

“The stone dragon in my family’s shrine,” you countered.

“Well, my little dragon, your guardian will have to fight for the position,” Jungkook laughed, pulling you in closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. “Because like I said, 'til the end.”

You smiled at the thought, but it made your heart sink. For the two of you, the end could be tomorrow or years from now. But you ignored the new type of tension simmering between the two of you, instead pecking his cheek and leaving the tent, making a vow in your heart that you’d do your best to protect Jungkook until the very end. Whether that be tomorrow or years from today.

“Sonyeon, the punishment wasn’t too bad, was it?” Jimin asked, concerned, though he tried to mask it with snickering and disinterest. Jimin might’ve been the brute out of all your friends, always eager for a fight, ever since Tae’s death he’s been softer, secretly more concerned than ever for all of you. While he tried to seem as though he hardened up in result, you could see through his rouse and saw how broken and vulnerable the man was. It was early morning, and you were all traveling once again. You were thankful you could ride on your horse instead because you were sure you’d end up walking funny.

“It’s been worse,” you shrugged. “I mean, believe me, it sucked, but it’s been worse.”

“What’d he make you do?” Jin asks, purely curious.

You tugged your collar down slightly to reveal a small section of the bruises his hand made around your neck. “Well, I had to do some chores and ended up getting injured pretty badly. He saw, and decided that was enough, frankly, and let me go early.”

“Oh, man, that looks like it hurts,” Jin hisses out in sympathy. “I hope you don’t screw up again.”

“It was just an accident,” you muttered. “But no, it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah,” Jimin nodded. “You might be close to him, but it’s good he doesn’t make special exceptions or treat you differently.”

If only you knew, thought to yourself.

The palace’s walls were magnificent, and though the crowd cheered for the heroes still fighting in the war, and for Jungkook to be appointed General, something was off for you. Your hand was always on your sword just in case, even as you walked behind your Captain, just as he was walking up the steps to the Emperor during the ceremony. It was late at night, yet the lanterns lit up the palace, and the crowd added a certain life. The vibrant colors and cheers overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t help but have the feeling of your hairs raising on the back of your neck, though you knew you were being paranoid. What if someone saw past your act and knew you were a girl? Or what if Shownu showed up from nowhere? Thousands of scenarios popped up in your head, and you didn’t like a single one of them.

But the only one you could tell about your worries was the man ahead of you, who was about to get promoted by the Emperor himself. You were directly behind him for being one of the best soldiers under his training, and you could spot just over his shoulder the Emperor, who’s brilliant and vividly colored robe made him the center of attention.

You and the other soldiers who accompanied Jungkook up the palace steps each bowed and stood on your knees, a sign of respect as you trained your eyes no the floor, giving the Emperor all of the attention and respect he deserved.

“Captain Jeon Jungkook,” the Emperor’s voice rang out. “Brother of the late General Kim Namjoon. It is an honor to have you with us today, in the midst of the war against Shownu. You and your army have all fought fiercely against his men, and it is only right that I appoint you as the new general for Korea’s armies.”

“I am honored, your Majesty,” your captain spoke, his eyes trained down on the floor.

“Now-” the Emperor began, but suddenly the palace doors seemed to open unexpectedly, and out ran none other than the messenger, Hoseok. He was frightened, running down frantically.

“Your Majesty! Shownu-” He couldn’t finish, though, for between the parted doors an arrow flew, shooting into Hoseok’s back, piercing his heart. The boy shuddered, his mouth gaping open before his eyes rolled back, and he fell forward, and onto the palace steps.

Large men from Shownu’s army waved in, and the crowd screamed in horror over none other than Shownu on his great steed coming in. He was bandaged heavily but seemed to be in well enough shape as he raised his jagged sword, and his soldiers went out to attack the other soldiers present, as well as the innocents in the crowd.

You scrambled up, unsheathing your sword and running straight for the Emperor. Two enemies were already making their way to him, and you pushed His Majesty to the floor, your sword quickly swinging up to smash against another, and you kicked your opponent squarely in the chest, running quickly to stab him in the chest while he was down. You swung again at another opponent nearing the Emperor. Your sword was quickly buried in the man’s neck, and you yanked your sword away, shoving your enemy’s limp body to the floor as he bled out, his sword clattering to the ground.

You quickly helped His Majesty up, taking him elsewhere, where he’d surely be much safer. You spotted your Captain, who quickly killed another opponent. “Captain!” you called out, averting Jungkook’s attention to you and the Emperor by your side. Jungkook ran quickly, and your eyes were wide. “You’ve got to get His Majesty out, he won’t be safe with anyone else. I’m looking for Shownu, he’s in the palace!”

Jungkook nodded, quickly sweeping up the Emperor in one arm, half carrying him. “Are you sure you’ll find him, soldier?” your Captain asks.

“We have to keep the Emperor alive, it doesn’t matter if I die trying to find Shownu. Go!” you yelled. “You still need to become a general. This is for my father, my brother, and my country. It was good serving you, Captain.”

His eyes widened quickly but narrowed as he took the Emperor, dashing away to get him to safety. You ran through the palace doors, sword in hand as you frantically searched through the large and magnificent building for the country’s nemesis.

You heard noises and screams from above, and made your way through, ignoring the dead bodies or screaming maids who pointed in the direction of the culprit. Somehow, you found yourself on the top floor, right at one of the balconies on the top level of the palace. You could’ve sworn you heard someone run up here when you were chasing someone up the stairs, but now that you were at the very edge, leaning over the balcony to see if the battle was still going on below, you weren’t so sure.

Until you felt a steely hand grip around your neck, and suddenly your feet weren’t touching the floor anymore, and oxygen stopped flowing to your lungs. You gasped out, choking for air as your face quickly turned purple, your hand gripping at the large hand wrapped around the column of your throat, and your other hand still holding your sword. You swung it wildly behind you and heard a cry of pain as you were promptly dropped to the floor, your body slamming against the floor and your breath slamming back into you.

You turned, quickly, scrambling up as you heaved for more air, seeing none other than Shownu, a bloody gash from his brow, down his eye, and to the ear on the other side of his face. His large hand was plastered over his eye, and you knew it was a gruesome sight. You gulped, shakily standing and pointing your sword at the man, but he swung his own sword in the hand that wasn’t cupping his face, and it collided with yours.

“Are you the one from the prophecy?” he hissed. “More than a man, and a stone dragon? I knew you were a Min the moment I saw you. You and your blasted guardians I’m sure, kudos to whoever you chose. Who was it?”

“My guardian?” you breathed out, confused. It clicked within a second, washing over you with realization. “The dragon in the shrine…”

Shownu took the second you were distracted to swing at you, and your delayed response was barely quick enough to knock your sword against his, but the blow knocked you to the ground. Shownu grinned, staggering up, his hand moving from his eye to the sword. You winced at the chunks of flesh and torn eye that was splitting in the socket, blood dribbling down the side of his face.

“Well, Stone Dragon, I think it’s about time I take what’s mine,” Shownu declares, letting out a mighty cry as he swung his sword down. You moved yours to block it, and the blow from the sword pummeling down on your own had your blade split in half, shards of metal breaking and flying everywhere, giving you cuts and embedding into your armor.

Quickly enough, you scooted back frantically, holding what was half of your father’s sword, and the bits and pieces scattered around you. You looked up terrified at Shownu, who gave a tremulous laugh, closing his eyes and knocking his head back at your sheer unluckiness.

You took the opportunity, jumping up and swinging your fist directly into his exposed throat, making him cough and sputter back as you gripped his own hand and plunged the sword into his chest, simultaneously giving him another blow into his damaged eye, receiving a howl from the man. He fell to the ground, and you yanked the sword from his chest, repeatedly diving the heavy weapon back into him until he was no more than a bloody pulp, his limp body no longer jerking around or making a single move as you buried his own sword in himself one last time.

Your armor was covered in blood, the blood splattered all over your armor and some even on your face. Your hands were ones of a killer, and that was exactly what you were. But you felt no remorse, finally getting rid of the monster.

It was over.

After making your way through the palace back to the front doors, Shownu’s heavy sword covered in his blood dragging behind you, you were face to face with the crowd. Shownu’s soldiers saw you, all recognizing what was in your hand at once. In their moments of distraction they were either killed or already running away, knowing what had become of their leader, and before long Jungkook and the Emperor reappeared, a soldier having sent for them to tell them the news of the dreaded Shownu being killed by none other than Sonyeon.

Jungkook gave you a stunned look, and you staggered to him, giving him the sword and holding it out. “Shownu is dead. Our country is safe once again, and the war is over,” you stated, and his own hand wrapped around your own, holding the sword with you.

“Marvelous my boy!” the Emperor exclaimed, absolutely stunned. “I cannot believe you. My, we must have you upgraded. What shall we call you, my young man? Who is your guardian.”

“The Dragon,” you stated. “And I do not wish to be upgraded, with all due respect, Your Majesty.”

“My, but I must give you something. You saved not only my life but the lives of countless in Korea!” the Emperor beamed. Jungkook beamed as well, patting your shoulder, his eyes swelling with both disbelief and pride.

“You did well, soldier,” he whispered quietly to you. “The other Mins would be proud, both your father and your brother, I’m sure.”

“You’re a Min?” the Emperor asked. “My, no wonder. You… why, the prophecy! One more than a man, the Stone Dragon. My dear boy, I am honored to meet your acquaintance. To show my gratitude, I shall have you engaged to one of my daughters. You yourself will be a prince.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked to Jungkook, who’s face paled.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I cannot marry your daughter.”

The two wore shocked expressions. You dare turn down an offer from His Majesty himself? Absurd!

“You dare disrespect me this way, lad?” the Emperor exclaims. “Why, that itself might even be a crime. Is a princess not enough for you, boy?”

“The fact is, Your Majesty,” you coughed, letting your voice go back up to it’s natural, higher pitch instead of the deeper, more monotonous one you picked up to blend in better with the men around you. “I’m not a boy.”

“What?”

Jungkook’s eyes were bugging out into the size of golf balls as you began taking off your armor, pulling and tugging at your shirt enough to reveal past the bandages and bruises the breasts you bore. The soldiers and people nearby gave you slacked jaws, and wide eyes were drawn to you, even though your back was turned to the crowd.

“Oh,” the Emperor breathed out. “I see.”

You covered yourself again and bowed to him in apology. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I don’t think I’d make the best prince. If you want to kill me for treason for impersonating a soldier and deceiving or dishonoring the army, know that I only wanted to serve you and my country, as well as replace my brother who was unable to fight due to his injury from his own encounter with Shownu.”

“I… see,” the Emperor repeated. He regained his composure, “While you have committed fraud and serious crimes, considering the fact you saved us all, it does not matter what gender you are, and know you will always have my blessing. I owe you my life, as does the rest of Korea.”

You looked up at him in surprise, and he simply smiled down at you, nodding in confirmation that he wasn’t going to kill you, but was instead giving you respect. He bowed slightly, if holy for a second, and it was more than enough. The crowd shifted and inclined their heads, and never before were you so overwhelmed with the respect and thanks you were receiving, and Jungkook himself getting on his knees to bow to you.

And for the first time in perhaps your whole life, you felt as though you finally found and fulfilled your purpose in life.

About a year ago, you would’ve never seen yourself in this position. You were a naive girl, who simply wanted to please her family in the only way she was taught how. You yearned to be someone important, to be someone as great as the legacies your brother and father were, and yet you were reminded again and again, sometimes by your own family.

And here you were, a warrior, underneath the same cherry blossom tree, near the same lake, that you hadn’t been even a mile within since you went off to war. You hadn’t even entered your house yet, and yet, you weren’t sure exactly what would happen. Part of you wanted to stay in this position, where anything was possible and nothing was determined. Another part of you wanted to just get it over with.

If you met your old self, you’d tell her not to listen to what others said, because you’d do great things within your lifetime. It was bittersweet, and you wished to tell your old self she wasn’t just a pawn for others to place to their own advantages. You wanted to tell her she’d make others proud, and that she wasn’t useless, and that she bloom into something more magnificent than she had ever imagined. You wanted to tell her she wasn’t weak, that she wouldn’t always spend her nights wishing she was someone else, and that one day she would feel content, and it wouldn’t be because of someone else. Rather, it’d be because of her own accomplishments.

You turned from someone so frightened of being shunned by her family to someone who’d go down in history, one of the jewels of your own nation. It was simply a pity you couldn’t turn back time to tell yourself that.

“Y/N?”

You turned, seeing your brother by the house, staring at you as though you were a stranger. Perhaps you were, from your more so muscular frame, and the certain look of experience and confidence that loomed around you more often than not nowadays. He was leaning on a cane, his eyes wide. He hadn’t changed much since last time you saw him, except he seemed to be a bit more tired, wasn’t as happy or as lively as he once was.

“Hello, brother,” you greeted, walking closer to him. You were nervous, but you weren’t so scared as you would’ve been. No matter what happened, you’d get through it. After facing countless soldiers and difficulties, seeing your brother once again after a year didn’t seem as terrifying as it would’ve in the past. “Miss me?”

“You came back,” Yoongi breathed in surprise.

You nodded. “I did. The war is over, Shownu is dead.”

His eyes widened. “We haven’t gotten much news here. Who killed him?”

You unsheathed the jagged sword, revealing how polished it was now, though it was used for horrors and monstrosities you didn’t dare think of. “I had to get Father’s sword replaced because I broke the old one,” you say in lieu of an answer.

Yoongi’s eyes were wide and his jaw practically hit the floor, taking the sword from your hands to feel the weight of it in his own. “You…?”

“They call me the Stone Dragon in some places,” you smiled softly. “I impersonated a boy and named myself Sonyeon, and I killed him in the Emperor’s own palace. And after they found out I was a woman, the crowd outside bowed to me.”

“Was this all an attempt to one-up me at last?” Yoongi asks. You break out into a grin, seeing how his eyes glowed and for the first time in so, so long, you heard him tell you a joke.

“I believe I won,” you laughed. Yoongi tossed the sword to the ground, wrapping his arms around you to embrace you in a tight hug.

“My baby sister isn’t such a baby anymore,” Yoongi mutters into your shoulder. “She’s instead the greatest warrior in all of Korea. Father would be so proud of you. You’re the greatest honor of our family.”

Tears were starting to spill from your eyes, and you buried your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, glad to be home at long last.

“Ahem, I’m sorry to interrupt…”

The two of you looked up to see General Jungkook, his steed held by the reigns as he smiled at you apologetically. “Hello, Y/N. Hello, Yoongi-hyung.”

“Ah, the new General…” Yoongi looked to Jungkook. “I’m sorry for what happened to your brother. He was an excellent leader, and it was an honor serving with him.”

“He’d be happy to hear that,” Jungkook nods.

“Well, might I ask what you’re doing here, General?” Yoongi asks politely.

“I’ve come to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage, actually,” Jungkook says, doing his best to speak calmly and smoothly, looking over at you. You wore a shocked expression, but your hands flew up to your mouth to hide your grin. Wait, he was actually going to act on the sexual and romantic tension that had been simmering between the two of you during your stowaway nights? While you were sure that he was also feeling the sparks that seemed to shoot between the two of you, never before had you considered the fact he ’d actually want to make you his wife. “Unless she wants to take up the Emperor’s request to still marry his daughter?”

“Wait, what?!” Yoongi exclaims turning to you. “You’ve been a bit occupied with things other than the war, so it seems. Wait, engaged to a princess? What else am I not aware of?”

“Oppa, I think it’s best you don’t know,” you chuckled nervously.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, glancing over to Jungkook. “General, you tell me what else I’m not aware of and as head of my household, I’ll allow you to marry my sister.”

“She flashed the Emperor,” Jungkook blurted, laughing out loud once Yoongi’s face burned red immediately.

“JUNGKOOK!” you exclaimed, but you couldn’t help but laugh hard at how Yoongi looked like he was about to either faint or explode, and Jungkook’s commanding General-self evaporated into the boy you’d spend nights talking to after sex, perhaps talking about your day, or your worries, or even crack a joke or two. And by God, though you’d perhaps need a bit more time after his proposal, you couldn’t wait to marry him, because deep in your heart, you knew he was the one.

After all, deep down you perhaps made a better lover than a fighter.

And you were sure even your past self would’ve been ecstatic to marry a man like Jungkook, and how you once again wished to tell her how even in the darkest of times, things will always step back into the light. Even after the death of your friend, Taehyung, or your father, or hell, even after witnessing an arrow pierce through the messenger boy, or your own hands carry the deaths of many, you were still standing, stronger than ever.

And you were sure your father would agree, seeing his little girl happy at last, and after many trials of torment. You were finally home.

[devilishdewitt]

Cinématrographié Cabaret Show, April 2019

The time has come for the second instalment of Cabaret Show Cinématrographié!

Did it sizzle or shine?

 Read on…

The vivacious Alice Shpiller and her beguiling partner-in-crime Katrin Gajndr brought their cinematographic creation back to it’s namesake location - Cinematographie karaoke.

The theme was, fittingly, ”movies”. The audience were encouraged to dress up as their favourite movie characters, but alas, the public is yet to indulge in the wonders of theme dressing.

The evening began with Alice Shpiller appearing as a modern version of the Little Mermaid - lip-syncing to "Part of Your World”, roaming from table to table & live streaming the whole thing. Her costume was just the right amount of camp (more camp than most Met Gala attendees, GOOD MORNING KARLIE KLOSS), and the performance was a sweet little warmup - perfectly in the style of the show, preparing us for what is to come - genuine beauty with a side of charming goofiness .

All was great! Apart from the wig. 

To be honest, the wig made me quite sad.

Actually, to be perfectly frank, that wig was actively upsetting, darling.

It would be a service to mankind if it were thrown away and allowed to succumb to oblivion.

Shpillers’ hosting was definitely more coherent than last time - the jokes landed, the charm was undeniable and she felt more confident and in control. It was truly entertaining - I was equally excited by the acts and the hosting, and it’s a marvellous feeling!

It wasn’t long until we saw the first burlesque performance of the night - Katrin Gajndrs’ “Woman in Red”, inspired by the 1984 film. Dearest reader, I was smitten. The way she moved, the way she looked at the audience, the drive, the passion, the grace, the fun she had - she cast a powerful spell, not a soul went untouched by her classy, sassy performance. One of the best acts I’ve ever seen in Russia. Yes, you’ve read that right. Flawless mix of irony, indulgence & power in her attitude. The moves were sensually precise, she knew what she was doing and oh lordy was she enjoying it! Brava!

However, even her radiance couldn’t outshine the terror that was the stage lights (if they even deserve such a name). Horrible is a word that covers the situation pretty extensively. On a few particularly painful occasions I imagined that the lights from the audiences phones would do a better job than the chaotic colourful mess that this establishment calls “lights”.

However, even they didn’t take away from the excellence of the beginning of the show. Something else did. Or should I say…someone.

Miss April. Honey. Allow me to help.

You have a delicious chance to learn from the best (I mean Gajndr, not myself, you cheeky little thing!).

No lip colour, flat hair, ordinary lingerie, upsetting lack of the most basic acting skills, lack of story, drive and imagination just won’t do.

Especially when you take something as legendary as Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Especially when you’re on stage straight after Katrin. Especially when you have access to the expert advise of Shpiller & Gajndr! 

Dearest reader, I was infuriated.

A slender lady who happens to be a good dancer walks in looking quite mediocre, bites a pastry, takes a sip of coffee, leaves them on the front table (all this is done with no energy whatsoever), goes on stage, takes off her dress, reveals a very basic set of black underwear (not lingerie) and gets in a bed that the stage kittens have meticulously prepared for her.

What for? What is the purpose? What can you possibly add to Holly Golightly? There’s so much that could’ve been done with this number - take the fact that Holly in the book is much more risqué than Holly in the film and dance the night away with your vision of Capotes timeless heroine!

Were they really so desperate for an act they let this half-baked croissant mop around, languidly perusing the stage?

An act of cruel sympathy, blind hope and/or unnecessary cruelty.

Thank goodness we were saved by Kristabel Otem.

Good God how I love that woman.

Sin City.

Need I say more?

Kristabel Otem.

Sin City.

My little noir heart pounded with inexplicable joy.

It hit every mark, was deliciously erotic, devilishly ironic and just wonderfully done.

And then a miracle appeared.

A sublime beauty.

The Swan Tsarevna.

A costume so gorgeous, I believe my jaw did indeed hang loose in the air for a few moments.

How I wish Lisa Alisa did the costume justice.

It’s a fantastic idea - an iconic Russian fairytale heroine, a song by one the best known folk rock bands in Russia…but unfortunately the performer brought her own brand of haste, hurry & dare I say, clumsiness. Someone, please give that girl a stage presence lesson. She’s literally two steps away from truly spreading her gorgeous wings and embracing her undoubtable talent.

After an intermission full of exciting murmurs, Shpiller emerged in a new emploi - Clockwork Orange diva. It worked marvellously well - the look really suited her, the vibe was playfully ultraviolent and her acting was excellent. There was no shedding of the clothes, but it was an enthralling number.

Overall I vigorously applaud the fact that the spotlight was directed at an eclectic collection of fantastic movies. Moving away from the ordinary does an artwork good!

A new incarnation of Lisa appeared - or did it? A tribute to Sally Rand, white costume, white feather fans, it looked a bit too similar to the Swan Princess act and lacked any character development. It was the same act, but with a different costume. Sigh.

And again, the screeches of excitement…I can imagine it working quite well on a few occasions, but at the moment she’s overusing it.

Shpiller! Contemporary dance tribute to “The Raven”! Unexpected, unusual, perhaps somewhat questionable, but she was convincing and clearly had a story to tell.

It’s her show, so why the hell not?

Kristabel performed as a 1920’s detective (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries)  and it was splendid. I just love how she unapologetically shows us different sides of her character - a coy Kristabel? Enchanting!

And then came The Dragon. Oh, dear reader, you might already know that I have a deep admiration for the art of Katerina Sahara. Her Dragon was as enrapturing as the first time I saw it. Despite the fact that there were a few technical mishaps (completely unnoticeable by the spectators, I assure you), and that she herself was not particularly pleased with this performance, it was hypnotising. The power! the smoothness! She immediately transports us all to a dimension of gorgeousness. A fantastic act by a fantastic performer.

Ah! Can you hear it? The time has come for the unavoidable venue promotion!

Ringmaster Alice gathered a group of enthusiastic air-musicians (some of them were real musicians, it seemed), the DJ turned on the karaoke version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and off we went! Alice effortlessly ran from table to table, engaging every single member of the public into everyone’s favourite epic musical number. I do wish she paid a bit more attention to the “band” though, they were left somewhat abandoned on stage while she flew around. It did seem, however, that some of them were indeed entertainers, for they felt quite confident on the stage.

I must say, participating and witnessing it was great fun. Honestly, you can do no wrong with Bohemian Rhapsody, and my God, Shpiller has some pipes!

The grand finale of the night was the famous Cleopatra act by the mistress of the eve, Katrin Gajndr. Bathing in a chalice of real milk, surrounded by two slaves, legends have travelled of the exquisite vision of this act. However, somehow, it just did not deliver. It seemed as if Gajndr was either distracted or upset; there was no energy at all. The slaves were also quite timid and did not do the classic fabulousness of the act any justice. Good morning, this is performing 101 - a smoothing caress of a brush does a wig good.  It’s still a spectacle, of course, but not quite as rich as the majestic Queen of the Nile.

THE FINALE

Ladies, congratulations!

The second instalment of Cinematographie truly was a major improvement from the first show. To put it quite simply, it was fun.

 It was fun! I felt very entertained. Shpiller was feeling her mojo that night, and it was truly intoxicating. Gajndr was extraordinary (yes, even despite Cleopatra not quite rising to the occasion). Lisa Alisa had moments of divine beauty, Sahara stayed true to her fabulous brand, Kristabel revealed more colours of her tremendously intriguing diamond, and Miss April…well, everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right?

Extremely excited to see what they cook up next!

✶✶✶✶

UPDATE

As this review was being prepared, the next show has been announced - July 6th, Yes I Can-Can, in honor of Katrin’s birthday! And at a theatrical venue, too - how very curious!