#and then Mare going through everything she did because of the war

[snakerdoodlle]

The fact this song could go to so many of the RQ characters because pretty much all of them were forced into a war the moment they were born and they never knew how to let it go

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

*Please read below before continuing*

A few clarifications: I should have named the Zen’in we met back in Chapter 19—the one potentially seeking Yuna’s hand. From now on, we’ll be calling him Zen’in Kaito. And yes, he’s essentially Toji, but I chose not to name him that because (personally) picturing Toji in this setting would pull me out of the time period. Previous chapters have been updated with this change. That being said, my burnout-ridden brain made a mistake in the last chapter (and will likely make many more). The very last sentence shouldn’t have referred to the “blade” coming up behind Sukuna—it was meant to be the man, oops. Keep that in mind, and I apologize for the mix-up. Anyway, this chapter completely broke my brain, and I have many feelings about it. (And thank you, Muse and Arniee, for coming to the rescue and anyone who said they would beta-read this chapter <3)

Word count: 11.7K

Content warning: Violence, death, descriptions of corpses (including children), war-like scenarios, blood, stressful situations.

Chapter 35 | Chapter 37

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake.”

Exhaling a slow, steadying breath, you shove your letters under the saddle, pressing them firmly into place before swinging yourself up onto Ayana.  

She paws at the soft ground, her head bobbing—eager, almost like she senses what’s coming. And what you’re about to do is either entirely reckless or stubbornly brave. You hope for the latter as you take the reins and steer her toward the main road.  

Before you, the landscape stretches wild in every direction—hills giving way to wide, open plains, with mountains beyond rising like rows of teeth.

You could choose left, ride for the capital, and leave it all behind—bury the truth in convenience, pretend you never saw what lies ahead, turn a blind eye and be with your sister. But under your skin, it prickles, watching as low hanging clouds churn in the distance, hinting at things far worse.  

And you see it.

That slow, continuous thread of dark smoke siphoning into the sky.

That’s your destination.  

East—toward the carnage already unfolding, toward whatever village is unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the force bearing down on Sukuna’s domain. All because of your actions, what you asked of him, and what you did. And you know what lies ahead. Bodies burned beyond recognition, women brutalized, children with their heads bashed in.

Sukuna won’t protect those under his rule.  

But you might.  

Brave or foolish—you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Shifting in the saddle, you grip the muted indigo lining inside your obi and tear the strip of fabric loose. Twisting it, you knot it around your neck and let it hang there.

Taking the reins in one gloved hand, you pat your mare’s neck with the other. She chuffs and stamps a hoof.

“It’s time to go,” you murmur, lifting your chin, eyes fixed on the smudge of orange crouching against the dull horizon. Then you drive Ayana forward.

* * * * *

Riding along the outskirts, beneath the swelling black cloud above, you know the village lies just beyond the hill ahead.

At this distance, it’s quiet. You’re not sure what to think. You’ve come across no one, yet you can feel them—feel the energy shuddering through the air, pressing into you like the throb of an open wound. Others like you—many of them. But one presence rises above all.

Pushing your mare forward, you guide her up the gentle rise. It doesn’t take long to reach the crest, where the world breaks open, and everything comes into view.

You’d like to think devastation and ruin had become a part of your life over time. That being in a union with death itself had exposed you to such things. But looking at what lies before you now, you see how little that truly was in the grand scheme of it all.

The raid must have struck before dawn, tearing the village from its sleep. Body after body, shape upon shape, all resembling people, lie at its edges. Smaller forms that are children. Frail ones that are elderly. It didn’t matter if they ran. They were cut down.

And those still alive flee from the fire that led you here. It burns in scattered pockets, forcing the survivors in every direction—but the assailants don’t let them get far.

You take it all in, the calamity, the loss.

But above all else, there is the sound.

The blaze hisses and crackles, but that’s not what you hear. What you hear are the screams, the wailing, the shouting—all running together like the rush of a storm swallowing everything whole, growing louder, more numerous. Panicked.

Horrible guilt finds its way into your stomach, where it fists and settles.

You take a deep breath.

All the horrors you’ve experienced mean nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

Beneath you, Ayana fidgets, ears pricked. She must sense it too—this violence. But you can't stay here. You need to get down there. Have to.

Reins in hand, you straighten in the saddle and reach for your leather gloves. Some half-buried-alive instinct knocks inside your chest, a warning telling you that this will be brutal. One tug, and the first glove slips free. The second one follows just as quickly, and you push them inside your obi.

No turning back now.

Blood surges, pounding through your veins as you nudge your mare and descend the hill toward the fire.

At first, the ground is easy to traverse—flat and grassy, scorched only where tiny embers have drifted. But as you draw closer, the soil turns uneven, scarred. You guide Ayana through the wreckage of abandoned lives—broken oxcarts, scattered belongings, straw sandals, clothing, things left behind.

Across your path, a gust of wind sweeps through, carrying with it a thick plume of smoke. Cinders float down, soft as snow, tangling in your hair, clinging to your lips, streaking your cheeks. Your eyes burn. You pull the fabric from around your neck, tightening it over your nose, warding off the fetid air and burned flesh.

It stings.

You squint against it.

Just ahead, the first line of bodies rise up from the earth, grey with soot. They lie where they fell, lie with eyes wide, mouths open to circling crows and falling ash. And pressed among them, a child curls in on themselves, arrows sprouting from their tiny frame, small hands outstretched toward the figure beside them, as if reaching for comfort in their final moments.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped there until a blink clears a bit of smoke from your vision.

Numb. You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And yet—disgust, blind rage, hatred—each emotion wedges itself deep in your throat. Sick. Stomach-in-your-throat sick.

You swallow them.

You have to.

There will be time for those later.

In the distance, through the haze, the living flees in every direction. They run, stumble, fall—only to be dragged down by the snare of chaos. You move toward it, urging Ayana into a faster gallop, her hooves tearing into the earth in time with the hammering of your pulse.  

Closer, and the inferno blazes hotter.  

Closer, and more traces of what lies ahead come into view.  

Closer, and down your spine, a searing of energy.  

Sukuna’s presence tightens around you—he’s fighting in this writhing mass of life. But you steer away from where you think he might be, angling toward the north end of the village instead.  

Get in, get out. Usher as many to safety as you can.  

Simple.  

Hopefully.  

But maybe you’ll die here.  

Your hands tighten around the reins.  

But let’s try not to, okay?  

Gaining speed, you tuck in close to Ayana’s neck, her silver mane lashing against your cheek. She’s tense beneath you, muscles coiled, stride steady. Your heartbeat roars inside your ears.  

Closer.  

The screams swell.  

Closer. 

The splintering of wood groans under heat. 

Closer.  

You barrel into another layer of thick smoke, tunnel through and burst out the other side.

The village snaps into view.  

So do the assaulters. Their clothing, their insignias, barely visible through the haze but you see it. 

Heian-kyō and—  

Zen’in.

Bastards.

“Rider!” A voice cuts through the melee.  

Your head jerks to the sound just as a dozen eyes snap toward you.  

For a beat, there’s confusion. Feet scuffle. A clang. The glint of weapons.  

You yank Ayana left, then right, weight shifting, hooves striking, weaving tight arcs around fallen beams and bodies. You drive her toward a narrow break in the wreckage—a clear path to relative safety.

But a man steps out from behind the ribs of a collapsed home, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

He releases.

Whoosh.

You throw yourself low into the saddle, making yourself small as it streaks past your head.

Your breath snags. You twist—just in time to see it quivering in the dirt behind you.

Fuck. Too close.

“Kill her!” A command from somewhere in the fray.

Squeezing your thighs, you yank hard on the reins, wheeling Ayana around the archer. But stance widening, he moves with you, grin sharp, nocking a second time.

Your pulse pounds. His fingers tighten on the string—

He draws.

Aims.

Shit.

At this distance—

Under your fingertips, an ache flickers to life. You know what needs to be done.

“Come on, girl! Stretch your legs!”

Ayana’s breath heaves in the smoky air, but she pushes harder, galloping straight into his path—a smear of snowmelt against dust.

The archer squints into the cloudy morass, arrow set, wavering between you and the swarms of shifting bodies.

Seconds. That’s all you had. Seconds to reach him and end this.

You push harder.

The distance closes.

Tightens.

Collapses.

You make it, fingers shooting out, brushing the grip of his bow hand, right where it steadies the riser.

The arrow flies—

Misses.

Because by then, the decay has already started, crawling up from the point of contact, and his hand falters. Knees slamming into the dirt, he drops, and a satisfying shriek bursts from his chest.

Speeding away, you glance back just as the swelling overtakes him, his body tearing itself apart from within. It starts with the bones. Bursting through the skin, they erupt in a messy spray of blood and innards that uncoil like soggy plants to the ground. 

There’s a scream. Then silence.

For a heartbeat, everything stills. Your eyes search the area as the atmosphere shifts. Some of the surrounding men hesitate, a few peeling away, backing off instead of advancing.

Good.

You take it as your cue to move.

Skin humming with power, you tear down the empty, narrow path at full speed, forging your way to the north end with Ayana thundering beneath you. Anyone in your way—anyone attacking, butchering, skewering civilians—you touch. And it’s quick. An unsuspecting graze, a skim of a finger at the back of a neck as you streak past, so light and gentle you almost wish it wasn’t.

Still, they all die.

As they should.

Hooves drumming faster against the earth, teeth rattling, your body moving with your mare’s powerful gait, you break through the far end of the village. The smoke thins, and near its edges, a cluster of frightened people picks their way through the wreckage, stumbling, confused and disoriented.

“I can help you!” you call, slowing beside them. But they shrink back, wary.

Understandable.

You pull the cloth loose from around your face, letting it hang at your neck as you wipe soot and sweat from your forehead and cheeks.

“Keep heading for the treeline,” you urge, lifting a hand to motion toward the forest. “I’ll hold anyone off.”

At least there, they’ll have cover to escape—instead of running into the open fields or back only to be slaughtered like animals. And if anyone follows them into the forest… then you’ll take it down with you. A last-ditch effort. Decay the area. Be the final pillar standing between them and their pursuers. But that’s if you can control it a second time the way the King of Curses dragged it from you.

“Back there.” An elderly woman steps forward, her face folded in distress, swathes of clothing soaked in blood, though it’s unclear if it’s hers or someone else’s. “Our men are still fighting.” She trails a trembling finger toward the village at your back, her voice tight with urgency. “Help them instead.”

Swallowing, you glance toward the treeline, then back to where she points toward the madness.

You hesitate.

The woman takes another step as if to urge you, her expression pleading despite the exhaustion weighing down her frame.

They’ll make it. They have to.

You exhale sharply, then pull the cloth back over your nose.

“Keep going!” you press, squeezing your thighs into Ayana. “I’ll help the others.” 

Get in. Get out.

Simple.

Nodding once to the staggering group, you urge your mare on, who streams forward, and you’re gone.

Fires still burn down the center of the village, their glow licking at the shifting ground. Bodies move in a tide, crashing and breaking over one another. Mounds of figures. Hills and dips of them. Still, you carve into the onslaught, right into the heart of the struggle, where ruined homes smoulder and the assault continues to bleed.

Under the fabric pressed across your face, the stench seeps in. You gag. Filth, blood, sweat, the shit and urine of frightened people all mingling together with the flames that sting your senses.

But you take it in.

The villagers wield whatever they could cobble together—crude spears, small blades—desperately trying to hold their ground. But it's a fight they're bound to lose.

Scanning the battlefield, you’ve never been in something like this before, never faced this kind of violence, and you’re unsure where to go first. There’s movement everywhere. Too many screams of grief and agony, overlapping with bodies dropping, open bones flashing, limbs mutilated, blood pouring to the earth.

It’s hell—a gaping pit of it. And you’re standing at the precipice.

That recklessness and stubborn bravery you felt earlier evaporate. And all you can do is watch.

Until you hear it.

A louder, broken cry rises, cutting above the crush. A girl’s scream. Visceral and raw, and dripping with terror.

Head snapping toward it, you shove your insecurities down your throat and move.

Veering left, you push Ayana forward. She’s already moving as fast as she can, but she’s starting to lag, her sides heaving, coat slick with sweat and grit. You won’t get there in time, not like this.

Leaning over your mare’s neck, you scan the shifting mass, peering above heads and weapons—then you see her. The girl. She’s young. A man in armour leathers nearly triple her size, drags her close to a half-fallen hut.

You need to get there.  

Now.  

“Oi!”  

Throwing yourself off Ayana, your feet slam into the dirt. Yanking off your covering, you give her a sharp smack to the hind. She whinnies, lurching forward, tearing away toward cover.

You run.

Shoving through the thickest of fighting, into grunting men, slipping between gaps, squeezing past sweaty bodies, you force your way through whatever space you can find.

“Leave her alone!”

The warrior doesn’t stop. His grip tightens. He yanks her close, dragging at her arm, jerking her off balance. Between glimpses of his broad, moving figure, you see her face.

Days later, you’ll still remember this moment, exactly how it felt when you saw her tear-streaked cheeks, her wide, bright, terrified eyes.

Sickness lumps in your belly. You know what’s about to happen and the thought alone drives you faster, legs burning, steps hammering into the earth.

I can make it.

You run for her.

“Stop it!” Your voice rises as you tear free from one cluster, just as two men crash across your path. You dart around them, weaving through the chaos—dodging people, dodging weapons, dodging a spasm of energy that erupts from nowhere.

Still, the man doesn’t stop, he continues. You can hear her sobs now, can see him crash a fist across her face, bloodying it.

“Don’t touch her!” you scream, barely paces away—when his right arm suddenly shoots sideways.  

He lets her go. And she falls.  

The girl crumples. Boneless. 

You freeze, heart stumbling. Take another step.

Too late.  

It’s only when you get close enough that you see the kaiken in his hand. The fine arc he carved through her delicate throat.

Your gaze drops.

There, in the dirt, her body arches violently, mouth agape, opening and closing around air that won’t come—because that slit spills too much red across her skin, choking each attempt.  

Your mouth trembles. And helpless, all you can do is watch.

Watch until finally, she goes still.

I’m sorry. 

So damn still.

I’m so sorry.

The man, his back still facing you, grunts in satisfaction. But you don’t hear him. You don’t acknowledge him. You just stare at the girl—perhaps only just reaching her twelfth year. Probably never seen anything beyond this village. Never to see anything more than this. Be anything more than this.

Fodder.

Something to be used and discarded, buried with the rest of this place.

And didn’t you know how that felt.

A cold, hard rage falls over you, a cleaving storm and sea of emotions.

You raise your eyes to him, and you use it.

Use the same anger that burned through you last night. Use the emotions that twisted inside when you saw the child, arrows jutting from their small body. Use the knowledge, the hate, the bitter understanding that the capital would unleash such cruelty on its own people just to destroy a monster they so desperately want to punish. Use every ounce of self-loathing you’ve let rot within, every lost dream, every life cut short, every sightless stare. Even the memory of that tiny life you took too soon, before it ever had the chance to open its eyes to the world to begin with.

Your hands lift.

That discolouration shudders down your forearms, spreading like fine cracks through fragile, broken glass. Energy throbs within—you try to wrangle it, breathe through it, control it. But even the small pieces of advice Sukuna gave you, to focus on breath, drains the moment the man turns, lifting the small scales of his leathers to inspect them briefly before wiping the blood-slicked dagger across his uwa-obi. Then, he looks at you with greedy eyes and smiles.

Smiles.

He even spits out a laugh as if the thought of you fighting him is some tremendous joke. As if you are nothing more than a farce.

But being underestimated has its advantages. And if you die, you’ll die dragging him down with you.

“Stupid thing,” he huffs around his teeth, nudging his head toward the girl, and your eyes shoot down to her lifeless body. “You want to end up like that, do you?” 

At his words, your throat closes—your failure staring right back at you.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a seed grows, and a wicked flower takes root.

A pause.

You lift your head.

An animal, when cornered, will not hesitate to attack.

You don’t feel your body as your mind is lost to outrage, and you lunge. Screaming.

In seconds, you're on him, fingers darting for his weapon hand, the only part of him not covered.

“Ugly little scab,” he hisses, barreling forward, an enormous, living wall of muscle and cloth. “I’ll put you in your fucking place!”

His elbow slams into your jaw.

The ground tips beneath you.

Your ears ring, head snapping sideways, the impact setting off a pulse that throbs like a second heartbeat.

Groaning, you stumble back, the taste of iron pooling in your mouth. Blinking against the pain, you lift your head, expressionless. He makes no move for his weapon. Instead, his fingers curl inward as if enjoying the thought of breaking you apart with his bare hands.

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

When you move again, you’re faster—unhindered by armour. Light on your feet, you reach him, your grip hooking around his wrist before sliding lower, tracing over his exposed fingers.

An intimate touch. Like holding hands.

His eyes snap downward, sneering at the gesture—then, confusion flickers across his face. Before he can react, he collapses into the dirt where he belongs.

You step back, watching him crumple, writhing pathetically in on himself.

Bending, you peel open his hand before his body deteriorates and the weapon is lost to his flesh.

“Thank you,” you say flatly, savouring his heaving breaths and wide eyes, watching as putrefaction spreads, splitting his skin like dry, cracked earth.

“I admire when big men like you make mistakes.”

Reaching into his spasming palm, you pluck the dagger free.

“And besides—” You straighten, giving him a humourless smile just as the pressure in his stomach swells, bloating like a pustule.

“Guess even a stupid thing like me can handle a small blade.”

Stepping away, you ignore the putrid implosion, revelling in his demise for a single heartbeat and turn, ready to launch yourself at the next assailant when—

Your entire world flips sideways.

The battlefield tilts. Sounds dim.

You topple weightless to the ground, the impact crashing into your chest.

You gasp, unable to breathe.

Looking up, you reorient yourself only to realize someone has tackled you from behind, the blood-slick terrain lying parallel to your eyes.

Rolling over, you peer up just as the assailant's foot slams into your ribs.

Agony screams its way through your torso. Breath punches past your lungs. You cough violently, clutching the retrieved blade tightly in your palm.

He attacks again, this time with a wakizashi raised.

Shit.

Move!

You fling yourself across slick, slipping through filth, heat, and corpses.

Clang!

Barely dodging the downward swing and low whine of the weapon, you scramble back, a rush of air hissing past your ear.

“Don’t kill her!”

What?

Your head snaps to the voice issuing the command. The order throws you off guard, but through the crowds you can’t find the source.

Head whipping back, and before the attacker advances, you dive forward on your stomach, stabbing blindly. The blade sinks into his shin, scraping bone. He shrieks. You push quickly to your knees, then feet, balancing on your toes to lay your fingertips on his exposed neck.

It’s enough.

On contact, you’re moving to the next opponent rapidly closing the distance and ducking under the blunt end of a polearm swinging for your chest.

He misses. You peel away.

But it doesn’t matter who comes at you after. Whether you’re bashed across the face, your movements turn slow and sluggish, whether you’re overpowered by someone larger than you, if you’re kneed in the stomach, screamed at, spat on, cut, stabbed, bludgeoned.

That’s fine.

You keep fighting.

Sinking low, you dodge the rebounding weapon. It slices past, wind brushing your cheek as you drop, diving for an ankle.

Touch—

Then you’re up again, and exhausted, you keep going.

Dodge.

Your hands grasp for any bit of skin.

Stab.

Stabbing to incapacitate.

Then touch—they die.

Over and over, again and again.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Across the center of the village, clambering over bodies and shallow pits of fire you move. It’s not elegant nor is it graceful, but the mindless rhythm is carving its way into you.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

At this point, you don’t even know your own name, let alone what you’re doing. All you’re dimly aware of is the next fucking bastard hurtling at you then—

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Often not in that order. Sometimes, you’re beaten to the upper hand, and some part of your body pays the price.

Still.

Bruised, broken, reshaped. Madness takes over.

Now, you’re screaming, eyes glazed, barely registering your surroundings—the dwindling attackers, the villagers fighting beside you. But then, you’re panting, and it doesn’t take long to notice a group of men breaking away, surrounding you in a tight barricade.

Six. Seven. Ten. Fifteen of them.

Tension winds into your belly in thick, pulsing waves.

A snake pit.

Breaths heaving, you cock your head, surveying the circle closing in. They know, and you know that you’re cornered. So, there’s only one way out of this.

Gaze flicking downward, you search across the ground until you spot a little patch of green. Your eyes snap back up, meeting the faces encircling you. The men are quiet, and silence deepens—then shatters all at once.

“Take her!”

The shout is nearly swallowed by the flames eating the morning air. But you hear it. Again, not kill her. Not end her. Take her.  

As in, capture?

When they advance, they move as one, surging forward, eyes alight with a wild intensity to bring you down. 

But you don’t move. You wait. And you count. 

Three.  

Let them come.

Two.  

Let them get closer. 

One.  

Only when they’re just out of reach do you toss the blade aside and drop, graceless, to the ground—one knee slamming hard. Someone shouts a warning, but your palms are already hitting the grass, fingers pressing into sharp, tiny blades, massaging in deep.

You breathe, hoping this will work a second time.

Please let this work a second time.

Then release.  

The rot spreads.  

Snaking out in choppy directions, it clambers away from you, the stain spreading and reaching onto feet and up legs, eating its way through to touch skin.  

The first few fall, the decay crawling over them, hungry, expanding in messy tendrils. Flesh blackens, stiffens, and flakes apart in fatty layers. Some collapse instantly, their legs rotting to brittle husks. Others stagger, bodies twisting as the sickness chews through them piece by raw piece.

But it’s inconsistent.

Sluggish in places. Fast in others.

It leaps between targets, missing some entirely, leaving patches of untouched ground even as others dissolve into the dirt. Your breath turns shallow. Last night, it felt controlled, this time, it writhes as something undisciplined.

Then it slows, and it stops.

And one of them slips through.

Shit.

A man on the outer edge barely escapes the rot, his leg dangling—half-consumed, eaten up to the thigh—yet he’s still moving. His face tightens with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he staggers toward you, dragging the ruined limb behind.

His blade swings up.

You lurch back, scrambling to stand, but somehow he’s faster. He swings—not to cut, but to strike.

Take her.

The flat of his katana whips against your collarbone, the shock rattling through to the marrow and roots of your teeth.

Pain erupts as he steps in, aiming to wrestle you down as his hand snatches at your wrist, grip tight and bruising. He wrenches you toward him. Too tired, you reel, sucking in a breath, but before he can force you to the ground, a polearm ruptures through his abdomen, making him choke on a wet scream.

You freeze, peering up just as one of the surviving villagers steps into view, gripping the weapon. With a sharp thrust of his leg, he kicks the body free, letting it slump to the ground.

Right.

You push to your feet, legs wobbly, body awash in sweat. 

You’d forgotten about the others—too caught in what seemed like crazed bloodlust, teetering on the pinnacle of something you’d never quite felt before.

Swallowing, you scan them. A handful remain, panting, recovering, their garments stiff with gore, the ground at your feet crowded with Heian-kyō and Zen’in corpses.

“Thank you,” you rasp to the spearman. He steps back with a gentle nod, the staff of his weapon resting on the ground.

“There’s more.” You gesture over your shoulder before turning. “Others. They’re all converging at—” Ragged breaths seize your lungs. “At the edge of the forest. I’ll take you there.”

You hesitate just long enough to ensure they follow, then step away.

But you barely take another step before the low thunk of wet flesh hits your ears, followed by a gurgling cry.

You turn.

“No, no, no.” You catch the man who had just protected you by the edges of his garment. He was only walking paces behind; now an arrow sits lodged in his throat, the trembling shaft and tip sticking out the back of his neck.

With his strength falling away, he staggers closer, mouth opening and closing as blood streams across his chin. Your brow furrows, he goes limp, head lolling onto your shoulder.

As your knees bend, dipping with his weight, you try to ease him off gently, but there’s a loud cry. Somebody shouts.

A sound follows. Whistling, from above.

You look up.

The sky shudders, as if a thousand, tiny wings are beating at once.

Feathers. Bamboo shafts.

Arrows.

A wall of them.

They arc overhead, blotting out the smoke—falling faster than air should be able to carry them. And they’re all aimed at the remaining survivors.

At that moment, you can’t breathe.

Or move.

For long, foolish seconds, you can only stare.

Panic in every corner of your being.

And that’s when everyone around you starts to run.

Someone crashes into you, sending you and the dying man sprawling forward. The ground rushes up, and you slam into it, the body following.

Left and right. Feet suddenly pound, running while the earth trembles and clatters with the hail of arrows. Panicked villagers surge to outrun the onslaught, and that’s when the first body topples onto you.

It starts small.

And it only gets worse.

Muscles burning, you fight to your stomach and try to drag yourself free, but more weight collapses on top. A glance over your shoulder reveals someone struck down, lying across your back. Dead weight.

Then, another one joins.

And another.

And another.

That’s when you realize—

They’re being picked off, one by one, and falling into a growing pile that is slowly burying you.

Urgency crashes over you.

Get up, get up, get up!

You struggle forward, but the crush of them, the panic of those still running, only fuels the desperate need to get away.

And you can’t blame them. They’re so close to surviving this.

Were.

A groan tears from your chest, the weight, the sheer mass of limbs and torsos pressing in. It thickens and suffocates until you are no longer just yourself but a mound of dead flesh, an organism swallowing the earth.

You curl in, shielding your face.

Crack, as more weight slams into the heap. The light begins to dim, like the sun is setting.

Cold understanding climbs through you.

This is it. Buried alive.

You consider screaming for help. But who would hear you under here? Anyone?

Inside your head, a voice laughs. Laughs at the woman who caused this. Allowed this. Helped put these people in the line of fire, turning this place into what it is. And now, she’s trapped beneath it.

Funny.

Crack!

Eyes squeezed shut, you listen as the sound of arrows striking flesh pulls down more bodies. Cries surround you. Then go silent. Somewhere at the top of the pile, someone is begging. For what, you’re not sure, only that it’s a faint, trembling please.

Fingers raw and digging into the dirt, you claw toward the last, faint sliver of light threading through the tangled mess of cloth and cooling skin.

But another corpse drops, sealing it shut.

You still.

Gone is the flicker of fire on the other side. Gone are your stilted movements. Your escape.

It’s all gone.

So dark. 

* * * * *

Silk and light and warmth. Open air and softly pressing bodies. Shifting robes and summer on the wind.

Comfort.

You stand in the middle of the market, your mother holding your smaller hand in one and Yuna’s in the other.

Around you, the world is a riot of different senses—stalls lined with bolts of dyed fabric, hues bright in the hot sun; baskets of fat persimmons and plums piled high beside earthenware jars of thick pickled roots. Your tongue coats itself with saliva at the thought of their stickiness.

From somewhere deeper within the market, an instrument twangs, the rich sound met by the brighter clatter of a drum. Above it all, a singer’s voice floats, laughter peeling away from a gathered crowd watching a performer twirl a fan between skillful fingers.

Your eyes sit wide open, taking it all in, and eagerly you move through it.

“Whose turn is it to decide what we bring home?” your mother asks, squeezing your hand gently in hers.

At five years old, you’ve come to treasure these monthly outings—a simple ritual where you or Yuna get to pick a small delight to bring back to the Kasai compound. This time, it’s your turn. And your sights are set on sticky rice cakes wrapped in fragrant leaves or thin wafers dipped in sweet syrup.

“Me,” you announce proudly, flashing her a beaming smile. “It’s my turn.”

Above, your mother’s lip curves, and she winks, making your cheeks puff up before laughter breaks free.

“To the vendor with the sweets, then!” she declares, swinging you forward—then repeating the motion with Yuna, who lands with a giggle.

Back and forth you go, propelled by her hands, making a spectacle when really the three of you should be practicing the artistry of decorum.

But your father isn’t here.

So what use are manners and politeness when it’s just the three of you? No commands to follow today. No strict rules. No yelling.

Weaving your way through the narrow stalls, their vibrant colours blur past until your mother gently guides you both toward a section where the air is soaked with the scent of sweetness. Too short to see above the crowd and over the cloth-draped stall in front, you glance at your mother instead.

“Are we here?” you whisper, voice quiet as you look up. “I’m pretty sure I smell it.”

“Me too,” Yuna nods in agreement.

Your mother slips her hands from yours, crouching low, her elegant kimono rippling at her sides as she meets your gaze.

You always believed she was some kind of goddess. That feeling never went away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” she says, tapping a finger lightly to the top of your nose. You scrunch it up immediately, earning another small smile. “We’ve arrived.”

“We’ve arrived!” you and your sister chime together.

Grinning, your mother rises to her full height.

“I’ll be a moment.” She nods toward the vendor. “Why don’t the two of you look around and see if there’s anything new.”

Turning, she considers the selection above, head tilting thoughtfully as she studies the offerings. 

Yuna shifts beside you, and you feel her lean in.

“So,” she says, eyes bright. “Are you going to eat yours right away like last time?”

You look at her, thinking—but deep down, you already know the answer.

“It’s too good not to have right away. All that tasty, yummy stuff.” You end your declaration with a confident nod.

Yuna smiles.

Eyes wandering past her, they land on a basket filled with trinkets. Among them rests a small glass bead—like a seed, the kind kept hidden away in a pouch.

“You know what that says about you, right?” she comments, and your eyes pull back as she steps closer.

“That I enjoy eating sweets?”

“No.” She shakes her head, eyes falling to where your gaze was. “That you’re impulsive.”

Impulsive.

The word feels too big, something far beyond just sweets.

“What does that mean?” you ask quietly.

Yuna huffs, but it’s not out of exasperation.

“You always eat it right away. Like you’re afraid it’ll disappear.”

You blink at her.

“Is that bad?”

She tilts her head, staring at you like she’s discovering something new.

“Not always.” There’s a pause, a consideration. “But sometimes, it means you don’t stop to think. You just… take.”

Your gaze dances back to the bead.

“And that’s… bad?”

From the corner of your eye, her smile widens.

“Not if you take the right thing.”

She sidles closer, the tips of her toes peeking out from beneath her kimono to brush against the stall.

“I dare you to take it,” she whispers, raising a finger to point at the delicate gem you’ve been eyeing. Light catches in it—soft, smooth surface refracting into a thousand shifting colours.

You frown down at Yuna’s hand.

“I’m not so sure,” you mutter.

Her smile rises, and her cheeks swell.

“It’s not stealing if no one notices,” she offers with a shrug.  

Your gaze flickers caught between—bead, finger, face.

“But what if I get caught?” 

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand moves, reaching out, fingers circling lightly around yours, warm and steady. She leans in, eyes shining.

“Don’t worry.” Her voice is soft but certain, like she’s declaring a truth you should already know. “I won’t let anything happen to you.

And then, right here, inside your head, you believe her.

Gods, do you.

Yuna has never been afraid of anything. Not the dark, not the stories of cursed spirits waiting in the woods, not even the screaming voice of your father when he was displeased. You’ve always admired that about her—the way she moves through the world like she already owns it.

And right now, she’s sure of this.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a traitorous itch you’ve felt lately. 

Tossing a quick glance at your mother, you see she’s still speaking with the vendor.

“Okay…”

Yuna exhales beside you, releasing her gentle grip.

Your eyes dart back to the bead glimmering under the market sun. It’s delicate, harmless.

I can do this.

Tapping a step forward, compelled, and the noise of the market dulls. Quiets. Only the soft vibrations of the bodies around you remain.

Tingles prickle into your face as your hand lifts.

Above the stall, a shadow moves.

You freeze and hesitate.

“It’s simple,” Yuna urges in a whisper.

The vendor shifts, reaching for something just behind the counter.

Pulse hammering at your ears, you push forward, eyes locked on the little, glinting gem.

She won’t let anything happen to me.

You smile.

Up, and your hand opens, fingers curving, brushing against the cool surface.

“There you go,” Yuna breathes. “Simple.”

You lift it free.

And it’s yours.

* * * * *

Sudden weight is dragged off you.

Light spills through.

You can breathe—suck in a breath. Deep, ragged, gasping. Smoke clogs your throat, burning on the way down. Dirty lungfuls, but still—air. Fucking air.

Squinting against the sudden glare through the gap in the pile of bodies, you look up. From where you lie, curled inward, a face looks down at you. A face with a smirk attached to it. A man’s face. Black hair. Dark grey eyes.

No.

“Look what I’ve found.”

Kaito Zen’in’s smile widens before his hands plunge into the tangle of corpses and wrench you free.

Body aching, you’re dragged out by the forearms, your feet stumbling over the villagers you tried—and failed—to save. Your gaze lingers on their faces until you’re steered away, pulled forward through the village, where the ground stretches ahead, muddy and exposed. No grass, nothing alive.

Kaito doesn’t release you until a ring of men closes in, encasing you. There are too many—more coming, more than before. A mix of Heian-kyō and Zen’in, all watching you like you’re missing something.

And something does feel wrong.

To your left, at the edge of the crowd, a horse’s loud whine hits your ears. Ayana. Through the bodies, you can see her light coat, the way she jerks and pulls against the reins, wild-eyed and skittish, fighting against a man’s grip.

Your lip twitches.

Resisting the urge to push through the group to get to her, you force your attention back to Kaito.

“What is this?” Meeting his stare, you roll your shoulders, trying to force life back into them after being crushed. “Need this many men to kill one woman and a village of innocents?”

That smirk of his stretches into an indulgent grin.

“No,” he says with a careless shrug. “We have no intention of killing you.”

So you say.

Eyes sweeping to the katana at his side, you notice his fingers hovering near the handle and the strange hum of energy rolling off it, something you hadn’t picked up on in your previous encounters.

“Then why are you here?” Your focus turns back to him. “If not for that?”

Zen’in doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a few steps forward, stares, then circles once before stopping in front of you. Tall. Muscular. Strong. Flawless. He’s built like a man you’d dearly love to punch in the face.

“You made quite the mess today,” he says, lifting a brow, ignoring your question as he gestures past the wall of onlookers—toward what can only be the rot and decay, the bodies you mutilated to get here. “Can’t say the men were thrilled about it. Like a little storm all on your own, one of pestilence and disease .”

He spits the last words out like they’re poison, and you fight back the dry laugh climbing up your throat.

“It was impressive,” he adds, idly tracing a fingertip along the weapon’s tsuba, caressing it like a lover. “A little sloppy, but still—impressive. Though—” He pauses, tilting his head. “I’d expect nothing less from the woman who stands at Ryomen Sukuna’s side.”

Teeth finding their way to the inside of your cheek, you bite down. It’s barely been hours since you separated, and already you feel pathetic. Just hearing his name presses a fresh wave of emotions through you. Raw ones. Painful ones. Yearning ones… Ones you wouldn’t mind letting go of. 

“I don’t stand at anyone’s side,” you mutter.

“Oh?” Zen’in lifts his head, giving you a haughty look. “What’s it been—two months? And already, there are marital issues? Did he not satisfy you enough? Or—” his gaze drags over you, slow and lecherous, “—was it the other way around?”

Scattered laughter breaks from the line of men, blasting past their throats.

Your lip curls. His grin grows.

“Are you speaking from experience?” you muse flatly.

“No,” he quips, “I have a son.”

As if that alone proves his worth. As if that alone proves anything.

“I wasn’t looking for you, you know,” Kaito continues, exhaling sharply as he smooths the front panels of his dark blue kimono, like this entire interaction has suddenly become an inconvenience. 

“Thought you’d be south, tucked away at his shrine. Yet here you stand—at the heart of all this.” He gestures lazily, hands spreading wide, presenting the carnage around you.

Behind, the fire crackles, its heat pressing in close. Sweat beads at your nape, sliding down to soak into your already-drenched garments, while a gritty breeze slouches through, stirring the smoke and pushing it into your lungs.

“Seems you have a way of finding trouble,” Zen’in smirks, but his eyes have changed, hardening above the curve of his mouth.

“And yet, it was you who came looking for me.”

At least, you assume they’re looking for you—or, at the very least, they want you for something. You’ve torn through both Heian-kyō and Zen’in forces, yet neither side has made any real effort to take you down.

“Ah, well.” Zen’in pauses. “Orders, you understand.”

And there it is. Orders.

“Whose orders?” You try to smile, try to defuse the growing unease making space in your gut. “I refuse to believe anyone would want me for anything.”

Stepping closer, his expression shifts, draining of all feeling.

You tense.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“The new head of the Kasai clan,” he says.

Few things could unsettle you after today's horrors, yet that—that gives you pause.

Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself.

Your father’s written words stumble through your head.

Eyes flicking discreetly over the crowd, your foot shifts back.

“You're lying.” You step away from Zen'in. “My clan is gone.”

“You think so, do you?” he drawls, before he turns, murmuring something to the nearby men, words you can’t hear, ones not meant for you.

He’s wrong. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

“No.” He prowls back. “The Kasai clan’s new leader was very particular about this request.”

Trust no one.

You don’t want to ask.

Trust yourself.

You shouldn’t ask.

Remember.

But your mouth forms the word anyway.

Remember your mother.

“Who?”

He merely smiles—a twitching, almost sad, belittling one.

“Your sister,” he says. “And now, you are wanted for crimes against the Kasai clan.”

World gone quiet. The bodies around you spinning. The only thing you hear in that sentence is sister.

Your sister.

My sister.

Yuna. The one constant in your life.

“That’s not possible.”

Not probable.

“Hm, I think it is.” 

“Then… this is a mistake.” You need to move. Pace. Your foot creeps back again.

Kaito’s grey eyes dart away, landing on the men who stand all too eager and poised. Every muscle in your body tightens at that look.

“You lazy bastards can move now.”

He glances back at you. Another smirk, a delighted one. His fingers wander to his katana, grip there he nudges his chin.

Your heart kicks faster.

“Take her,” he says flatly, then steps away.

Your heart drops. The horde moves.

All of them.

Loud and quick and arriving within seconds, they come with their hands.

Hands on you. Hands everywhere. Hands all over you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you snarl just as someone jostles, then barrels into you from behind, sending you sprawling forward.

You thrash, but down here—on your knees, where the crowd towers over you—they’re too tall to see past, just like that day at the market. And for the briefest moment, you wonder what ever happened to that little glass bead? That harmless dare? But the thought crawls away as the swarm presses in, shoving you lower.

Your chest hits the mud. Your hands slam into the ground, fingernails scraping against cracked dirt as your lungs heave with the force. Someone wrenches your arms back until your shoulders strain, fire searing in their sockets.

“This is a mistake!” you rasp, cheek pressed against the cold. “My sister wouldn’t want this!”

She wouldn’t want this.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She—

The ground shifts as someone plants their feet on either side of you, they straddle your back, all their weight pressing down.

Ayana screams. You can’t see her, but you can hear her.

“Please!” You don’t mean to fucking beg, but it’s all you can think to say as more pressure crowds in, pinning you.

“Daughter of Lord Kasai.” A man from the capital steps forward. "You stand accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup."

“What?” Your brow creases, crumpling down, eyes stinging with a sense of betrayal.

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.

You go to open your mouth to protest, but a piece of fabric, sweat-stained and salt-bitten, is pushed into your teeth. It’s tied there, the grip adjusted, and then there’s a pull. Your spine comes up into a painful arch. You try to scream, but the cloth strangles the cry. You try to crawl away, to twist, to fight—but your body shudders under the heavy weight.

And then something hums through the air. Sings like molten metal.

You still. Nostrils flaring, breaths hot and shallow around the gag. 

The men part, shifting back—as if whatever is coming, they don’t want to touch.

“Thus,” the man continues, “you shall be condemned as such.”

Lifting your head, you catch his gaze sliding right—to another figure stepping forward, hands gripping a long, narrow piece of metal that warps the air around it, heat curling in its wake.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

Your lungs won’t open. You can’t breathe. Terror, icy-toothed and razor sharp, it bleeds into every sense as the branding iron swims into view—its tip swollen and breathing fire.

A tear slides down your nose.

“Don’t do this!” Around the cloth comes the muffled demand. At the corners of your eyes, they sting.

“Open her palm.”

The suggestion comes from somewhere, and your right arm is wrenched back, fingers pried open, forced apart.

And you feel it. The heat of the blistering metal drawing closer and closer.

Panic ignites through the dark place you sink into. Toes digging into the dirt, you thrash. Push. Fight.

Useless.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She can’t.

Unseen prodding fingers. Energy moving around your neck. You barely notice the heavy disturbance in pressure brushing against you, until every hair along your spine lifts. And it’s gentle. Soothing. Behind the gag, your breath catches, eyes snapping to the left.

But you’re not ready for gentleness.

Some shameful part of you wants to look away, wanting to flinch at being handled like this, at being put in such a vulnerable position. So similar to last night. And yet, not.

Because a sick, twisted part of you knows—

He wouldn’t do this to you.

But that shame moves away, drowned out by the veritable fury pouring off the King of Curses in mouthfuls.

Before you, everything narrows. Somehow, the crowd has moved—legs have shifted, bodies have parted. He approaches like a fallen deity of death. Dark kimono slung low at his hips, blood drooling off him, that great trishula clinging to his back like a fifth limb. The iron still hovers, blistering hot at your back, and you fight against it, but your eyes stay locked on Sukuna, his on yours. His, nowhere else.

But behind him, a streak of something.

A smear of midnight blue tears through the smoke.

Your eyes strain.

Zen’in Kaito.

Unmistakable, even from here.

And he’s fast. Unnaturally so. Despite his katana being drawn and every line of his body swollen with motion, he doesn’t slow—not even when aiming straight for Sukuna’s head.

“Sukuna!” Your scream buries itself in the gag.

Zen’in’s weapon comes up.

The four-armed demon stops. Studies you. Moves.

Upper left hand shooting behind his back, fingers gripping the spear, he rips it free from his obi and turns. Fast.

Metal clashes. The impact thunders.

A burst of air throws back your hair as the shockwave washes over everything, extinguishing fires, tossing debris, rumbling the earth.

The two men break apart.

They surge together.

There’s a second violent sting when their weapons collide, recoil, then grind in a bone-rattling scrape.

Snarling, Sukuna’s massive body lurches. Zen’in is forced back, startled, off-balance, his feet skidding across the ground. His head swivels toward the men.

“Get her the fuck out of here!” he barks, levelling his katana to attack.

Useless on the ground, you can only look up. Around you, chaos erupts. Feet slam into the ground, orders fly. The seam that split the crowd earlier is stitched back up, blocking your view of Sukuna, but you can hear him fighting.

Tangled in combat with Kaito, the King of Curses snaps his head over his shoulder, his lower right hand swinging toward you.

Flick, and a rush sweeps over your head.

There’s a slash.

Hot liquid bursts across your spine, thick splatters spilling as the weight pinning you down disappears.

You move. Lifting yourself, you push to your knees, eyes locking on the freshly severed head and body beside you.

Another ripple distorts the air. You can’t see past the dirt and movement, but you hear Ayana rear back—then bolt.

Turning, you eye the man holding the branding iron straightening before you.

Gripping the gag in your mouth, you rip it free, drop it to the ground and spit.

You glare at him.

“I suppose you’re first,” you mutter.

You don’t give him time to prepare. You lunge for him.

But he’s not standing still, either.

Eyes following his movements, you avoid the burning metal as it’s swung toward you. Heat hissing, it hurtles downward.

The edge of your kimono sizzles as the iron catches it.

Shit.

Jerking back, you reset your stance, stepping away, and he comes with you.

The metal arcs.

This time the air around it hums loudly with the force.

Feinting, your feet take you left and right before rushing in. His arm lifts to block, but your fingers find his wrist.

It’s over.

With a single touch, you sever yourself from him.

The iron slips from his grasp and he collapses, knees buckling, folding inward.

Heart in your ears, you watch the way he crumples, scratching at his garment as if he could peel away his skin and scrape out the decay eating him alive. But this… this isn’t nearly as satisfying as watching the death of the brute who killed that young girl.

That had felt like something else entirely. Hunger. Hungry.

Hungry—to see him rot, to watch him wither and die. Hungry in your brain to witness more and—

“Are you injured?” A deep voice grinds out from behind.

Sukuna.

Tipping your head back, you catch his profile—his broad back to you, two left eyes peeking over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed when he got so close.

“No. Just some bruising,” you mumble, peering past those red slits, noting that Zen’in is gone—but the others remain. “Surprisingly.”

You turn back to the man at your feet, now only a smearing pulp laced with bits of fabric. The branding iron meant for you lies nestled within the rotten entrails, its heat bubbling and sizzling the nearby flesh.

Behind you, the King of Curses massive frame expands, shoulders rolling as he takes a breath.

“Good,” he rumbles.

There’s a pause.

Slowly, though still encircled by twenty or thirty men, your heart begins to steady. And there’s only one reason for that.

You calm.

Inhale.

You can breathe again.

“Lord Sukuna.” Exhale. “Thank y—”

A sharp yank on your shoulder and Sukuna forces you to turn.

“Why the fuck are you here?” he growls, prowling close to hover over you. “I told you to leave. Not travel east.”

Lifting your chin, your eye twitches. You lack both the strength and the will to argue. Yet…

“You say that as if I ever listened to you,” you hiss, rising onto your toes.

“Tch.” His noise of disgust has you cocking your head. “Stubborn, vexing woman. I should have tied you to that damn beast of yours.” Then his lower eyes slide, falling to your lips. Staring. His upper pair follows. “Or put that mouth to better use, anything to shut it up.”

Your eyes trail away, scanning the men, seeking a distraction. Because the longer you look at him, the more distant important things become, like lies, betrayal, hurt or the fact that he sought to fucking kill you not too long ago.

Fortunately, the movement around you pulls your heads apart.

“Well,” you mumble as you both stand back to back. “You didn’t.”

Pressed against Sukuna’s wall of a body, warmth bleeds through your kimono. Slowly, you both move in sync, stepping in a slow circle, sizing up the assailants closing in.

“They intend to take me,” you observe, meeting the gaze of every gawking eye.

They wait.

You keep moving.

“I know,” Sukuna growls angrily.

You lift your hands. The discolouration at your fingertips shudders only slightly, barely hanging on to your energy. It feels exhausted.

“What about Zen’in?” Your arms drop. “Did you kill him?”

A pause at your back.

“He’s slinking around somewhere,” Sukuna mutters. “There’s stronger ones waiting nearby. These are just mindless pests here to bleed and waste my time.”

Mindless? Your eyes flicker to them as they close in, and your feet pull apart, stance widening.

“I know you. You could end this in a breath. So why are you holding back?”

Sukuna says nothing, but a prickle at your neck tells you he’s looking at you. You tip your head.

“Taking something immediately?” He flashes a grin and then turns away. “Tell me, where’s the enjoyment in that?”

Head moving back, you’re drained—so much so that you barely register the first attacker rushing in before he’s even on you, dragging up his weapon, purposeful in the way he holds it. Sneering, you lunge for the exposed skin of his neck, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—half praying, half hoping you’ll make it out of here or at least live long enough to witness the death of every last one of these fucking bastards.

Pulling yourself into striking distance, you’re almost—

Flick!

A tattooed wrist swings past your face.

Blood sprays, misting the air a ruddy pink. The man’s body cleaves into two wet pieces and collapses, lifeless. Dark red eats into the dirt. The first body of what you know will be many.

Sauntering next to you, Sukuna rolls his four shoulders loose, a cocky grin on his face.

“Do try to keep up,” he purrs, stabbing the trishula into the ground before diving in—grabbing bodies, dragging them toward him. Four arms make quick work of slaughter, snapping bones while slicing through flesh with a single swipe.

You exhale. Force yourself to move before hesitation becomes a mistake.

Then, suddenly—you’re in it, flinging yourself into the fray.

Sweeping over, under, and through the assailants—sidestepping, pivoting—circling Sukuna’s warpath, keeping your distance, unsure when or if you’ll be caught in his unseen slashes.

You hope not. He seems lost in the throes of war, moving fluidly, almost like a dance. But with his sheer bulk and extra limbs, it’s less a dance and more the embodiment of a storm gathering. Violent. Yet steady. Always steady.

Step—his arms tense, pinning wide open and reaching for his prey, muscles straining, shoulders bunching. Release.

Step.

Release. 

Distracted by the force that seems to draw everything toward him, you almost miss the sharp end of a spear thrust. But you dodge—in, then out—sinking to one knee. Though, more distracting is the exhaustion of your energy.

Sukuna slips past the wielder’s guard, flicks his wrist, and their weapon hand punches cleanly from their arm, leaving an opening.

You take it, and they collapse.

Gliding back mid-motion, your kimono shuddering around you, and passing another man you take him down.

Sukuna turns toward you, arching his slitted brow.

“What?”

You blink at him.

“Nothing,” he drawls lazily, smirking as he steps past another attacker. His fingers twitch—their body follows, separating the folds of their skin. He looks back at you. “Didn’t take you for the killing type. Interesting to finally see you move.”

Another rushes into your path, and you spin away, hand grazing their exposed wrist. A breath later, they’re on the ground, trying to scratch away the decay festering inside them.

Sukuna hums, watching.  

“Then again.” He steps over a fresh corpse, “maybe I was wrong.”  

A notch pulls at your brow, but there’s no time to argue. More bodies press in. You reach, touch, and they fall.

When you glance back, Sukuna’s still looking.  

“Stop staring at me,” you snap, shaking debris from your hand.  

His grin widens. And you know he’s enjoying this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Another flick—another body halves before hitting the dirt.  

Teeth gritting, you pivot, stepping into deeper carnage.  

Bodies crash around you, one after another, but your lungs burn. Your limbs drag. Overexertion has its limits, and it’s pulling you in fast.

Keep going...

Keep—

You stumble, take a step. But a beat later, you end up on your hands and knees, panting, holding your hands in front of you. The tips of your fingers now appear bare, that bruising colour gone.

Damn it. Sometimes, you hated not knowing how to wield this.

Tabi sandals squelch into the damp, blood-soaked earth as they enter your vision.

“Hmph.”

Sukuna’s disapproving stare burns into you, but you don’t look up, keep your eyes downcast, refusing to meet it. He lingers for a moment before sinking to his haunches.

“Here,” he grumbles, pushing a hand to your abdomen. “Breathe from here. Move the energy—” his fingers glide up your torso, over your neck, to your throat, then brush along your chin before pulling away, “—through your body.”

For so long, you’ve despised what lies dormant, so the thought of willingly bringing it out makes you hesitate.

“Observe it.” His voice turns calm as you inhale, feeling the air slip through your nose and exhaling to follow its path outward. Your awareness settles. You center yourself on the faint, skittering energy shivering at your core.

Resonance hums at your fingertips, a heady vibration crawling over your skin. When the vein-like tendrils return, snaking outward, you don’t shy away.

You touch it—grasp and pull.

It belongs to you anyway.

Swallowing, you dip your chin as your eyes trace his face. Sukuna’s mouth twitches. Centering a lower hand on your back, his others guide you up and under his arms. You move seamlessly—behind him, beside him—finishing off the attackers on the other side.

And just for a moment, a tiny fraction of a second, the two of you move in perfect balance.

Sukuna strikes, stuns, and severs while you weave between opponents, gliding through the path he carves, brushing fingertips against flesh.

And so quickly, so disconcertingly easy, you catch yourself enjoying this.

And you know he’s giving you these kills—that he can end it all in seconds. But he seems to be revelling in it, too. Watching from a distance as you slip in and out, winding through the carnage like a snake. Slower, likely than what he was probably used to, but still. You catch the corner of his mouth refusing to fall, and feel his gaze, like it was last night all over again.

But after so much time in this place, you come back to yourself, nearly forgetting the revelations.

Once everything quiets and standing amongst the packed bodies at your feet—all the gurgling flesh and sinew—you lift your gaze to the forest’s edge. Under the rough autumn canopy, a retinue of warriors linger, sitting in wait. Zen’in Kaito is among them, his fingers captured around the hilt of his katana.

This is your chance to slip away.

Not far, yet safely distanced, Ayana’s snowmelt coat gleams, untouched. Huffing in relief, you glance toward the King of Curses. His eyes find yours from where he stands across the battlefield, and for the second time, you turn away from him and leave.

There’s only one place you need to go—where your sister is. Because right now, you want answers. Was she in Heian-kyō? Or elsewhere? An uneasy feeling flutters in your stomach. Fear stealing its place in the spaces of uncertainty and unanswered questions.

The most glaring—why? Why do this?

Yuna never once expressed interest in leading your clan. Never. Her intentions were always to be free of it.

Freedom. Choices.

A mirroring of your own.

Passing through the burning remains of a hut, you’ve only just stepped beyond its flickering shadow when a surge of heat rushes up behind you.

Heavy feet. Agile body.  

You pivot, but there’s no time.

Hands push into you, driving you back until you stumble, your shoulders sinking into rough wood and your exhausted body pinned.  

The breath folds in your lungs. Red eyes catch yours.

Instinct bounds up your spine, your right hand shooting up—only for Sukuna to catch your wrist with his upper left hand, fingers clamping tight. His lower arms brace against your hips, holding you flush under the weight of him. At the line of your throat, his upper right hand hovers, two fingers nudging gently into your pulse.

A standoff. Sort of. You’re too drained to even think about fighting—least of all him.

Lifting your chin, you arch an eyebrow.

“This feels familiar,” you say softly, fingers flicking, just close enough to hover above his skin. “I thought we’d be done with this.”

Saying nothing, a muscle pulses in his jaw. For a long moment, neither of you move. The firelight shifts against his disfigured mask, catching on the grooves and ruts filled with soot and blood. His fingers remain at your throat, but there’s no killing intent behind them.

Because he won’t.

You know he can’t.

Because—

Exhaling sharply through his nose, his two fingers pull back, before his upper right arm falls away. Your hand relaxes in his grasp a heartbeat later.

“Going somewhere?” He holds your wrist, releasing his upper left hand but keeping the lower pair banded around your hips.

Your eyes trail downward, following the planes of his naked torso to the hold, the way his arms brace you against the burning structure at your back.

He’s covered in blood—and who knows what else—but as you stare, a rush of selfish needs stack one on top of the other. A need to unburden yourself after everything witnessed here today. The death under your hands; the death by your hands; the death by others. There’s a small, insignificant part of you that wants to step closer, slot yourself between the cage of his four arms, and rest your forehead there for comfort. Because somehow, he has become both your solace and your greatest anguish.

Stupid.

Grieving your failures is something you can do alone. And alone is how you feel right now.

You pull your eyes away from Sukuna. Then—he lets you go, stepping back so the cold takes the empty space of his body. Folding his upper pair of arms across his chest, he waits.

“I want answers,” you state, moving around him and walking toward Ayana, who has since trotted closer.

Mud, dirt, and char slide past your vision as you leave Ryomen Sukuna for the third time, his stare boring into your back. You swallow against it.

“If you’re running to your sister, you’re wholly unprepared for what’s coming.”

Your feet stop on their own. Down at the blood and dirt streaked hem of your hakama, you blink. For a moment, it’s as if the ground isn’t there at all.

“You know something.” You turn sharply, brow furrowing as you stalk back to him. “If you do, say it. Tell me. Because from my understanding my sister, the newly appointed head of the Kasai clan, has implicated me.”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. He only stares, contemplative.

Frustrated with his lack of response, you clench your teeth and turn away.

“Head back south.”

The words slam into your back. You whirl around.

“What?”

“Ride to the shrine.” His voice is eerily calm, as if this is a perfectly reasonable request after everything that happened in the dark, late hours of dawn.

You step toward him, mouth parting, a barb resting on the tip of your tongue ready to be hurled at him.

“I’ll prepare you for what’s coming. And in time, I’ll offer you the truth. If you're willing to hear it.”

Your mouth presses shut.

Truth? What truth? It’s so far gone from your sight—and his—you’re skeptical of anything he says.

The scoff that punches past your lips makes his mouth curve into a sneer.

“You’ve kept secrets from me this whole time, torn apart the north, shattered everything in your path just to claim what you want.” Among other atrocities. “I’m exhausted, Sukuna. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you have any idea what just happened back there?” You stab a finger toward the village. “All I want is to sleep—for hours, days, months, years. To shut my eyes and think of nothing. Not you. Not anything. Nothing else. Ever.”

For whatever reason, his mouth parts from a sneer to a grin.

Hell.

Again, you turn. And again, you walk.

“You’re not safe.”

“And you think I’m any safer when I’m with you?”

Somehow, you’re back in his reach, snarling up at him. And you’re not even sure what kind of safety you mean—safety from danger or from that hollow space inside your chest.

“I won’t say it again.” Sukuna forces the words out as if it pains him. “You either take my offer, or you don—”  

“You fight me. Then fuck me,” you hiss, taking a step closer, your voice turning venomous. “Then—” He lifts his chin and looks down at you. “—you tell me to leave before sunrise. And I do.”  

His nostrils flare as you take another step so the fabric of his kimono, slung low at his hips, brushes against yours.  

“You save me, then fight with me. And now, all of a sudden, you want me to come back?”  

Heat gathers along your spine with the anger.  

“Do you even hear how pathetic you sound right no—”  

“You asked to be released from our union,” he snarls, grabbing the front panel of your kimono and bending until his face is level with yours.  

“I gave you what you wanted. So, don’t start whining about feeling rejected or confused when I’m not talking about human emotions.”

A sharp breath pushes through your nose as his four intimidating eyes sweep your face.

“What’s pulling us together now goes far beyond that.” He releases you abruptly, letting you stumble back on your heels.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spit, gathering yourself.

“If being an asshole keeps you from making another stupid mistake, then so be it.”

Silence settles between you.

You both stand there, quiet, but the fire crackles loudly.

Slowly, your anger drains into a simmer, and you huff, dragging a hand across your face, smearing soot and the sharp scent of copper.

“If this were to happen,” you mutter, disbelieving you’re even considering this. “I wouldn’t be returning as your wife.”

He blinks once.

“You never were,” he says, tilting his head. “It was only ever a title.”

There's a pause.

“Lies. Fabrications. Deceit. Names for things that never existed,” he adds lowly. “You were my property. That’s all it ever was.”

The unexpected amount of sharp emotions that moves through you forces your gaze away.

“I see...”

Property.

Sukuna steps closer, pushing two fingers under your chin and lifting it.

“But now…” he begins, jaw solid. “You can return… and leave and live as something else entirely. ”

Looking at him, you try to discern what he gains from this.

Anything? Everything? Nothing at all?

Quietly, you inhale.

“Prepare me?”

The King of Curses’ four eyes wander to your hands.

Ah. You flex them, curving them inward.

Do you need to be made stronger?

The thought seems foolish, a little arrogant. Because deep down, you’ve already decided—Yuna will listen to me. She’s your sister. If she did this, if she really did this, there has to be a reason. And when you find her, all of this will unravel. It will make sense.

Won’t it?

But another voice begs, What if you’re wrong?

Another one reminds you, You just had a branding iron held against you.

And the last screams, Today, you should have been stronger. You should have saved that girl.

You exhale sharply, shoving the guilt deep, burying it with the rest.

“It won’t take long.” Sukuna taps an impatient finger at the curve of your jaw. 

A decision waits, a choice. One you can only hope won’t curse you forever. 

“How long?”

“That depends on you, little snake,” he smirks, brushing his fingers away from your chin.

Grow stronger. Find Yuna. Uncover the truth.

Because surely, this is all just a misunderstanding.

Staring up at him, this beast before you, you give only a single nod.

“Good,” he hums, letting his gaze linger, as if marking a point of your decision. “I’ll remain here. Go.”

“Fine.” You pull away, striding toward Ayana and swinging into the saddle. Settled, you take the reins and ride alongside him.

“But just so you’re aware, this decision, my decision, erases nothing about what you’ve done to me.”

Above the King of Curses’ broad nose, a crease forms.

“That will never change.”

Nudging your mare, you turn her in a slow arc, pointing in a single direction.

Moving along the line of the first burning houses, you catch Sukuna from the edge of your vision. He follows at a distance, tracking you, keeping watch. Anyone who peels away advancing in your vicinity is instantly cut down.

Your chest gives a pull.

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake,” you murmur, picking up speed into a weightless gallop.

With your eyes on the King of Curses, you watch as he reaches for the spear at his back, his upper hands retrieving the formidable weapon before turning to face the broken village. Dragging yourself from his massive figure, you shift in the saddle, every part of your body aching as you begin the ride back the way you came.

Back south. Back to the shrine. And you tell yourself, it isn’t back to him.

🔗 Chapter 37

[topazadine]

Let's address the idiot in the room:

Uileac Korviridi.

Portrait by Feddefar

Today, we're going to go through a play-by-play of everything wrong with this man so we all feel a bit better.

Firstly, what the fuck kind of name is that?

Simple. It's pronounced "Oui-lac." No, it is not French.

(As an aside note, I did not realize how many people desperately want to sound out names in their head while reading until multiple people asked me how the hell to pronounce Uileac.)

"Uileac" has multiple potential origins and meanings. In Norse, it's "playful and carefree," while in British mythology, it's "brave protector."

Frankly, it fits Uileac perfectly. He's calm on the surface but a storm inside. He loves his little sister Cerie and his husband Orrinir with a passion that borders on terrifying.

So who is this horrible man?

Uileac is an archer in the Rear Cavalry of the Bremish Army, meaning that he hangs out behind the Advance Infantry during battles and works on killing as many Sinans as possible. We love to see it.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be a soldier: he was forced into the War Academy as a child because his parents were murdered by the Sinans during a raid on the family farm. But hey, if you're going to be become a child soldier, might as well be the best one you can be.

Choosing to fall in love with Orrinir (which you can read about in 9 Years Yearning) was a choice. A damn good one, frankly. Orrinir is a very handsome man.

While the Bremish army's arrows are all enchanted with High Poetry, Uileac is quite a good archer himself even without magic. He loves the sense of power that comes from killing someone at such a distance, so he hones his skills incessantly, despite the fact that he could just rely on High Poetry to fix it. This has given him one of the best kill counts in the army, beyond what would be expected from the stabilizing force of the magic.

Most of his free time is spent on the range, shooting at targets for hours while riding his beloved palomino mare, Erix.

A palomino looks like this, btw.

He's an absolutely shit swordsman, though. All those years of practice have given him no sense whatsoever of how to use the damn thing on his waist.

Thankfully, Orrinir is a fantastic swordsman and doesn't mind berating his husband for his horrible form as they practice. That's their love language, okay? And don't worry - Orrinir's a shit archer, too.

Uileac's Top Five Things He Cares About to the Exclusion of Everything Else are as follows:

Cerie Korviridi, his little sister

Orrinir Relickim, his husband

Erix, his horse

Achieving Rear Cavalry General

An excellent cup of tea

He and Orrinir what I would call "mutual simps," both happy to destroy the whole world if their husband asked them to.

No questions, just "you must be beating this dude up for a reason, mind if I join?"

He can also be really fucking mean when necessary. Mostly when someone has upset someone he loves. For example, here he is telling his husband's abusive father that he's going to hell:

One of his greatest strengths is adorable sibling relationship with Cerie, who is four years younger than him. They lost their parents at age 11 and 7 respectively, and so Uileac became her protector as she studied at the High Poet Society's meronym. This mixture of parental adoration and taunting shines through throughout the series:

Sometimes he even feeds her like she's the stupidest baby bird in the universe because her fingernails were ripped off in a brutal initiation ritual.

Loyal, level-headed, a bit sassy: Uileac is the perfect catch.

(Look, I'm not saying that I, his lesbian creator, am a little bit in love with him, but ... oh hell who am I kidding. I totally am.)

What else do we need to know about this idiot?

Glad you asked. Top Ten Uileac Facts, in no particular order:

1. Uileac is terrified of chickens. They're just ... wrong. Something about them screams of primordial menace. Also, a rooster chased him once when he was a little kid at the farm in Quirnis. 2. He exclusively uses lizardbird arrows for his enchanted arrows. Practice ones are just whatever happens to be lying around, but the serious stuff? Gotta use those bright green, vivid, fierce arrows from Breme's greatest aerial predator. 3. Despite his sister being a High Poet, Uileac himself only prays when he needs something. The rest of the time, he doesn't think much about religion. Orrinir is also the same way: they've got more important shit to do. 4. While Uileac has a very melodic voice, he can't sing, only whistle. (Though if you get enough barley wine in him, he doesn't even care that he's completely off-key.) 5. One of his favorite activities is training horses. There's just something magical about building a connection with an animal and getting them to listen to him. 6. When Cerie was little, before they went to their separate professions (the War Academy and the High Poet Society respectively), she would often have nightmares about their parents dying, and he would sit up and make up fairytales for her. She's always looked for them in old books, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that they were all fabricated on the spot. 7. Every once in a while, he talks in his sleep, and Orrinir delights in telling him the stupid things he said while unconscious. 8. Uileac loves giving people obnoxious gifts. Unfortunately, Cerie also loves giving people obnoxious gifts (it must be a Korviridi trait) so they are an eternal war of buying something that is practical but also hideous. For example, giving Cerie a fountain pen with an immaculate nib - and a carving of a sultry cow. Why? Well, why not? 9. While one would expect that Uileac, being the tiny twink he is, would be the bottom, but in fact, that would be his strong ox of a husband. He loves to control that man. 10. If there's some form of competition, Uileac is in it to win it. Doesn't matter whether that's a dance-off (he cannot dance), a horse race (he and Erix will turn you into dust), or wrestling (he'll die), he'll give it a shot. Then brag about it.

[mistwraiths]

4 stars

I really enjoyed this, mostly because I LOVE dragons and there absolutely needs to be more dragons in fantasy books. Was this the greatest thing I've ever read? No. But if you like romance and dragons, and simple fantasy setting, I think you'll like it.

When I didn't think too hard about the worldbuilding, the plot itself and its holes, the history of the world, or the mechanics of this world, I liked the book better. That sounds like a bad thing to say. This book has fantasy but it doesn't really buckle down on it because it's more focused on Violet and Xaden.

What I mean is: I don't understand what the war is about or for?? Like they're stopping gryphons and their riders attacking or something?? Why?? But also there's a treaty or something??? They trade certain things but apparently that doesn't stop the war? This has been going on for 600 years but some things have happened over time like the treaty. There was a rebellion not long ago but we aren't told what for. (I know now at the end but not even a good made up reason is given???)

I don't understand how the wards work. How they're created? How they're created? The magic is described enough but like so there's ~wild magic outside the wards and only dragons can channel magic within wards and through people and it won't kill their soul or whatever. It's all a little confusing.

I don't understand the tone either. Is this kind of medieval Europe vibes? But why is the dialogue so modern?? It gives me ACOTAR vibes where its fantasy but modern feeling/writing and its palatable. I prefer my adult books to be more adult-y I suppose?

Parts of this book feel very similar to a mix of books. Quadrants where you are either Healer, Scribe, Rider, or Infantry feel almost like Divergent-y. Violet's brown hair going to silver through the length felt reminiscent of Mare Barrow and then her power literally being lightning felt like Red Queen-ish. Xaden with his dark hair and golden skin and being tall and his shadow wielding powers felt a lot like the usual love interest of any popular book right now. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed this book.

To me, I did feel like the pacing was off. The first 200 pages or so was very enjoyable, with her struggling and making friends and trying to survive and claim a dragon. But after that, this book dragged quite a bit. A lot of the scenes felt like they went on for longer than needed. Once she gets a dragon, it's mainly about Xaden and her. I was under the impression that this was meant to be a military fantasy type book, like we were going to like get battles or like discover that the leadership was hiding things. There's like... one scene where Violet and Liam find something about a outpost and the teacher doesn't say anything about it. And they are confused for the page, and then promptly nothing else happens. The way we learn about what the book mentions of the secrets the leadership is hiding and her suspecting isn't really her suspecting at all? She sees it firsthand at the VERY end. It just felt like a misdirection in the summary.

I do like Violet. Is she frustrating at times, yes, but I found her to be a good MC and to actually be smart and tough and capable. I love that the book SHOWS me she's smart, it doesn't just tell me or have her ask a million questions to be answered by the love interest. She's a good person and compassionate. The whole two dragons bonding was a little eyerolling to me but whatever. To be honest, the only annoying thing about her was her not thinking Xaden didn't care for her/love her, when she gave Dain a million chances, and at the end where she acted like everything was lies.

I do like that the book highlights her differences and while there is ableism the book always shows how terrible and shitty it is. I say differences because it mentions that she's sickly but also her joints are weak and pop out/bones break easy but it never specifically states what she suffers from. Maybe it mentioned she's chronically ill but she never shows pretty much any symptoms. She talks about being in pain too. But she's never sick in the books and her bones aren't like glass. So, it did kind of feel disingenuous with its representation to me. She does have to train to get better but everyone has to do that.

There's a big part where it mentions she can't make jumps/pull herself up because not only her disability but she's short. How short is she? Are there NO other short people who experience that problem too about the vertical ascent? Also, a big majority of the book focuses on her being unable to keep her seat on a dragon. It's mentioned MANY people fall to their death. Um?? Why not make saddles a regular thing? It's been 600 hundred years and there's no advancements???

Xaden was good, we don't really get to know him a lot. Other than Violet being immediately hot for him, that's pretty much all we get until we slowly see he's a decent and good guy. I do respect that he never tries to make choices for Violet and he treats her like she can handle herself and helps her. I really admired his loyalty to all the rebellion kids and how he feels responsible for them. It's absolutely asinine and ridiculous that people make children suffer for the actions of their parents. It honestly makes me wonder about how great the dragons REALLY are when they're marking children and going along with it.

I'm also really glad that this was never a love triangle. She shut that shit down so fast. Dain was literally the WORST friend and just so god damn awful nearly every time. And like HE KEPT SOUNDING LIKE A BROKEN RECORD about literally everything.

Big spoilers ahead

When we find out the truth that Xaden's been keeping, Violet acts like it's SUCH a huge betrayal and she hates him because he didn't trust her, etc. Let's not forget that they haven't REALLY been together together for not even 24 hours yet. Plus, like... that's SUCH a huge secret. You have to slowly really trust someone because it could endanger SO MANY PEOPLE. This isn't a "don't tell people I met with a group of other rebellion kids to help tutor them through the year" kind of small secret. This is a EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS A LIE AND YOUR FAMILY IS COMPLICIT AND PEOPLE WILL DIE IF TOLD kind of secret. I'm not saying she doesn't have a right to be angry. HOWEVER, I think she could be more "I'm angry that you didn't feel like you could trust me, but I understand how big and hard of a secret this is."

Also, we don't know for SURE if Dain did steal memory from her or not. I absolutely wouldn't put it past him to be honest and wouldn't be surprised if he did. HOWEVER. There's a mention that specifically states that command and leadership didn't expect the rebellion kids to survive and bond dragons, and states specifically that they aren't quite sure what to do with them! Xaden and his third years are the first about to graduate!! It makes more sense to me that leadership just either set them up to die because it was an easy solution. Especially since we did have that scene where Violet tells Dain to never take without permission and without asking and he's like omg I didn't ask?? And apologizes. Doesn't mean he DIDN'T DO IT I'm just throwing it out there. It's all just speculation.

I do think I'll keep reading the series whenever the next book comes out. I'm interested and I like the dragons and characters.

[yesimwriting]

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol 

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious. 

-- 

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib. 

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops. 

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper. 

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest. 

“Mare told me about you.” 

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross. 

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.” 

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.” 

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster. 

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.” 

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.” 

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.” 

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.” 

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.” 

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.” 

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless. 

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.” 

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.” 

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.” 

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.” 

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.” 

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling. 

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.” 

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.” 

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries. 

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.” 

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.” 

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching. 

[elrielsdaughter]

Flower's Rage

Elriel month, day something; "it's my life!"

summary: elain snaps at rhysand after finding out what he did.

warnings: language.

word count: 1k

a/n: I've been so busy I didn't have any time to finish my other drafts but maybe I'll publish them somedar, in the meantime please enjoy this little thing I did.

There was nothing on Elain’s mind but the deafening silence of the rage beginning to rise in her chest, the war cry echoing in her blood, she had to restrain her rage from showing on her face. In front of her, Nuala and Cerridwen waited for her reaction, their faces full of concern as they looked at each other as if reevaluating the situation, as if they had made the worst mistake of their lives.

The cookies she was baking were probably burning by now, and yet she shrugged off her flour-filled apron, tossed it deftly onto the kitchen table, and undid her braid, leaving her hair free on the sides of her head. She was going to kill Rhysand. She could live with the hatred Feyre would have for her, she could live with it on her shoulders.

“Elain?” Cerridwen’s voice sounded wary, as if raising her voice would destroy her friend’s sanity.

Elain smiled up at her, shaking the skirt of her cobalt-colored dress vigorously and taking a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” she assured them. “Thanks for telling me, I appreciate your sincerity.”

“We don’t want any trouble with Rhy…"

“You won’t have it, I won’t even mention your names, it’s fine Nuala,” Elain assured them and smiled at them once more.

She waved goodbye to them with a small nod as she stormed out the kitchen door almost ripping the door off. Oh, Rhysand would listen to her, he would listen to her even if she had to tie him to a chair and gag him, it was a blessing that she was at their river state making dinner, she wouldn’t know what to do if she was at the town house, she probably would have knocked down buildings around her with the thoughts that filled her head in a matter of seconds, so many explanations to give, so many questions to answer.

Azriel hadn’t really said that it was a mistake that she was a mistake, he didn’t believe that what they were building was a mistake, Rhysand forced him away and she returned the necklace to him because she felt rejected, oh god, she had to talk with Azriel. Though a fading light in her heart shone brightly at the thought that they could still be together, that they could fix what Rhysand had wanted to destroy.

She walked through the halls ignoring the thousands of paintings her sister had done, ignoring with all her being the lie of her friendship with Rhysand, what did he think she was? A mare that he would sell to the Autumn Court if he wanted for a little peace? She was tired of never being listened to, she would be taken seriously from now on. In front of Elain the doors to Rhysand’s private study swung open, she opened them with a resounding bang that startled Rhysand and Feyre, Nyx in her arms barely moved by the noise.

Their astonished eyes didn’t hesitate to lock on her, Feyre already standing up from her seat approaching her with quick steps.

"Elain, what’s wrong? You feel bad? Did you have a vision?” She appreciated the concern on her face, but she wasn’t the one she wanted to talk to.

“I’m fine.” Elain didn’t take her eyes off Rhysand who was looking at her with some intrigue “Leave me alone with your mate Feyre, we have things to discuss.”

She gave her a look that meant she would explain everything to her later, but she needed this moment, she needed to explode, her hands at her sides were already shaking and she was about to throw up just from the anger that ate her soul. Feyre obeyed her and left the study with her nephew in her arms, she closed the door behind her, Elain waited for her footsteps to dissolve down the hall, she only dared to speak when she was sure they were alone.

“How dare you?” Her question came out more hurt than she wanted, but he hurt her, she never expected it from him.

Rhysand got up from his chair and walked towards her with his hands in the pockets of his pants, the High Lord’s clothes impeccable as always, confusion shining in his eyes.

“Would you mind telling me what I did?”

Elain was going to explode, how he had the cynicism to ask her what, as if it wasn’t obvious enough.

“You have no right to choose for me! It’s my life Rhysand! No one but me has the right to choose what is best for me." She wasn’t going to let them take away what she wanted more than anything, she have had enough of that.

Rhysand seemed to finally understand, he stood up straight and his face changed to the face of the High Lord, who liked to command, do and undo as he pleases, that didn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

“Are you saying that for the problem with Azriel? He doesn’t know what he wants."

"What about me? Have you ever wondered what the hell I want?" she approached him hissing, “I’ll give you a hint, it’s not Lucien.”

She spat out his name as soon as the letters touched her tongue, she would never, could never love him, fuck the cauldron and the mother that chose for her, she never accepted it, never asked for it. Rhysand widened his eyes in surprise and shook his head a bit after composing himself beginning to pace around the study.

"You can give it a chance, you don’t even talk to him, Elain, how do you know you don’t want him?"

“Because just the thought of him touching me makes me want to throw up! I don’t care who decided that he would be my mate…" she breathed deeply and held back the tears that began to sting her eyes "But I have the option to choose for myself, and I don’t choose him, never him."

Rhysand stopped his footsteps and turned to look at her, his eyes starless, good. She would spit on every star if it meant they would leave her alone, for once in her life, she didn’t seem to care, nothing she wanted or desired was important. All her wishes and her dreams were discarded before she even wanted them, they always took things away from her, always took away people she loved.

“Elain you have no idea what trouble you can get us into.” his hands began to move, expressing his frustration "Think about it for a second."

He seemed to beg when he spoke, but Elain was sick of pleasing everyone by forgetting herself all the time, no more. She moved quickly to him and before he could react she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt tightly, her hands turning into a fist, bringing him closer to her face.

“I’m capable of killing the entire Autumn Court if it means I can live with the person I want, and the person I want is Azriel."

She had never said his name openly, only in her thoughts, she thought of him all the time, but she had never claimed him out loud, she had never proclaimed her desire and love for him to someone other than the moon, she was going to do it in solstice night. But Rhysand had ruined it.

Nuala and Cerridwen had told her out of fear that Azriel would get sick, the poor thing didn’t sleep, he ate almost nothing, he killed himself training and filling out reports because he couldn’t get close to her, because Rhysand had forbidden him and had broken the only relationship that had been able to pull her out of her dark depression.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Elain…"

“Do you want to see that I’m not playing around?” she pushed him away from her face forcefully, causing him to stumble a bit, “I’m capable of fighting Lucien in the Blood Duel for my own hand, I’ll call him now if you let me."

"You’re out of your mind Elain, put yourself in my place, I want to protect our home, our family!" he yelled at her with some rudeness, his anger shining in his eyes.

“I don’t give a fuck! I forbid you to interfere in my private life and my relationships again! If I wanted to I would go to Azriel right now and fuck him three days in a row because I am free to choose what I want!” Elain yelled back making the entire house vibrate with her rage.

Rhysand made an irritated face and turned his back on her, he was ending the conversation, but she still had a few things to say.

"I thought that of all of us… You more than anyone would understand me, I thought that…" she swallowed a sob that made Rhysand turn to see her "I thought we were friends and that you would support me, maybe I was a fool or I’m still too human for fae lies."

"Don’t say that."

"But that's how you make me feel Rhysand" she interrupted him, hating herself for the tears that fell quickly down her cheeks, she wiped them away instantly "I would never have done this to you Rhys, I would never do this to you"

She watched as Rhysand’s face twisted into something she could only make out as regret. Without waiting for an answer she left, slamming the door and headed through the halls to the kitchen where her friends would be waiting for her, she would ask them to take her to Azriel, they also had to talk.

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[sasa-gay-yo]

Levi Reacting to You Being Pregnant

Request: Here 

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant right after you’ve taken back Shiganshina, but you and Levi both know that you couldn’t raise a kid in this world no matter how much you want to. No, you shouldn’t... but the happiness was so tempting.

Timeline: After taking back Shiganshina arc

Art Credits: ? help pls

Levi was blunt with you. He always was. There was no grey area with him, no reason for you to ever doubt your relationship or his trust; Levi was straightforward and to the point. Sometimes it hurt, him not knowing why you would react in such a manner other than his way, but you were with him for so long that you’d gotten used to each other. If he was upset, he needed space and a cup of tea before he could talk in that calm, unwavering tone of his. If you were upset, you just want to be apologized to and hugged at least once before you went on with your day. The problem was, however, that this problem happened because of both of you. There was no one single person who blame could be directed to and you both were upset, probably more with yourselves than the other. You were now stuck in a grey area, and Levi hated grey areas.

“I’m… I don’t think I’m far along. If you want, I can go to Hange and terminate th-“

“No.” You hung your head again, sitting across from him. He had his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk, and a massive headache coming on from thinking about this whole situation too much. He was scary like this because nothing you could say would help. You wanted to go get him a tea and leave him alone, but you also wanted to be held. It was happening to your body, not his.

It happened on the night after everyone returned from Shiganshina almost a month ago. The ten of you that were left. Hands of desperation and longing, ripping off clothes, were trying to get as close as possible to the one thought to be lost forever. The emotions were still on you both, having lost a close comrade and a best friend, you were trying to find solace in each other. Again, you were both upset, both crushed by the loss of that many scouts and of Erwin. However, then, you didn’t need tea or a hug, you needed to be completely wrapped around each other. You needed to know that you were both still alive, no matter if it was only physical. You needed to hear Levi’s heart still beating in sync with yours. In that wave of emotion and passion, the will to be as close as possible, you both had forgotten common biology. After that day, you were swept up with paperwork as now there were only three officers remaining in the Survey Corps that you both may have completely forgotten the climax to that last night.

“You’re pregnant.” Hange almost dropped her clipboard when the attending doctor told you that. She had brought you for a routine checkup, thinking you had gotten sick from lying with open wounds in a puddle of stagnant water and needed serious medical attention for sepsis. Little did you know that the nausea and vomiting had been brought about by the evidence of you and Levi’s passion.

Hange tried to console you, holding you as you cried into her chest, but she too felt the weight of what was to come. You couldn’t afford a child now. Maria was closed and there were countless of expeditions to be planned to finally eliminate the titans. You couldn’t be left out of those, now being a second to Levi’s skill and to Hange’s orders. You asked Hange what it would take to get rid of it, not even wanting to tell Levi because you knew what he would say. You two had talked about it one night in bed, early on in your physical relationship. You two didn’t want kids. Not now, maybe not ever. If there were titans on this earth, you wouldn’t be comfortable having a child on along with them. Hange was the one who convinced you that Levi would be hurt if you didn’t tell him something this serious was happening to you and him both.

That’s why you had told him here in a place so unintimate as the makeshift office in the capital, mere hours before you were to be congratulated by Historia, MPs, and Garrison. When you told him, he was blunt, like he always was and even if you were crying to Hange about not wanted the child, it still hurt the way he said it. It made it feel like it was your fault you were carrying it inside of you. Deep down, he was also in pain, but you knew he wouldn’t tell you that.

“Do… you want the child then?” He wouldn’t look you in the eye. He couldn’t because if he did, he would tell you to keep it. He would tell you that he wanted the child and if it was a boy, he was going to name it Erwin. Yet, the Captain side of him knew the a child would be devastating to operations and to your lives. If you were to fight with Marely, how was Levi supposed to go off to war when he had a wife and child at home? He wouldn’t be able to peel himself away from that heaven he wanted for so long to go off into Marley’s hell. It was for his scouts and Paradis. Their two best fighters couldn’t have a child, because it would be disastrous in the long fight for freedom.

But he wanted to be selfish. So bad. That’s why he was practically grabbing at his hair, trying to tell himself that he couldn’t have it. He couldn’t have peace. He couldn’t have a family. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But, Paradis was safe, wasn’t it? They would be able to defeat the Titans in a few months time, and Shiganshina would be populated again. They wouldn’t have to deal with Marley any time soon, as they were focusing on rebuilding society. Even during the recent meetings they had with Historia and the new government, he felt a small strike of hope brimming in him. By the time you would give birth to the child, it would be a new era. You two would have a house or an apartment and would be overseeing the rebuilding of the walls and agriculture around them. No fighting. No titans. For maybe two or three years.

He shouldn’t.

“After the ceremony. We’ll decide then.” He stood up and walked out, leaving you, sitting broken in his makeshift office. Why did it hurt you so much? You two were being realistic like you always were. It was dumb to have any type of wedding, so you just started calling each other husband and wife. You didn’t need a paper to tell you that. Even when you two started dating, it was four months in when you had to put a label to it because Hange was asking over and over. It was hard to be concrete is a world like this. A world where over two-hundred scouts vanish in under ten minutes.

But, you didn’t live in that world anymore, did you? Marley was here, Zeke was still out there somewhere, but you’d held them off once before. Soon you were to be helping farmers plant, organizing the lay of the land and the crop rotations. You had been born into a farming family, and Historia was going to put you to work since you volunteered. There was nothing violent about that. You could raise a child, just like your father raised you: sitting on a horse with him while you tilled the land. If it were a boy…

You lifted a hand to find tears running down your face. You shouldn’t do it. You shouldn’t. Day dreaming about having a family, about a little Levi running around a farm was dangerous. Once you did this, you would get attached to the growing mass in your stomach and give it a name. Then, you wouldn’t be able to part with it. You were trying to be so blunt and realistic so you wouldn’t grow attached.

Yet, that never worked for you. Example: Levi.

“(Y/F/N)?” Hange knocked twice on the open door, seeing you hunched over in the chair. She knew you were crying, and she knew that Levi had walked out on you. She saw his face as he marched down the hallway. For once, she saw Levi in pain. Hange knew more than anyone that Levi and you deserved normal. You two deserved the child you had mistakenly made. But, you two were also too stubborn to be selfish and turn your loyalties away from your job into making a family. Hange had saw the look on Levi’s face. He wanted to give it up so bad. He never ever wanted to tell his best friend to go die. He was in pain because he was conflicted inside. He wanted to have the child, he wanted to do something for himself for once, but he also had never allowed himself to do that. You were the same. She knew you were. The fact that you were here crying over a child you learned about an hour ago revealed it all to her.

You two wanted this child. You two wanted normal. And now everything was perfect, the time was oh, so right to do it, but you two were so scared of having something so right ripped out of your hands, that you never tried it. You never pushed for anything. Hange wanted you two to try it, and so she would make sure you did. Her two best friends needed this. She knew Erwin would want his two best friends to have this too.

“W-w-we… later. Decide later.” She kneeled down to look you in the eye, seeing how red they were. You needed to stop crying so that the hundreds of people gathered wouldn’t know the terror inside of you. They couldn’t know what you and Levi did.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, (Y/F/N).” She handed you a handkerchief from her coat pocket and you took it gladly. If Levi couldn’t hold you, Hange easily could. She sat on the chair arm, making you lean into her again.

“Hange…” You wanted to tell her. You needed to tell someone. You wanted her opinion too. She was involved in this. If you kept the child, her two captains would be out for the count for a while. You would leave her by herself, and you couldn’t do that. You shouldn’t.

“You want to keep it, don’t you?” You just nodded into her, and she ran her hands through your hair to calm you down. She couldn’t have a full conversation with you, having the award ceremony in thirty minutes, but she could give you encouragement to face Levi and everyone else again. Levi would never be able to tell himself that he wanted the child and act on it. That wasn’t who Levi was. He did things only for others and never for himself. You were able to be swayed, and you had Levi wrapped around your finger, so Hange knew if you went to him now, saying that you wanted to keep it, in nine months she would have a godchild. Her heart beat faster thinking about it. She wasn’t going to tell you that she also wanted you two to have a child so she could teach it all about titans and science and watch Levi’s annoyed face as she did it.

“If you want to keep it, I’m sure he does too. You just have to tell him that. Levi loves you too much. You two deserve happiness for how much you’ve done for humanity,” she cooed to you, trying to make you feel better about the decision she knew you wanted to make. You just sat there, hoping her warmth would make you feel better, but it didn’t. You were scared. Scared of the thing growing inside of you. You never had a mother. How could you be one if you didn’t know one? You were a soldier. You kill people and titans. You’ve had more peoples’ blood on you than you could count. You watched as your team was murdered by Annie’s titan and you were helpless with a broken leg and arm. How could someone like you, someone so violent and broken and… how could you be a mother?

While Levi stood in some random corner, thinking everything over and over again, that thought came to his mind too. He never had a father and barely remembered his mother. The closest thing was Kenny, and he abandoned Levi. What makes Levi so sure he could be a father? Would he be like Kenny? Suddenly not able to be a father, so he leaves? No. No. No. Levi wasn’t Kenny. He would never leave you. He couldn’t. But Levi… he was a murder. He was a killer. Humanity’s Strongest. He was broken inside. How could he be a father to a child when he couldn’t take care of himself? You were the one who took care of him.

Historia had noticed something was wrong with you during the ceremony when she looked into your eyes, giving you a bolo tie matching Erwin’s. The one Levi had on his makeshift desk. It made you scared now, having one like his. Would you end up dead like Erwin? Would your bolo tie end up on Levi’s desk? On some shelf in your child’s room? Levi wouldn’t die, you were confident in that, but what about you? You didn’t want to leave Levi alone with something he never wanted in the first place. You wanted it, not him.

Armin was the one who noticed something off with Levi after the ceremony. Rather than being stuck to (Y/F/N)’s side while talking to the other branches of the military, he was leaning on a column, boring holes into the ground. Armin also saw that in place of Levi was Hange, having your arm in hers. You weren’t smiling or chatting with the officers like you always did, Hange was doing it for you. Armin had never seen you like this and he’d never seen Captain Levi so… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but something set in his stomach when he saw the Captain look up at you. Longing. It hurt Armin’s heart seeing that and he was the only one in the room who did. Why was Captain Levi longing for his wife that was only a few feet away?

Levi was longing for a future. When he saw you next to Hange, he was already imagining what you would look like with a smaller version of you at your side. He was making up so many logical plans for this child you told him you were going to get rid of if he wanted. It terrified him that he was acting like this. Right now, he would look up at you and see a small boy following you along, talking up to the officers like you always did. He saw the same blonde boy, with your hair and your eyes, planting flowers in the little garden you’d made outside of Scout HQ while he sat in the shade and watched. Levi’s heart had only hurt like this in three other situations: when Isabel and Furlan died, when Erwin died, and when he thought you had died in a puddle of sewer water at Shiganshina. His heart hurt because it was going through everything that person should have done. That person’s future. Now, he was sitting here going through the future of someone he had never seen or met before. Why? Why? Because he wanted that child so bad, but if you didn’t, then he would be passive. You were carrying it, so you had a bigger part of the decision than he did. If you didn’t want it, he wouldn’t stop you, but he would still think about the child’s future. His child’s future. What could have been.

It was nighttime when you made contact with Levi again, in your shared bedroom. You almost went to sleep with Hange, scared of what Levi would say to you, but Hange gave you a pep talk. She wanted this baby as badly as you did and that gave you some confidence. You couldn’t stop thinking of the little boy who could have been standing next to his father’s feet at the ceremony. The boy, who had his hair and his eyes, sitting on his father’s lap while he unwillingly talked to the Garrison Captain at dinner about the future plans. What were your future plans?  

You walked in and he was already sitting on the bed, only a pair of linen pants on, staring at the wall above the door. When you walked in, his eyes snapped down to you and you saw what Hange was talking about earlier. Pain. Did you look like this too? Instead of talking, you went to change out of your formal attire and into the sleeping gown you always wore. His eyes were hot on your bare skin and he was waiting for you to speak. He was afraid that if he spoke first, he would pressure you into keeping the child you didn’t want.

Replaying Hange’s words over and over in your head, you closed the door to the wardrobe and turned to look right into his eyes. The pain in his eyes hurt you, knowing you were about to trap him into something he didn’t want. You couldn’t let it go. The child you had. If Levi ended up not wanting it and left, then you would find Levi in the child’s eyes. Somehow, someway.

“I want to keep the child.” You wanted it to sound strong when you said it, like you practiced with Hange, but it was soft. So soft, you worried he didn’t hear it, but he did. He heard it and something inside broke. Something made Levi come completely undone, something you’d only ever see happen after Erwin’s death. Tears.

“Thank gods,” he whispered before standing up to take you in his arms. His grasp was tight, like the day he thought he lost you. He wasn’t holding on to only you, but also his child. Your child. Together. He was holding the first ever pure, unadulterated happiness in his life. That thought would change once your child was born and he held it for the first time in his arms.

You cried too, but that was normal for you in Levi’s presence. He only had a few tears running down his face, but you were overwhelmed. You didn’t think he wanted it, but you could tell he did. He wanted this child as bad as you did. You were happy. These were tears of happiness and relief. It felt so good to finally have something to be happy for in your life.

“I want to keep it too,” he whispered again in your ear, finally being able to push back the emotion that was keeping him from holding you. When you cry, you like to be held to his chest like you were now. When he cried, he likes you to rub his back like you were doing now. It was going to be hard, both of you were still soldiers and didn’t know how to raise a child, but you’ve been fighting for so long, this would be easier than that. It had to be. If you could deal with a titan, you could deal with a child. A child that gave you so much happiness and hope, you could burst.

“If it’s a boy, I want to name it Erwin.” He was the first to bring the emotion in the room back to normal, like he always does. You look up at him with a smile, nodding. You couldn’t see any other name for the child.

“We’ll have to think of another if it’s a girl, but I’m sure it’s a boy.” You put one hand on your flat stomach and Levi imagined you, standing up on the edge of the wall, yelling down at some poor farmer, round as a watermelon. It made him laugh a little.

“You’ve only had it in you a few weeks and you’re certain? I don’t think so.” You glared up at him playful, signaling that you were also back to normal.

“Is it inside of you? I don’t think so.” He laughed again into your hair, leading you to the bed so you both could go to sleep. Tomorrow was a long day of meeting and planning, and now he had to look after two people instead of one. It was going to be backbreaking since you had no care for what happened to your body. Levi was going to have to be extra careful and strict with you, and he was even debating making a rule book he could give to the brats so they could help him make sure you didn’t kill yourself.

The next day, you decided to tell everyone right away. They needed to feel something other than pain. They needed the happiness that even made Levi feel lighter on his feel. You could see on their faces that once you announced it, it worked. It made them take their mind off of the impending threat of Marley, or how they were going to have to go out and kill titans again. Sasha and Historia were grabbing at your hands, getting a glare from Levi, asking about how you were going to raise it and how you could stay in the castle during your whole pregnancy. Even their reactions gave you more joy.

“If you’re like, a month along, then if you think about it,” Connie went off, using his hands to try and count back to the days of conception, “you two did it right after-“ Levi smacked him over the head and everyone froze. This was the first time that Levi had outright hit one of them recently, as they thought he pretty much mellowed out when Historia punched him. Admittedly, the streak of nice Levi scared all of them. You scowled at Levi, patting Connie on the head.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi? Stop hitting them!” Levi rolled his eyes and smirked slightly.

“Well, how many times do I have to tell them to stop saying stupid things that make me want to hit them?” You glared raising your fist at him and he shrunk back a bit to try and dodge it. 

“Why I outta-“

“You shouldn’t hit me, you’ll injure my chi-“ You scoffed again, cutting him off.

“Your child?! Who’s the one carrying it?!” The others laughed on at the sight, finally feeling some sort of security knowing that their two captains were acting normal again. It all felt normal and happy, the tone of underlying bitterness going away as they watched you two bicker like an old married couple. Well, bickering like you two usually do.

“That kid is going to be 50/50 of both of them, and that scares me more than Captain Levi does,” Jean muttered to Armin who nodded in agreement.

“It’s going to be the safest kid in all of Paradis, though. All of the world. With those two as it’s parents.”

“And the craziest, too.” You turned your assault to Jean, hearing those words.

“What did you just say, horseface?”

xx I hope you like it requestor! I think this is one of my favorite things I’ve written so far! 

[jay-and-dean]

Stolen Crown  Chapter 1 : Under the hood

By @roonyxx​ and @jay-and-dean​

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary :  What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too...

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : Swearing for now.

Chapter Wordcound : 3230

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89​

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Whistling. 

Only a shrill whistling in her ears, and her heart pounding hard in her temples…

She holds her head and tries to get up, but the ground seems unsure of where it is supposed to be.

“Dean ?” she tries with a weak voice but, even with the high-pitched sound fading quickly, she can’t hear any answer. “Dean !”

She opens her eyes and they widen right away.

The seedy warehouse is gone, the smell of gasoline and the night are too… But above all, he is gone. Dean is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead : A sunny beautiful forest. Shiny rays of lights come through the radiant, high trees and birds are signing. So many birds.

“Shit” she grunts, looking around. “DEAN ! SAMMY !”

But her voice echoes and dies in the woods, only making a few rodents run through the bushes, themselves moving some butterflies and bees. Nothing else. 

Where was she sent ? Is it witchcraft or some stupid God ? She had told them that this case seemed more complicated than what they said ! And here she is, probably miles from home.

“Please, tell me I’m still in the United states” she whimpers, taking her phone from her jeans shorts pocket. “No come on ! No signal now ?”

After pacing around to try and find any sign of signal, she gives up and puts the useless phone back in her pocket, regretting her morning choice to wear only a t-shirt and shorts, because if she has to walk miles to find a road, the night might be here before she finds her friends again, and nights are colder out there.

“DEAN ! DEAN !” she tries again.

But he is obviously not with her.

What if he had been sent far too ? What if he was in an indian market now ? Or in a boat on the australian seas ? 

“Sammy you have to find us” she mutters, looking around to gather clues.

This forest is not tropical or northern, it’s a temperate one, and it’s obviously still early summer…

Suddenly, hooves disturb the forest’s calm in the distance, rapidly approaching her. The metal clattering with every step the big animal -probably a horse- takes, says it’s not alone…

She quickly moves in the bushes and stills behind a large tree to hide herself from whoever is coming. 

“Your highness ?” a deep, oddly familiar, voice calls.

Her back flat against the tree, she turns her head a little to be able to see beyond the thick bark, holding her breath and reaching for the knife in her boot. 

A beautiful, massive shiny black horse is nervously stepping on the ground while the owner of the mare pats it on the neck.

“Easy girl” the man says. 

She frowns, keeping the dagger in her hand, ‘that voice… I know it.’ When she dares to look between the leaves, her eyes widen.

“Dean?” she says with a confused smile, putting the knife back in her boot, as she steps from out of the bushes.

“My Queen !” he throws his leg over the majestic black horse and steps off, right away going down on one knee in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been looking for you, my Queen” he says towards the ground, not looking up to her once.

“Queen ?” she huffs, still a little dizzy. “Where the Hell are we, Dean ? And what the fuck are you wearing, is that... a freaking armor?” she asks, pointing at his weird clothes.

Dean finally tilts his head upwards. And when he sees her, his eyes nearly fall out of his head, his mouth is open but no words leave his lips. The more he stares at her like she was naked, the more she starts to feel a little self conscious.

His eyes slowly travel up her bare legs, a confused expression on his face, when she bends a little to make eye contact with him he quickly adverts his gaze.

“Your Majesty, what happened to your robes ? Are you harmed ?” he asks, obviously worried. 

“Cut the crap, Dean, what’s happening ? Where are we ?” she asks, annoyed.

“We are in the…” he looks around a little, apparently wondering what to answer. “In the woods… Not far from the Castle, my Queen” he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, a deep feeling of confusion replacing the annoyance totally. Her tone changes to something colder, more distant.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘queen’ ?” she asks. “And what’s up with the stupid clothes ?”

He dares looking up at her again, a sorry frown on his face. 

“My apologies, your Highness. I do not understand… Is there something wrong with my apparel ?” he stands up, his eyes searching her face. “Did you hit your head or have you fallen maybe ? You disappeared, my Queen. I have been so worried” he turns to his horse to retrieve a big grey fur cloak. “What happened to your gown, did someone attack you ?” 

His head low, he comes closer to carefully drape the very heavy cape around her shoulders.

“I obviously failed at my duty” his eyes are dark and she clearly recognizes that crushing guilt on his features

She touches the floor length fur coat he put around her with a frown. It’s pleasantly warm outside, there is no need for this... 

Everything he does is weird, and why does he look so different ? Was he hit by a spell of some weird stuff like that time he was losing his memory ? 

Unless… 

She takes in his appearance. He looks exactly like him but he has more scruff, and his hair is a little longer, his clothes are very strange too. 

The closer she looks, through the fading cloud in her mind, the more this costume he is wearing really doesn’t look like one. All the layers of leather and metal make him look like he was ready for war, and his shoulders are even more broad under the armor he is wearing. 

Everything about him seems heavy and powerful : Between the metal on his chest, the big belt holding several weapons, including the scabbard of that seems to hold a very authentic sword, the real huge grey fur around his shoulder, like he had killed a wolf…

She shivers at how impressive he looks, at how she realizes she doesn’t know anything about him..

“Shit…” she mutters realizing this is not her Dean at all. 

This is not the United states of America, and this is probably not even her world… But if the Dean from around here is willing to protect her, that might be her best chance of survival.

She clears her throat, nodding to encourage herself to play along.

“No... I’m…” she suddenly has no idea how to use her voice. “I’m okay and I am your queen, because you are my…?” she leaves the sentence open, hoping he’ll answer it.

“Your knight” he says, uncertain.

Knight, right… She nods and looks around once more.

If this is some kind of fucked up middle age alternate universe, there is a big chance that the forest is going for miles and miles, and an even bigger chance that she starves to death before Sammy finds a way to bring her back to the Instagram century. And dressed like that, she might have to fear more than wolves…

She stares at him for a minute and he seems to be just waiting for orders, his green eyes on the floor.

“Kneel” she says with a corner smile and he just does, with no question, comment or delay.

Dean Winchester obeying her to the letter… If that is not a good side of this whole crap !

“You can get up” she chuckles, letting him stand on his feet again.

But her amusement quickly fades. 

Royalty is not really the easiest undercover, and the discretion will be impossible. She wants to ask for help but, even if her whole body and soul tell her she can trust Dean -for it is still Dean-, her eyes travel the thick leather covering his forearms and she remembers she doesn’t know him.

So maybe she better stay silent for now, and follow his lead until she decides if he is an ally.

“Your Majesty” he speaks, with a deference she never heard from him. “If the news of your disparition comes to the Council, there undoubtedly will be trouble. We should head back now. Please.”

“Y-yes” she nods, a lump growing in her throat.

Council ? Trouble ? Castle ? How is she supposed to deal with all that ? People close to the queen will know she isn’t her in a minute…

The knight offers his hand, and she follows, frowning when he joins his wrists to help her get on the horse. 

“This is not the best comfort for travel, your Majesty, for that I am sorry” he apologizes again.

“It’s okay Dean” at her words, he frowns again, but she puts her feet on his wrists and jumps on the tall horse, quickly understanding, by the look on his face, that she is not supposed to ride “like a man”.

Her eyes can’t decide where to look, and her hands can’t decide where to hold him.

Gripping his belt tight in this uncomfortable position, she takes in the unbelievable landscapes before her : Untouched forests and large lakes, small villages down in the valley, with all those wood houses that remember her of Braveheart. 

All she can think of is when she is going to tell the boys about everything she saw… If she ever goes back to them.

“Put on your hood, my Queen” the knight asks, so she does. 

Her unsure hands grasp the heavy hood of the animal fur around her and she hides her face in the huge hood. He probably needs her to not be recognized.

“What animal is it ?” she asks, touching the hair with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Animal, your Majesty ?”

“The hood ?” she asks, quickly grasping his belt again when the horse half jumps above a root.

“My coat is made of a bear” he answers. 

“Poor animal…”

He lets a silence and clears his throat slightly. 

“I had never thought of it that way, my Queen. Your empathy for the creatures of this world is godly.”

But she stopped listening.

Her breath stuck in her lungs, she discovers the huge, beautiful castle coming in her sight. 

A gigantic wall surrounds a little city, itself surrounding a huge, elegant castle. The light stone walls seem to be touching the clouds from here, and a vibrant living noise comes from it.

“Wow” she murmurs, looking up the thin sharp towers surrounded by birds.

“My breath gets cut short each time I see your home in sight too, your Highness” he says with a soft voice. 

Inside the walls of the city, everything is different. 

People are busy, all dressed like they came from a movie, carrying vegetables and raw pieces of meat, sheeps and baskets of fabric… Each and everyone turning their head at the sound of the huge horse’s steps on the stone pavements. 

“Sir Winchester !” a kid exclaims.

She keeps her hood low, suddenly very aware of the trouble that could come from the crowd recognizing their queen. 

The knight version of Dean stays unfazed, guiding them to the stables where several horsemen are waiting for him. 

He gets off of the horse, helping her and closing his coat neatly on her.

“Keep your head down” he murmurs next to the hood and she just nods, determined to let him guide her. “You” he says louder to one of the men here. “Go tell the guards that the wolf hunt is done. My men can gather again peacefully, nothing is to fear.”

She can’t help but very quickly look up at the man giving orders next to her, his remarkable charisma making her feel so small. 

She always looked up at Dean with an infinite admiration, but at least, she knows him… This stranger is different. 

“Allow me to touch you” he says under his breath and she just nods again while he wraps his strong arm around her.

Under the hood, she can’t see everything precisely, but the little she can distinguish of the inside of the castle he is guiding her in is enough to amaze her. 

Huge corridors and busy servants, carpets that seem to come from a museum, gold and flowers decoration the thick stone walls.

“Sir” a guard comes in their way, bending before Dean in respect. “Your men have been called back. The news never spread outside of the Queen’s guard.”

“Thank you” the knight answers.

“Glory be to the Queen” the guard bows again. 

“To the Queen” Dean answers.

The knight guides her further into the castle and up an infinite number of stairs, a serious look on his face. With every step up, the coat on her shoulders feels heavier and heavier, and her apprehension does too.

Once they reach the top, he walks to the left, his heavy boots echoing in the spacious corridor. Still holding her, his grip both reassuring and oppressing, he stops in front of a big wooden door that she may be supposed to recognize. 

She looks up at the door a little, still not completely daring to stop hiding under the big hood. He opens the door and stands with his back against the wall, his eyes straight ahead.

She hesitates, waiting for him, but when he doesn’t move, she carefully steps inside, not sure what she will meet on the other side of the massive oak door. 

Before her, a large room with thick wooden furniture and rich fabric. In the middle, a queen size bed with wooden bed posts that are near the stone ceiling with wolves carved in each of them. Hanging from the posts, a dark red velvet-like canopy that matches the heavy curtains. A big antique closet stands to the left side of the room.

Taking a cautious step, she looks right. Behind a great arch is another room that holds a big wooden tub covered in a sand-white sheet.

Despite the cold stone everywhere, the many carpets with many different colorful illustrations, the curtains, and candles everywhere makes the room somehow warm. 

She stands in the middle of what she guesses is the queen’s room, unsure of what to do now. Looking back to the door, she sees Dean’s elbow from where he is still standing against the wall, straight and still.

“Dean, come inside please” she states, using the most authoritative voice she has.

A queen has to be, right ?

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The knight steps inside immediately, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixated in front of him.

“What are... my plans for today ?” she asks him, trying to figure out what to do, to convince them, a whole Castle and Kingdom, that she is the damn queen.

“The Council requested a parlay with you when the sun is at its highest, and after you have your usual walk in the garden before you talk to the People. I think, Majesty.” 

“Right, the Council” she says unsure, wondering what the council can be. “Take me to them.” 

She holds her chin high, trying desperately to look like the Hollywood idea she has of how royals act.

His gaze finally finds hers, a small frown is on his face, an expression of confusion growing on his hard but still so beautiful features.

“Do you not wish to be dressed first, my Queen?”

“Oh… yes, I-I do wish that” she nods. 

She walks towards the closet and opens it, checking his face in the corner of her eye to try and find clues of what she is supposed to do, but all she can see there is worry for her, well hidden on his bodyguard face. 

Inside the huge closet, put in color order, are dresses, all of them big and complicated… And on some shelves, smaller white dresses, that may be for inside or summer. She takes them out.

“This will work” she states to herself as she turns around but stops when she hears Dean gasp. 

When she looks up he’s stepping towards the door quickly.

“No wait !” she calls out for him and he stops right in his tracks. “Dean...” 

He turns towards her, his gaze on the floor, jaw clenched.

She doesn’t want him to leave. She is, in fact; terrified of being without him. Although he is a stranger, his face is the only thing she knows in this weird place she knows nothing about.

What will they do once they find out their queen disappeared ? Is there a king she has to sleep with ? Do they torture people ? Kill ? 

She just needs him close.

“I don’t know what to wear” she admits.

Or even how to wear it, she thinks to herself.

“Any gown makes you look divine, my Queen” he says in a husky voice, still watching the floor intensely.

If the circumstances were different her knees would wobble at what he just said… But he is not Dean, and maybe he just says that to not get his throat slit.

“Okay, I will put on this gown” she says as she lifts the small white dress that she is holding, a questioning look on her face.

The knight swallows hard and seems agitated. For a second, she wonders why he is acting so weird.

“What is it ?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

“Pardon me, your Highness, but that is not a gown” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “That is your undergarment.”

“Undergarment ?” she looks at the little dress, holding it in front of her by the straps. 

Her lips open in an ‘o’ when she understands this is her underwear. She has been flashing him her royal underwear this whole time, of course he was acting weird !

In a quick motion, she hides it behind her back and mutters an apology.

“Yes, my undergarment, of course. I-I will get dressed now” she walks towards her closet to retrieve a big gown in a hum of hesitation.

“Let me just call the maids, your Majesty” he says low. 

“Yes ! Oh and Dean ?” she starts, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she speaks again. “Thank you” she kindly smiles.

The knight nods, turns slowly and steps towards the bedroom door with a determined gait, closing and locking it by sliding the metal rod in the slot.

She frowns, seeing him lock himself with her. His back still on her, he clears his throat before he talks.

“My Queen...” he starts. 

With that hunter speed her Dean also has, he suddenly unsheaths his sword from his scabbard and holds its sharp end under her chin without touching her 

“Would never have said something like that” he finishes his sentence. “Or call me Dean…”

She searches his face, slowly lifting her hands up in surrender.

“That is because I am not your queen.”

__________

Chapter 2 on @roonyxx​‘s blog 

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[multifandomwriter56]

A Foal For a Friend

A/n: I just love how Tommy talks to horses, okay? I love this gif. Also I’m pretty sure Polly talks about how Tommy used to sleep in the stables at Charlie’s yard. 

Summary: Tommy wakes up in the middle of the night to find his youngest sister gone. It doesn’t take him long to guess where she is.

Characters: Tommy Shelby x Sister!Reader (10 years old)

Warnings: language

Word Count: 1,512

Tommy wakes up with a sense of dread. He's not sure if it has anything to do with the tunnels or if it's something else.

So he pushes himself into a sitting position on his bed, wiping away the sleepiness from his eyes.

Anytime he wakes up like this, which is quite often, he always checks on his two youngest siblings. It helps to calm him, knowing they're both safely tucked into bed where he put them last night.

He quietly makes his way through the hallway and to their bedroom door. Having done this a million times since he's come back from the war, he skillfully opens the door with only a short, soft sound from the creaky door.

Some of the pressure in his chest lightens when he sees the top of Finn's head peaking out over the covers.

He shifts his eyes to the other bed and the pressure is back, except it's ten times worse.

Where's Y/n?!

He remembers tucking her in last night. The twins had talked him into telling a story. Afterwards, he kissed their foreheads (even though Finn complained) and told them goodnight.

When Tommy actually went to bed that night, he had sneaked a glance into their room, just like now; but unlike now, he had counted two heads.

He shuts the door, standing in the hallway as he calms himself down.

"Alright, Tom, think. No one broke in, so Y/n left the room voluntarily. Where would the little rascal go?" Tommy mutters to himself as he runs his fingers through his hair.

The answer to his question flashes in his mind and he heads back to his room to grab his boots before making his way downstairs. He grabs his coat and the keys to his uncle’s yard as he quietly shuts the door to #6 Watery Lane behind him.

He slips on his coat, cursing at how cold it is. He's going to bloody well kill his sister if she gets herself sick.

The closer he gets to Charlie's yard, the more his anger builds. The little brat could freeze to death, someone could’ve kidnap her, or worse! He swallows when he pictures his sister's lifeless body laying in an alley.

He unlocks the front gate, heading straight for the stables where he's hoping- no, where he knows his baby sister is sleeping.

He doesn't truly believe he's right until he sees the month old foal curled around his sister.

His whole body relaxes.

A few weeks ago, a young mare gave birth and Y/n had pleaded with Tommy to let her be there. The birth didn't happen until late into the night. The mama was having a hard time pushing, but Curly worked his magic and saved them both.

His ten year old sister instantly fell in love.

Polly always claimed that Y/n is the female version of Tommy. He agreed with his aunt on their physical features and their love for horses, but Y/n has a pure heart. Sure she's stubborn as hell, and she was known for her temper tantrums as a toddler; but there was no malice in her actions, and there still isn't.

She loves everything and everyone; and Tommy will do anything to keep her that way.

He steps over the pair and greets the mother; whispering comforting words before focusing back on the lump of human flesh. He squats down, rubbing his hand up and down her arm and back.

"Sstooopp, let me sleep." She whines, blindly pushing her hand at the dark brown foal, believing it's him that's waking her.

Tommy doesn't even try to curb his smile. She's just too adorable. "Y/n, wake up." When she whines more, he rubs a little harder. "Come on, Y/n, open your eyes."

His smile widens at the frown on her face, but he schools his features when she finally opens her eyes.

"Tommy?"

"There she is."

She looks around, trying to remember where she is. When she does, Tommy can see the guilt washing over her face.

"Am I in trouble?"

Tommy's not surprise that her first thought. She hates disappointing him. "I haven't decided yet."

"I just wanted to make sure he wasn't lonely."

"Well, he has his mama to look after him."

"But what about the cold? It's freezing out here."

Tommy's eyes narrow as his sister’s reminder of the weather. "Horses, even baby ones, can handle the cold a lot better than a human can."

Y/n squirms at her brother's stern gaze. "He's my only friend, Tommy. I hate being away from him."

He leans back, letting his back thump against the wall, before sliding down until he's sitting on a somewhat clean pile of hay. He gestures for Y/n to come closer.

Y/n doesn't hesitate to crawl into her brother's lap.

Tommy waits patiently for her to get comfortable before speaking. "I thought you and Isiah were friends?"

"Finn says Isiah is his friend, and I need to find my own friends. He says I need to find girl friends." Y/n leans back against his chest so they can lock eyes. "Do all my friends have to be girls?"

Tommy shakes his head. "No, love. They do not. If you and Isiah want to be friends, then you're friends. Finn has no say." Not yet, at least. "Finn and I will have words."

"Don't be mad at him, Tommy. He wasn't mean."

He grins at how quick she is to defend her twin brother. "He's not in trouble and I'm not mad at him."

Y/n grabs one of Tommy's hands, bending his fingers and drawing different shapes om his palm. "Then why do you need to talk to him?"

I need him to take care of you both when I can't. "We're not here at Uncle Charlie's yard because of Finn, eh? We're here because my baby sister decided to sneak out in the middle of the night and walk alone across town to see a fucking foal."

Y/n winces as her brother's voice hardens with each word. "I thought I wasn't in trouble."

"I said I hadn't decided. Well, I have."

Y/n slams her head back against his chest as a whiny "Tommy!" escapes her lips.

"Y/n!" Tommy scolds as his eyes widen in surprise. He did not expect that to hurt as much as it did.

The ten year old slams into him again; but this time she turns to face him so she can wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry!"

Tommy barely heard the muffled apology, but it still softens his features and when he hears her sniff back tears; he wraps his arms around her. "Calm down, little one." He consoles, muttering comforting words until she calm downs.

He still does understand where her sensitivity comes from. His only guess is Arthur. 

Y/n shivers as a cold wind comes through the cracks in the stable.

Tommy bites his tongue to keep himself from saying, "I told you so" and stands to his feet; his sister in his arms. "Let's go home."

The two walk in silence most of the trip back home; but when Tommy turns onto Watery Lane, Y/n has to know.

"Are you really angry with me, Tommy? Like as angry as when Aunt Polly hit you at the church?"

Tommy's glad she can't see the anger on his face. He was not happy to have that conversation with his sister in the room, even if they did send her away to light candles at the front of the church. He was even more upset when Pol let out her displeasure at his mistake from stealing the wrong crates (even if that part wasn't his fault) in front of his sister. His pride was wounded when his eyes locked with the ten year old and he could see the pedal stool being swept away from underneath his feet.

"I'm not that angry, little one. I just don't like waking up to you gone. We've told you it's dangerous walking the streets alone during the day. Why would you think at night would be any different, eh?"

Y/n sighs, wishing she kept her mouth closed. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, hoping he won't force her to answer.

He doesn't. Tommy figures this conversation can wait until later. He'll tell Polly and they can lecture her about safety together. That'll teach the little devil.

He freezes mid-step. Is she- He cranes his neck back so he can see her face. Yep. She's asleep.

His lips spread into the biggest smile yet when he hears her soft snores.

Not wanting to chance waking up Finn, Tommy heads to his room. He lays his sleeping sister on the far side of his bed before stripping himself of his boots and coat and climbs in. He's surprised it only takes a couple of minutes for him to fall asleep.

Forevers: @beautycinders​ @desiredposion​

[jengajives]

So I know canonically Barahir and Finrod probably never met again after the Bragollach but I just WANT THEM TO

(My personal hc for Barahir and Emeldir is that they’re Gay Besties and her sweetheart died years ago and he never found the man for him but they both really wanted a child so they had Beren and raised him together as friends, and all the people of Dorthonion totally knew what was up but played along anyway.)

Also excuse my Sindarin, i am awful at languages

“My lord.”

The voice seemed deafening in the chamber of Finrod- the quiet space he sulked in when all of Nargothrond’s riches seemed empty and lifeless to him. When the company of his brother, his niece, and all his people just wasn’t enough.

He turned from his tapestry slowly, almost unwilling. If Celegorm and Curufin wanted another counsel, he had run out of excuses to deny them. All he wanted to do was stand around looking at the tapestry of Tirion he kept on the wall to substitute for a proper window.

“What is it?” he asked tiredly, unable even to muster the energy for a proper hello. The attendant bowed anyway.

“It’s the border wardens, your Highness. They’ve apprehended a trespasser on the eastern marches- a Man. He carries your ring, sir. He’s requested an audience.”

It seemed as if everything went utterly still and for several long moments Finrod could not speak.

He had to rub his eyes to ensure he was awake and hearing correctly. This wasn’t just the dream that had haunted him more years now than he could count.

“By all means,” Finrod said in a strangled voice, “bring him before me.”

It isn’t. It can’t be. He’s dead.

The attendant bowed again, all low and respectful. “I’ll let you know as soon as they reach the city, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” Finrod wasn’t paying attention properly anymore; he was suddenly very worried about what he was wearing, how he looked. The way he dressed around Nargothrond was very different than his war attire, and it was very concerning when he worried whether Barahir would even be able to recognize him.

No, no. Barahir was dead five winters now. It didn’t matter whether he looked familiar or not, he was dead.

Still, though. There was a chance.

Finrod threw open his wardrobe with something akin to panic.

The woods of Dorthonion were dense and dark, with occasional beams of golden sunlight filtering through the high pine trees and turning the bed of needles to luminous white. There wasn’t too much undergrowth, which made it easy to ride through, and Finrod did so with as much speed as his mare could manage, flying over falling trees and secret glens that few among the Elves had ever looked on, thundering across rushing mountain creeks with all the speed of the Valar. He held his arms out to the wind and let his golden braids flow loose behind him.

When he at last came to the little green valley he’d been directed to, he slowed his mare to a stop and stood there a moment on the ridge. The people of Bëor lived in small homesteads spotted over the highlands, and here a number of them gathered together alongside a cool, fresh creek to graze their animals on its fair grasses. The largest of the wooden homes was nestled just beneath the rolling, forested hills, sheltered by the river’s curve and somewhat apart from the others. It was here Finrod rode, galloping eagerly across the meadows of the basin.

A handful of sturdy horses grazed on the green pasture in front of the house, along with a pair of cows and one freshly-sheared sheep. Finrod rode along the tree-lined lane until he came to the house itself.

It was single-storied, made of finely hewn logs painted with red and gold, and a thatched ceiling that looked freshly lain. On one side stood a small barn for the animals, and on the other a woodshed that had seen better days. Finrod dismounted took a moment to take it all in. A warm smile crossed his face.

At once, the worn blue door opened, and a Man came hurrying out. He was dressed in simple work trousers and a maroon shirt that wasn’t tied all the way and showed off the warm brown hair of his chest, but he was hastily throwing a fur coat over the top of it all as he stumbled down his stairs.

“King Felagund!” he choked, obviously out of breath. Finrod noticed a gleam of gold on his middle finger. “We- I- This is most unexpected!”

“I must apologize for the intrusion, Barahir,” he said with pity. “I was riding back from Hithlum and I became… sidetracked.” Then he smiled again. “I hope it’s not too much trouble?”

“Trouble!” Barahir shook his head a little too energetically. “No trouble at all! It’s just… “ He motioned helplessly to the house behind him. “t’s not much. Certainly nothing like a prince like yourself would-“

“Barahir,” Finrod said, bold enough now to take the Man’s hand in his own. “Your home is beautiful.”

Barahir visibly relaxed. His face went soft.

“It is… very good to see you again, Your Majesty.”

“To you, it’s Finrod.” He gave the hand a squeeze. “You have more than earned that right.”

Barahir’s tawny cheeks went red.

Finrod thought he would have kissed him then, if it had been for the little voice that interrupted them.

“Papa!”

Immediately Finrod straightened up and looked over Barahir’s shoulder to the doorway.

A small, brown face peeked out from inside. Just a beam of light caught on dark curls and turned them shining auburn.

Finrod’s expression went slack for only a moment before the corners of his mouth began to peak upward.

“Who’s this?” he asked eagerly. The child stuck his head out further to show two gleaming dark eyes.

“Are you one of the Valar?” he called, somewhat shyly.

Finrod smiled.

“No, child. Why do you think so?”

The little one gave a sheepish shrug. “You’re glowing.”

“Am I?” Finrod looked down. His tunic was indeed embroidered with gold and there were jewels in his hair. The thought of this innocent child mistaking him for a Vala was a very fond one, though.

“Beren,” Barahir called. “This is King Felagund. He’s a very powerful and noble Elf. Come over here and give a him a nice bow.”

Beren slowly moved onto the steps and made his way over, still cautious. He was wearing a green shirt that was too big for him and clutched a stuffed hound in one hand. Immediately Finrod saw the likeness with Barahir; other than the boy’s darker shade of hair, the two were nearly identical.

Finrod glanced at Barahir as the child approached.

“Yours?”

“Yes, he is.”

When Beren reached his father’s side, he shut his eyes tight and performed a bow so deep he nearly toppled. “At your service, King Felagund, sir!”

Finrod laughed and dropped to one knee so he could look the boy in the eyes. “An honor, Beren, prince of Dorthonion. I could not ask for more steadfast a Man!”

Beren cracked one eye, then the other. He gave a cursory glance to his father, then pointed at the great palomino mare waiting patiently on the lane.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

Barahir clicked his tongue. “Beren, be polite.” Finrod chose to ignore him.

“She is Glânhen, Brighteyes,” he said to Beren, as if he were sharing a secret. “She very much likes to eat. I think she might let you ride her if you find space for her in your pasture.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I can do that, sir!” He squinted up at the horse. “Where’s her bridle?”

“She’ll follow you,” Finrod said. He told the horse something in Quenya and she nickered, and then he straightened to let the bouncing little boy hurry past, motioning to the mare eagerly.

“Follow me, Glânhen! I’ll find you the best grass we’ve got!”

The pair of them trotted off together- the massive steed of Valinor, and the little woodsman’s boy leading her like an obedient pup. Finrod got distracted a moment just smiling at the sight, until Barahir chuckled behind him.

“Well, I… I didn’t know you were fond of children.” He paused, obviously bashful, before he slipped out the name like he thought it might bite him. “Finrod.”

“Very fond. He’s a wonderful boy, Barahir. How old?”

“Five this spring.”

“My.” A wistful smile crossed Finrod’s face. “You must be very proud.”

“I am.” A silence passed, but it was broken when Barahir reached out and took his hand. “Will you come in?”

Finrod turned and the joy he felt looking at that gentle face was unlike anything he’d felt for countless years.

“I would love to.”

Felagund paced his throne room, back and forth, an anxious rhythm like the thudding of his own heartbeat. The tapestries and jewels felt suddenly profane. Would Barahir know him here? Surrounded by wealth and finery and all the glory of the princes of the Noldor?

Of course he would. Barahir would know him anywhere.

But it wasn’t going to be Barahir who walked through his doors. Dead five years at least, cut down in the highlands of Dorthonion all alone and friendless.

Finrod’s fault. He had tried to send help, tried to send forces through to reinforce the outlaws or bring them back, but no one had been able to brave the Haunted Wood. No one could get through. And Barahir had died alone in the mud, because Finrod’s strength had failed.

No. It could be him. He could have escaped. None of the Eldar were there to see him fall. It could be a mistake.

The golden doors swung open.

Finrod turned, suddenly frozen, as a company of his march wardens stepped inside with a Man held between them like some lesser prisoner. He was so thoroughly surrounded that Finrod couldn’t get a good look at him.

“Leave him,” he called, irritation wearing his voice thin. “He is no trespasser here if what I am told is true.”

The wardens bowed, and moved aside, and there in the center of the room stood Barahir son of Bregor with the cares of many lifetimes etched across his face.

The air left Felagund’s lungs.

He looked just as he had the very last time they had seen each other.

Tears blurred his vision, and when he wiped them away, he saw through new eyes, and the Man he saw was not the one he had dreamed of.

The curls were too dark. The build too tall. The face alike in almost every way, but there was something there now that made it painfully obvious Felagund had been mistaken. He deflated at once and collapsed back into his throne, face in his hands, floundering just a moment in defeat.

“King Felagund, sir,” called the Man. “I thank you for your hospitality. I wouldn’t have come if there was any other way, but I need-“ Abruptly, the trembling voice broke on a sob and trailed into tearfulness. “I- I need your help. Please.”

Finrod looked up again and his eyes softened, recognizing the sensitivity behind those eyes. He rose and stepped slowly down until he stood before the Man with pity in his heart and tears running down his face.

He put a hand on the rough-clothed shoulder.

“Beren,” he said softly, as fervent as he could manage. “I will do anything within my power to help you, no matter the cost.”

When Beren at last looked up to meet his eye, it was the same face of the shy woodsman’s son he had met all those years ago, and Finrod decided then that he would go gladly to his death if it would bring Barahir’s son to the fulfillment of his errand.

[lovlydovlyjaycie]

Ævi - Frontlines

Hey again! This will be a continued series. The first Ævi series is in my masterlist and is only four parts. This is going to be a ongoing series, so there is going to be a lot more of Ævi to come. :)

Summary: Y/n or also known as Ævi has lived through varies of world events. Now it is 1941, she has excepted that some things cannot be changed so Loki has convinced Y/n to go to New York and live a normal life, a life Y/n always wanted. Or as normal it can be, because new introductions lead to events that didn’t go down in the history books.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x reader, Loki, Steve Rogers, OC Vera

Warnings: Fluff, language, smut 18+

Part 6

What am I supposed to do? I needed to go to Vera.. There was no question about that. She needed me. But Bucky. I don’t want to leave him and I can’t take him with me. I was pacing around in my hotel room, like that would make everything fall into place. I had told Loki what had happened with Vera and he went to get boat tickets to Norway as soon as possible. But how soon would that be. How much time would I have with Bucky. I needed to pack my things. That made me stop in my tracks and walk over to my closet. I was pulling everything out and placing it in my suitcase. It started of being put in neatly, but soon enough I was throwing everything in with frustration. I was mad, mad at myself for not opening that letter sooner, mad that I had a life here, mad that I now had someone here I didn’t want to leave behind, mad with this stupid war, mad with everything that was happening around it, mad that I couldn’t do anything to about it to change this stupid war. My vision was getting blurry, when I whipped my eyes my hands were wet. I was crying. This wasn’t fair, non of it was, especially to Bucky. I love him, I love him so much. And that’s why it hurts so much. I took a deep breath, trying to gather myself. I stood up and walked to the bathroom to fix whatever make-up was out of place.

Looking at myself in the mirror I was a complete mess. My mascara was everywhere but my lashes. “Get yourself together.” I told myself. Bucky will be here any minute now, can’t be looking like this. I got some wipes and fixed myself up. Put some mare mascara on. “Better. Now stop crying. For Gods sake you’re over a thousand years old.” I said I was looking in the mirror. On the one side this shouldn’t bother me so much, I have lived through so much shit in my time and this is what is causing me to break down. And on the other side, this is who I am. I am human, I am living. With that comes, heartbreak, sadness, anger, frustration, happiness, love. I love love, just since I’ve been with Bucky I felt love in a much more intense way than I ever had before. 

How am I supposed to tell Bucky. We literally just got engaged. This should be the start of something, not the end. I don’t even know for how long I’m gonna be away for. A month? A year? Till the end of the war? I closed my eyes. I already knew the answer. It would be until the end of the war. At least four more years. I sighed. It would just be four years without Bucky I tried to convince myself. “Just four years.” That is if he doesn’t join the war. I thought to myself and it made my stomach drop. I put my hand over my eyes. “Nothing will happen to him if he doesn’t join the war. He’ll be fine... He’ll be fine.. He’ll be fine Y/n. Stop worrying.” Scolding myself. I needed to calm down. Then there was a knock at the door. It must be Bucky. 

I gave myself one quick look before answering the door. Putting on the best smile I had I opened the door and there was Bucky. Seeing him gave me a genuine smile. It made my stomach do flips. “Hey, darling. You look beautiful.” He said as he gave me a quick peck on my lips. He had his signature smirk on his face. “Thank you.” I told him sincerely. “So I got this for us today.” He said as he pulled two tickets from his pocket. Dancing tickets. “To celebrate our engagement.” He continued. He looked so happy. I needed to tell him about me going to Norway possibly really soon. “It’s at the same place where we met.” He told me with a big smile. I looked down not knowing what to say. “Is something wrong?” Bucky asked as he reached for my hand. “No. I love it! I just can’t believe we’re engaged still.” And I couldn’t believe we were honestly. I didn’t want to ruin this day. So I’ll tell him tomorrow or after the dance. Just not now.

-

The day had been perfect. We went to the same diner we did the were we met each other for the second time. We took the same walk we did as we did on our first real date. Everything was perfect. It almost made me forget that I would have to leave. Key word almost. 

We were walking towards the dance hall, a lot of people were already inside. The music that was playing was fast paced. Everybody inside was having a good time jumping around, being spun or lifted in the air. Bucky was guiding us towards the bar to get us some drinks before dancing, holding my hand tightly. “What do you want sweetheart?” He asked me. “Whatever you’re having.” I answered Bucky.

He would get us some beers and we cheered. I could only gulp it down as quick as I possibly could. “Wow.” Bucky stated. “Never knew you could drink like that.” He laughed. Being a friend of Thor makes you drink like that I laughed to myself. Shit I also have not told him about me being Ævi, I am messing up in so many ways. But now I have to somehow tell him I am leaving possibly very soon. “Bucky?” I started. “Come on lets dance!” He said as he held my hand and almost dragged me to the dancefloor. There was a fast paced song on and everybody was jumping and dancing around and so were we. 

After many songs there was finally a more slow one on. Bucky kept giving me a look I couldn’t quite figure out what he was thinking. “Why are you giving me that look?” I asked him trying to figure him out. “You’re just so beautiful and I am happy.” I could hear the honesty behind his voice and the need for him to get that off his chest. “I was thinking of looking for a ring tomorrow.” I looked at my hand that was resting on his shoulder. I felt awful. “Bucky? Can we talk somewhere where it is not this loud?” Bucky gave me a confused look, but nodded his head yes and started to follow me outside.

“Bucky I-..” I started and sighed. Thinking about it made my heart break. “Is there something wrong?” He asked not knowing what was going on. “Bucky I just want you to know that.. I love you, I love you so much, so much that it even hurts. And I didn’t think-..” I sighed again. Bucky had a even more confused look on his face. I walked over to him and took his hands. “What’s going on?” He asked trying to understand what my conflict was. He was looking into my eyes trying to see if the answers were there. “I-.. A long friend of mine in Norway, she.. she lost her daughter and husband recently because of the war... And I need to go see her, I need to see if she is ok.” I stammered out. “I am sorry to hear that, y/n. When are you leaving?” He asked me. “I don’t know yet, but very soon. Loki already looked at tickets for boats that go that way, but I don’t know yet what he found.” He nodded at that in understanding and held my hands a little tighter. “Do you know when you’re coming back here?” He asked unsure of himself already dreading the answer. 

I closed my eyes and sighed. I knew exactly when I would be coming back, but I couldn’t exactly say how I know what I know. “I’ll come back after the war.” I looked up trough my lashes at him to see what his reaction was at that. He let go of one off one of my hands at that and rubbed is mouth in thinking. “Maybe if I join the war and somehow get stationed off in Norway we can-...” “No! No, I don’t want you to join the army Bucky. Please don’t do that.” I interrupted him, that was the last thing I wanted him to do. “But if more people join the fight it might be over sooner. They are sending out troops now from America as we speak. I also am a good fighter and a good shot.” I could only shake my head no at that. “Bucky, please don’t join the army. I am begging you don’t do it. This war.. It will not end anytime soon and a lot of people will die. I don’t want you to be one of those people.” I was all serious. If he joined the army it would break my heart. The not knowing if he was ok or not would break me. He gave in and nodded his head. “Lets go back inside and pretend there is no war going on.” Bucky said trying to reassure me.

Back inside there was a slow song on again. I could not be close enough to him. I was resting my head on his shoulder and held him a little tighter. Bucky was holding my neck with one hand and the other was on my lower back. We were so close to each other, yet so far. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I felt helpless. I felt like I was stuck. And I hated it. I put my hand up against my cheek to wipe away the tear. I didn’t want to leave. “I love you Bucky.” I said quietly, I wasn’t even sure if Bucky could hear what I said over the music until he held me a little tighter. “I love you y/n.” He told me. I closed my eyes trying to ignore the music that was playing. I could hear his heartbeat, beating in a steady rhythm.

- 

The walk back to the hotel had never been this long yet so fast. We were walking in circles, not wanting this night to end. But it was getting quite dark and we had to go inside at some point. “I am still looking at a ring tomorrow.” He told me as wee were nearing the hotel. That made me slightly sigh of relieve, but he didn’t know how long this war would be going on for. It wasn’t fair of me to ask him to wait and put his life on pause for me. “Bucky, I don’t want you to wait-..” I started. Bucky came to stand in front of me. “Y/n, you leaving doesn’t make me stop loving you. And I get why you don’t wanna hear this, but if I have to I will wait a hundred year or a thousand years, hell an eternity, if it all meant that in the end I would be with you. And that is what I’m gonna do whether you like it or not.”  He said as he put both his hands on my cheeks. “I love you, Y/n. Now, tomorrow and forever.” Then he planted a sweet kiss on my lips. It was slow and full of want, but not of lust. As we both slowly pulled back we couldn’t let go of each others gaze. “I like that. Now, tomorrow and forever.” He smirked at that.  “Well it is how I feel.” He said as he dropped his hands to mine. “I will love you now, tomorrow and forever too Bucky.” I gave him another peck on the lips as it was time to go inside of the hotel.

Before I even had the chance to open my room Loki burst out of his room. Bucky looking slightly shocked but keeping his own as Loki approached. “Where have you been?!” Loki asked annoyed. “With Bucky. Did you get tickets?” Loki looked Bucky up and down in slight disgust. He obviously didn’t like Bucky for whatever reasons he had. “Yes I did get the tickets. And you need to pack.. Now.” He demanded. “Wait.. When are we leaving?” I asked confused. “You said as soon as possible. I got tickets for tomorrow.. Morning. We leave at eight.” My eyes grew wide. I was expecting soon, just not this soon. I was at a loss for words. I felt Bucky squeeze my hand. “That’s faster than I expected.” Bucky said under his breath. I looked at out interlocked hands. “I’ll help you pack doll.” Bucky continued. “Good even a human is smart enough to know what that means.” I gave Loki a warning glare at that. I opened the door to let me and Bucky in and said goodnight to Loki.

“Ignore him, he’s... weird.” I said about Loki. “I heard that.” Loki said from the other side of the door. “Sorry again.” I said to Bucky. “I didn’t know it would be... That fast.” I said with sadness in my eyes. 

The night together packing went slow. I already had a few things packed luckily. After we were done packing we just laid on the bed together. Talking about anything and everything to keep our minds of reality. After a moment of silence Bucky spoke up. “Will you write me when you’re there?” He asked. I looked up at him from where I was positioned on his side. “Of course. Everyday.” I told him and that was a promise I made to myself. “Will you?” I asked him. “Everyday.” He answered back. I leaned forward to kiss him I wanted him close, one last time before sayin goodbye. I moved myself on top of him to deepen the kiss. Bucky put his hands by my neck at the top of my dress. He slowly started to unzip my dress. Caressing my skin as the zipper went down. His touch gave me goosebumps. When the zipper was all the way down I took my arms out of my dress exposing my bra. Our lips still interlocked Bucky started to sit up. Our minds hungry for each other. It was my turn to unbutton his shirt, after I was done doing that Bucky quickly shook off his shirt and threw it on the ground. I grinded down on his lap and could feel his cock hardening quickly. Mt panties were already completely soaked and ready to take them off now. I wanted him inside of me. I wanted to feel him.

Bucky went to unclasp my bra and threw it on the ground as well. His hand left hand went right for me breast and started flicking my nipple. I inhaled deeply at that sensation of his gentle touch. He put his other arm around me and his left hand let go of my nipple to hold me around my back as well. I let out a small whine at the loss of his touch. He pulled his head back looking at me briefly before spinning me around and now I was laying on my back on the bed. He discarded of my dress and panties that were still on and he quickly took off his trousers to free his already hardened cock.

He crawled back over my naked form his mouth going right back to mine. He again took my right hand with his left and put it above my head. My other hand went to his lower back, indicating I wanted him now. I felt his tip brushing against my folds, but he was not starting yet. his right hand went down to my bundle of nerves and started to slowly rub circles. My breathing started to pick up and I let out low moans against his mouth. I went to bit my lip to keep my volume low, but Bucky quickly went to suck on my lower lip before he let go. “I want to hear you.” He whispered to me. His thumb started to rub faster circles which made me close my eyes with the pleasure I was feeling. My breathing started to pick up and my moans started to get louder the faster he went. Everything started to tingle and I felt my walls try to clench to something. I let out a loud moan and my thighs quivering as I came. 

I opened my eyes searching for Bucky’s who was still looking at me. Bucky was still rubbing me and I slowly started to feel sensitive trying to close my legs. Bucky moved his hips down so I couldn’t. I could feel his tip brushing against my entrance again. I let go of his lower back to move my one free hand up to his neck. “I want you inside of me.” I told him intently. And he complied. He slowly put his length inside me, while I was adjusting to the new fulness. He was stretching my walls slowly. When he was fully situated he waited for a moment for me to fully adjust and I slowly started moving my hips and so did Bucky. I tried to move faster already feeling a new sensation build up inside of me, but Bucky put his hand down on my right leg widening me up more so he could go deeper. I put my other leg around him, pushing him down, me wanting him to go faster. “Bucky go faster.” I told him lowly. But he shook his head keeping his slow steady pace. “I want to feel you. Let me feel you.” I slowed me breathing down and started to relax into the bed more. 

His thrusts were slow, but hit every spot. With every move he made his pelvis brushed against my still sensitive bundle of nerves. Bucky started kissing my sensitive spot by my neck which made this pleasure feel al the more better. My breathing started to pick up slowly again and so did his. His thrust's were picking up and hitting harder. His balls slapping against my ass as he did. As we were both coming closer to our ends his speed started to pick up more and more. Bucky groaning in my ear as he was getting closer to his end. My moans were so loud I was getting afraid someone might hear them. I felt the familiar knot form in my stomach and my walls clenching around his length. “Bucky.” Is all I had to say as I felt my walls break around him. Simultaneously I felt his cock shoot hot spurts inside of me, filling me. His thrusts loosing rhythm before he stilled. “I love you.” He told me intently as he looked me in my eyes. “Now, tomorrow and forever.” I answered back as Ii pulled him closer for a deep kiss.

...

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Let me know what you think :)

Taglist :

@darkdragonphoenix​

@toribentleyva​

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Three

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

It was cold and dark by the time he reached The Garrison. The air was painfully frigid, so much so, that each inhale he took felt like a whip cracking to his chest. The year would soon be coming to a close, and winter was just beginning.

He needed a drink, and someplace to drown out the quiet before settling in for the night with his pipe. It was almost midnight, and Harry would be closing down the pub soon.

Tommy spent the better part of his day at Charlie Strong’s Yard, doing yet another once over of the stock inside of the crate that they found. They counted each item once, twice, three times- just to make sure it was real after all, and not some sort of fever dream.

Oh, and it was fucking real all right. 25 automatic machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammo, and a plethora of pistols.

The next order of business was figuring out what they were going to do with them, or rather, where they were going to put them. What a headache. One thing he knew for certain was that someone was going to realize this cargo had gone missing soon enough, and when that happened, he needed a plan.

Stolen guns aside, he had also spent a great deal of time trying to track down his brothers so they could purchase another horse for the upcoming races. Normally, he could do this on his own, but he had bigger ideas in mind. Bigger ideas that he needed his brothers for.

Now, getting the two of them in the same place at the same time was another hassle within itself, not to mention an additional headache.

Harry was behind the bar, humming to himself and organizing the racks of booze against the back wall, label facing front. At the sound of the door jingling, the barkeep lazily glanced over his shoulder with a yawn. Upon realizing who walked through the doors, he cleared his throat and sheepishly wiped his hands on his apron.

“Ah, Mr. Shelby, good evening,” His voice wavered. “How can I help you?”

Tommy nodded his head toward a particular bottle while shrugging off his coat.

He leaned against the bar then, waiting for his hands to warm up while Harry prepared his drink. He listened to the sounds of glasses clattering together, a bottle being uncorked, Harry’s hurried footsteps on the floor, the buzzing of the lights above. No factory machinery whirring in the background, no, it was far too late for that.

“Today was her first day, you know.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, unsure of who Harry was speaking about until it clicked. The favor for his aunt, that’s whose first day it was.

Truthfully, he hadn’t given the girl a second thought since he last spoke to her, and that was a few days ago now. Codwell? Coldwell? He couldn’t remember her surname. Her first name, on the other hand, was simple enough to recall. Anna. It was Anna.

“Miss Caldwell, that is.” Harry continued, clearly recognizing the confusion on his face.

Caldwell. Well, he was close.

“Is she still here?”

“Yes,” The barkeep jerked his chin toward the back room. “In the back.”

Tommy retrieved his cigarette case from his coat and placed it on the bartop, perching an unlit stick between his lips. “How’d she do?”

“She did fine,” Harry shrugged mid-pour, with a small smile growing on his face. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’ll take some getting used to, I’d reckon. I’m not sure if she’s ever handled liquor in her life, but she’s a hard worker.” His tone was light, jovial almost.

Tommy sighed heavily through his nostrils while lighting the cigarette. A hard worker. Polly said the same damn thing.

Harry left him alone then and went about tidying up the bar. Sweeping the floor, cleaning soap scum from glasses. Meanwhile, Tommy switched between smoking and drinking, each vice warming his chest. He listened to all of the sounds, broom bristles against the floor, Harry humming, glass colliding with the bartop.

Amidst this, he saw a figure step into the room from the corner of his eye. He didn’t bother to look over, because it could have only been her, Anna. It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat that he finally turned his head toward her.

She stood there, looking more diminutive than he initially realized. And tired. Her hair fell in loose waves around her, certainly not as neat as it had been before. No lipstick, either. Her blouse stuck out the most to him- it was covered in stains, each splotch in varying sizes and colors. A stark contrast to how buttoned up and proper she looked the other day. A rough first day, he imagined. It was almost comical.

He turned away to hide the smirk that grew on his lips while taking a slow sip from his drink. He hoped Polly was happy, he got the girl a job.

After a bit of small talk (he fucking hated small talk), it was time for him to take his leave. He got what he came for, a drink and some time to think.

He stubbed out the remnants of his dwindling cigarette on the cobblestone ground when he walked outside, deciding that he would light a fresh one almost immediately. Something to keep his mind busy while he walked home. It was far too cold for anything else.

He reached a hand into his jacket, fumbling for the cigarette case when his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, a piece of cardstock. Confused, he pulled it out, and upon a further glance, it was her crumpled-up resume.

That was when the snow started falling. He stopped walking, barely flinching when the first few snowflakes hit the exposed part of his neck.

Her hands. He thought of her hands. He didn’t look at her hands this time.

He tucked the paper back into his coat and sighed, his breath fogging the air in front of him. He turned over his shoulder, and he saw her. The flickering street lights cast a warm glow over her as she stood there, bundled up in a coat far too big for her frame, staring right back at him.

They both looked at each other for a moment, possibly minutes, before he turned away and kept walking.

She was just another investment for the business and based on her appearance tonight, she’d be a poor one at that.

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The snow from a few nights ago melted just as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but muddy puddles in its wake. Earlier in the day, Tommy had managed to track his brothers down, which was no simple task.

The three of them were on their way to The Garrison to drink, no surprise there, and to discuss plans for acquiring a new racehorse. An Appaloosa, to be exact. A young, flighty, and fast mare. With enough training, it would be perfect for the tracks. Tommy was almost certain of that.

The seller was from one of the riverside camps outside of the city, someone Polly had known from a long time back. This led Tommy to believe that the horse was no doubt stolen, especially since there weren’t many Appaloosas around these parts, which made it all the better deal. He’d probably be able to buy the damned thing at a discount.

“You hear? There’s a new girl working at The Garrison.” Arthur’s voice, loud and gruff, interrupted his thoughts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Some posh bitch, yeah?” John asked.

“She’s posh?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s she doing here?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged. “Heard some people say she sounds posh. Haven’t seen her yet myself.”

Tommy was walking a few steps ahead of them, rolling his eyes. They were fucking stupid.

“You think she’s pretty?” John quipped with a grin.

“I’d bet she is,” Arthur replied.

“You wanna put a wager on it?”

“Oh, I’ll put a fuckin’ wager on it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, watching as they spit and shook hands on it. Stupid.

It appeared to be a slow afternoon at the pub, with only a few men at the bar and a tiny handful of people scattered around various tables. Harry stood behind the bar, raising a hand to him in greeting while he spoke to other patrons. His brothers all but stumbled into the snug, laughing about who would win the wager. Tommy shook his head.

Anna, however, was nowhere in sight. He thought she’d be attached to the hip with Harry, like a dutiful trainee. It had been a few days since he was last at The Garrison, since the last time he saw her with the stained blouse, and almost a little over a week since he first met her. Maybe she quit. A pity, he supposed, Polly said she was struggling. But it was no skin off his nose. If she couldn’t handle the work, then maybe it was for the best.

He caught Harry’s attention and motioned with his head toward the private room. “We’ll be in the snug.”

His brothers were already lounging in the booth. John chewing on a toothpick and Arthur slinging his arms over the back of the seat.

“I’d bet- not pretty. I heard she sounds like one of those London girls who get too drunk at the clubs and take a cab here by accident.” John grinned, emphasizing each word with a point of his finger.

“No, no,” Arthur shook his head. “If people are talking, she has to be pretty.”

“You wanna place a bet, Tommy?” John turned toward him, still grinning with the pick between his teeth.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” His younger brother huffed.

“Already seen her,” Tommy answered from over his shoulder as he hung his winter coat on the rack.

“And?” They asked in unison. “Is she pretty or not?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Tommy shook his head. “It would ruin the bet.”

“When did you see her?”

“Who do you think hired her?” Tommy deadpanned.

“When were you going to tell us?” John retorted.

“She’s a fucking barmaid. They’re two a penny around here,” Tommy rolled his eyes, taking his cap off and shoving it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. He finally slid into the booth beside Arthur with a sigh. “It’s not important.”

The shutters to the bar above flew open, and Harry’s head popped through.

“A round of beers for us,” Tommy waved a hand at the barkeep. “Is she here?”

“Miss Caldwell?” Harry blinked. “Uh, yes, she’s in the back.”

Didn’t quit, then.

“ Miss,” John scoffed under his breath, elbowing Arthur in the side. “She’s a Miss .” Arthur started laughing too.

“Have her serve us. Consider it part of her training.”

John particularly seemed to get a kick out of that line.

Harry slowly nodded and closed the shutters.

Soon enough, there was a brisk knock at the main door to their private room. Tommy sat closest to the door and reached for the knob to open it.

Anna stood there, gripping a steel pail filled with beer. She looked at him first, a small smile on her lips. Still no lipstick. Her hair was neatly arranged with curls to her collarbone, just as it was when he first saw her. She was dressed head to toe in dark green, save for the worn cotton apron tied around her waist. No stains on her blouse this time, either.

“ Miss,” John tipped the brim of his cap to her. Arthur chuckled beside him.

“Good afternoon,” She gently placed the pail on the table, smoothing her hands over her apron after doing so. “I’ll be right back with your glasses.”

The way she spoke, crisp and clean, each word clipped and flowing. Something wasn’t right.

When she returned, she dunked each glass into the pail and wiped the remaining droplets from the sides with a fresh cloth before serving each of them. Tommy had to stifle a laugh. What a neat and careful touch.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tommy shook his head, still smirking, and waved a hand at her. “That will be all.”

She gave them a curt nod and stepped out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Tommy tilted his head toward his brothers. “Who won?”

John shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, sliding a few bills across the table toward Arthur.

“I bloody knew it,” Arthur grinned, tucking his winnings into his jacket. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pointed a finger at his brother. “ This is your comeuppance for cheating at cards the other day.”

“Oh, shut up,” John rolled his eyes and flicked the toothpick to the floor. “I’m paying you your dues. She’s pretty enough.”

“How’d you find her anyway, Tom?” Arthur turned his attention to him, beer in hand.

“I didn’t find her,” Tommy brought his own glass to his lips and shrugged. “Polly did. She asked me to give her a job.”

“How the hell did she find her?” John’s eyes darted between the two of them. “She must be from London or something.”

“Something about a woman from church, I’m not a fucking psychic.” Tommy rolled his eyes. He could feel another headache coming on. “Ask her yourself.”

“You think she’s a whore?” John asked, earning a clap on the shoulder from Arthur. “How much, do you think?”

Another headache was definitely coming on now.

“Let’s talk about the fucking horse, and then we can speculate if she’s a whore or not, yeah?”

His brothers were fucking stupid, gawking over something new and shiny.

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Tommy was the last to leave the snug, insisting that he wanted to finish another cigarette. When he was finally alone, he stepped out into the pub. The afternoon was rolling into the evening, and the sinking sun cast a gilded orange glow over the room. Upon his first glance, it looked like he was the last person left in the pub. The last person except for her.

Anna was behind the bar, her face still and serious while she wiped down a glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she looked up.

“Mr. Shelby,” She set down the glass on the bartop. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “I was looking for Harry.”

“He had to step out for a moment, there’s no more ice.”

“Ah,” He placed his cap on his head. “I’ll come back another time then. Good day.”

Tommy turned on his heel toward the door but stopped short when he heard her speak again. He glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“You can call me Anna, by the way.” She was smiling. “It’s been hard enough trying to get Harry to use my name. Always ‘ miss’ around here.”

“Noted.”

He noticed her face drop at his response, or lack thereof, rather. But just as quickly, she started smiling again. She looked away from him and smoothed all of her hair over one shoulder, not a single red ringlet out of place. She reached for the rag she was cleaning with before and went back to work.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, a sudden sense of good nature perhaps, but he decided he’d throw her a bone. He adjusted his cap on his head and turned to fully face her now.

“Harry says you’re a hard worker.”

She laughed at that. Honestly laughed. He knew it was real because it was soft at first, the sound rich and gentle until it ended with a snort. Her cheeks started to tinge pink, at the snort, he guessed. She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

“Excuse me for laughing. He’s too kind, really.” Her eyes darted from him to the rag in her hands, and then back to him. “I’ve been trying my best, but I think I’m making a mess of things. I’m sure the sorry state of my apron can attest to that.” She took a step back and tugged on the hem of the apron.

“Nothing on the blouse this time.”

Her lips parted slightly, no doubt surprised. And then she started laughing again. “You noticed that from the other day?”

He shrugged, the ghost of a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Hard not to.”

“I hope you’ll never have to see me in such a mess again. For both of our sakes.”

Tommy glanced at her hands. Still smooth.

Clearing his throat, he tipped the brim of his cap to her. “Anna.”

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That night, while he sat awake in bed, staring at the wall, he thought of her laugh. It was unbecoming for her, he thought.

John was right, she did seem like one of those London girls who got too drunk and mosied on up here by accident. She certainly spoke like one and carried herself like one, too.

The whole thing was unbecoming.

He did think she was pretty, though. He wouldn’t tell his brothers that.

[melanated-maddy]

TYTON

Hey welcome to this fan fiction. I recently finished war storm and I’m in love with Tyton. Couldn’t help but want to right a fic after seeing so little on this guy on tumblr. Don’t know if I’ll write more as got exams but if you like let me know! All characters and world and everything belongs to the queen herself Victoria Aveyard

Chapter 1

“Debark, debark, debark.”

Tyton was snapped out of his musings pale fingers still gripped against the fading cover of his book. They’d finally arrived back in Ascendant after another long plane journey. A year after the kingdom of Norta was officially dissolved with Cal’s abdication there was still unrest with the Silvers. Too many houses had attempted to feel comfortable on the sparkling throne. ‘Osanos says water comes after fire, Rhambos is taking strength and power a little too literally and Merandus is trying hard to distance themselves from the insanity their own brought forth in Maven and actually claim the throne. At least there’s no more Samos worries. That ship sailed or should I say smashed along with Volo’s head with his offspring are safely tucked away in the capital.’ The soldiers on the plane had started their move off some in a rush to get home to worried families and others ready to have a drink. Davidson was the closet family Tyton had after his own lost their lives to a raid. His mother, father and two younger brothers all gone in an instant. That instance was the first time Tyton’s ability was able to properly manifest. Properly surge. Properly show how dangerous he was. It was Davidson who found him when searching the wrecks of homes and families. Still holding his brother’s Aeon’s hand tears in his eyes. Davidson was always quiet even back in those days and knelt to Tyton’s small height hugging him close. After that day Davidson properly set about burying the family well allowing Tyton to grieve and giving him another place to call home. He’d never admit it, but Tyton was lucky...relieved that Davidson and Carmadon took him in. Even if those raiders who had taken his family from him deserved his rage, he was terrified of the lightning under his skin. With a huff, Tyton uncoiled his long body from his seat standing and stretching up to remind his muscles of their function. The suit he wore was dark not one of the traditional Montfort green it just would not do for some missions. Under his seat he pulled free the small bag carrying a bottle of water, bag of nuts and stored the book into it securely. It was the last thing he’d received from his parents and even so he still struggled to get through it properly. As Tyton turned to move out the aircraft door onto the tarmac he spotted Mare struggling to reach an overhead compartment to grab something. He quickly moved forward and grabbed hold of two items: a maroon scarf and backpack.

“Thanks.”

“No worries I’m always available to help the vertically challenged.”

Mare’s face turned into a vivid shade of crimson and she moved as if ready to punch his arm when Cal swung his head back into the cabin. He seemed exasperated which quickly shifted to a swift glare as his eyes settled on how close the two were.

“Tyton.”

“Cal.”

“Mare what's taking so long?”

“Difficulties getting the scarf and backpack you decided to thrust into the overhead bin. As well as being ready to obliterate string bean here.”

Tyton gave a chuckle, although he was slightly leaner than Cal a string bean he was not.

“Don’t worry just helping her out she’s still yours, your highness.”

Cal bristled with the label, but Tyton was already strolling out onto the blinding tarmac doused in bright light.

As he got his bearings about himself, Tyton could not help feeling the pulses of electricity going off in every person around hims body. Just as you could imagine different emotions and thoughts had different electric compositions. As people moved around he recognised stress signals, pulses of joy and shifts of concentration. The signals never went away but with time he’d found away to keep them working in tandem with him so he didn’t get overwhelmed.

“Tyton come on rides here.” Rafe called his hair in the sun giving the appearance of green flames.

Tyton walked to the transport, long legs eating up the distance in a few moments to be face to face with Rafe. Ella must’ve caught a different one as the storm addict’s blue hair was no where to be seen. Together the two walked towards Davidson who was speaking to Arezzo in hushed tones. With a nod she was dismissed walking instead of jumping to wherever she needed to go. Davidson turned to the two a smooth smile on his face and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a quick trill.

“Rafe!”

A blur of orange smashed into Rafe’s chest holding him tightly as he clutched her back.

Laughing Rafe greeted her, “Iz, nice to see you too, but you’re crushing me.”

With one last tug, Izelle released her older brother a wide grin tugging on her lips as she looked up at him. Izelle, was Rafe’s little sister by a year who shared his dark brown skin smooth and even and bright smile. In her orange dress that spun around her knees and black combat boots, she giggled letting her hair of tight curls circling her head move slightly held back with an orange band.

“Is it wrong for me to have missed my dumb big brother? Am I wrong Tyton?”

Tyton smiled and shook his head as Rafe glared at him.

“So nice to know that it won’t be a strongarm that gets me but my sister’s choke hold.”

Iz shoved Rafe as he rolled his eyes and moved to put his bags in the transport while Iz turned to greet Tyton.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

And with that Tyton opened his arms and Izelle moved into them giving him a tight hug.

‘Her hugs are always great.’

“Thanks for looking out for Rafe. I’m one hundred percent sure he’s not dead somewhere because of you.”

A deep rumble erupted from Tyton as he shook his head. They walked to the transport as Tyton asked how she’d been.

“All good here finally ready to move onto the fourth arc only two more to go before I’m a qualified teacher of education.”

“That’s excellent. You’ve worked hard for it.”

“Yeah it’s been so long definitely the hardest thing I’ve faced, but it’ll be so worth it once I’m in a class with little guys.”

“Do you know what specialism you’ll take yet Izzy?”

In Montfort, classes were not segregated at all with children of all blood types getting the same education to the best standard they could. Those who were Ardent or Silver has supplementary classes to help in coming into their abilities. However, it was courtesy for teachers at normal school to specialise in understanding one blood type well so that support chains could be used in school for any student struggling.

“I’m not sure yet to be honest. I’ve still got to think, might swing for Ardent or Red they’ve already got lots of silver specialists.”

Tyton liked listening to Izzy speak. Her mind although more hyperactive than most was one he enjoyed feeling the thrum of. She would be an excellent teacher one who was fun and silly, but able to understand and be serious when needed. For all her loudness Rafe often called her the thunder to his lightning. As Izzy spoke she tended to often get enthralled by her words and lost her bearings of where she was. So much so she didn’t see a smaller transport squealing into her path. In seconds Tyron had pulled her back allowing the small buggy to rush past on its was.

“Izzy.”

“Ha sorry about that. Forgive me.”

And with a smile, all was forgiven.

“Come on Rafe is definitely going to start a mood if we don’t hurry up,” and with that she pulled his arm to the transport releasing him to clamber up and take a seat next to Rafe. For all the bickering and teasing they did the two siblings loved each other dearly. They had sought refuge in Montfort from the Piedmont principalities with their mother. The two remembered little about their original home as they had left so young, but the happiness Montfort gave them was all they needed. Forgetting all about her conversation with Tyton, Izzy poked Rafe to tell her all about Norta and what things they’d encountered. Izzy had never left Montfort. She was definitely not a soldier, barely remembering to tuck in her thumbs properly when punching Rafe and the Ardent abilities had only passed to him so a useful electricon on the battlefield she was not. The ride to Ascendant was bumpy, Davidson muttering about looking into the concrete and upkeep of the infrastructure when back home. The air rushed in as they sped across the landscapes moving closer to the capital with every second until the transport stopped in a quick halt. The stop was so fast Izzy almost span out of her seat if not for Rafe and Tyton’s arms coming to forth to stop her fall.

“What’s going-“

Davidson was cut off when a terrible crunch sounded off. Leaning forward, he could see one of the transports being crushed the metal casings crumbling against each other. Without a thought Davidson threw out a shield glowing blue in the setting sun surrounding the two vehicles.

“Raiders already?” Rafe hit his head against the seat in frustration before moving out of the car to help passengers in the afflicted vehicle. Tyton quickly went about feeling how many Raiders were out there without being told.

“10, all seems to be magnetron. 3 females, 7 males. Wait they’re leaving?”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah moving away.”

Davidson heaved a sigh, “Radio in for some teleporters for the wounded.”

“They’re already here.” Tyton looked out seeing that those badly injured were being jumped back. Being so close to Ascendant meant the teleporters could make the jump.

“Alright then, destroy that transport don’t leave anything of use behind for them.”

With that, Tyton moved to the transport now empty and absentmindedly called forth a storm preparing for a powerful bolt. The skies darkened as his storm came into existence. Davidson let the shield down for a moment to let the bolt come through. In a fraction of a second, a burning bolt of lighting came down from the sky smashing against the transport reducing it to dust and scorched earth. The air singed with crackle as the fire wreck obliterated. Tyton surveyed the scene inspecting the damage to see if it was at a high enough level to not be useful to a magnetron. Being happy with it he turned and started to walk back to Davidson and Izzy, Rafe already sitting in his seat. He was laughing at Izzy as she covered her ears wincing at the terrible sound of the lightning on metal. It was a sound not comfortable for most ears, but Tyton’s power was unheard of in an Ardent. He was different to the other electricons being able to handle electricity more naturally than even them. It didn’t take much for him to call a storm bolt of that magnitude. As he was within a few metres of the transport he suddenly felt a barrage of electrical energy moving towards them. Recognising it as the previous magnetrons he turned to quickly release brain lightning on them being able to drop 4 of them before one let off a spike. Moving out of the way he could do, but the spike still got him in the side forcing him to the ground. Davidson’s shields again went up and Tyton was pulled into the transport as it began to drive away with Davidson’s shields still up. Izzy clambered towards him pulling apart his suit to get a better look at the cut. Her hand pressed down hard as she told Rafe to get the medical kit under the seat. Tyton grasped onto her had holding it down as he grimaced from the pain. “You’re fine it’s only a scratch.” Izzy nervously laughed.

“Of course because scratches produce this much blood.”

“Shut up big baby. I’ve met toddlers tougher than you,” she grinned and Tyton smiled back focusing on her electricity and letting it calm him down in the transport racing back to Ascendant.

[itsmypeach13]

[Read only if you are okay with female &female relationships. Warning because of strong language, fighting scenes. Rating is +18]

[Hello my ravens! ❤️It's been an eternity but please welcome my second chapter of my Soma POV fanfic, things will get messy and entangled full of angst and more angst. I hope you'll like it, I spiced things up with flirty Valka and women fighting🤭 Let me know what you think in the comments any opinion/thought is welcome🥺❤️]

TALES OF THE BEAR-HEART: SOMA

CHAPTER II.

Battling Hearts

The soft crackling sound of fireflames embracing hardwood woke me up tenderly. I slowly opened my eyes and saw Revna sitting by the fire sharpening her dagger, preparing for the battle ahead of us. Her raven-black long hair was braided at the sides and neatly It must have been around dawn, but it was still pitch-black outside. Busy voices surrounded us, swords clinked, horses were running up and down impatiently, some people shouted over to the other with instructions. Valka's magical sleep potion put me so well to sleep, that I was surprised at myself how late I could join onboard the ship towards the brewing sea of bloodshed. I had to pull myself together and that only worked with some ice-cold river water and some excercise.

'Good morning Revna'-I greeted my warrior as I swiftly sat up and put on my stone-hard armor.

'To you as well.'-she wiked at me playfully and lifted up the pair of the iconic hammers fixating them on her sides. ' Now you slept well for sure, how is that you sleep the soundest when battle is so near?-she laughed a little and took a sip of water from the table.

'Valka's hand in that.-I raised my brows slightly. 'Sorry, I didn't plan to start like this Revna. I have to go now and freshen up. Shall we meet at the entrance of the longhouse?'

'You're such a womanizer you know that right?'-she held up her tusk. ' Valka is a fine woman, I am happy for you now. I will meet you there nevertheless.'

'Ha!..You're absolutely misunderstanding, but I have to rush now.'- After this conversation, the fine shilouette of Valka's back flashed through my mind from last night. I quickly stepped into reality once I was out of my hut. The Raven warriors painted their faces with red and white strokes, most of them were saddling the horses.

I hurried to the shores of the river nearby, finally allowing my flaming skin to meet with the freezing waves of water. I gathered some liquid in my palms so that I could splash it onto my face over and over again. It felt like a hit on my cheeks that put me into the right battling spirits, and imagining Randvi's head on the enemy's helped a lot also.

I did some stretching and sprinting in the shores, while sloppy waves embraced the land. I was sharpening my axe and asked for Thor's strength and blessing, when I heard cat-like footsteps from behind approaching me.

'Your blade is already sharp enough, Bear-heart'-said Valka smirking, while she walked up to me.

'I could cut down a village with it yes. I guess it's just my ritual before I actually do it.'

'I bought you some food, here, some died figs with bread and a slice of boar meat from last night.'- she kindly handed over the plate.

'Thank you Valka, the gods bless your kind spirit. This will help me to do my best today. For Ravensthorpe..and Eivor.' While I started eating quickly, we sat by the shore and Valka carried on.'

'Soma, you have to remember, whatever happens today, you can count on me, you know where to find me. I saw into your soul last night and found loneliness there. But you are not so alone.' -she stroked my arm then stood up and disappeared in the crowd of warriors.

I was startled a bit, the last piece of bread almost choked me. Was that a friendly invite to her hut? I mean, private hut? I guess she needs cleaning there if you know what I mean. Who would have thought.

***

When I rode to the longhouse, a massive crowd of warriors have gathered in front of the building. The golden locks of Eivor showed up with that deadly, stern smirk on her face. She was riding a snow-white mare with her armor glistening in the awakening morning sunrays. A huge hunnish bow spread on her broad back and two axes were fixated on her sides, one can never be so sure with just one, right? Randvi followed her closely, rumour has it that she is going in battle after long years spent in the map room. I was curious how she would perform outside these walls. Revna joined me swiftly and we quickly caught up with Eivor and other leaders riding in the front.

As if she sensed my closeness, the wolf-kissed greeted me with a wide smile.

'Morning Soma, I hope you are ready to spill some blood today with me.'

How could she know I was ready to do anything with her, my eyes wandered on those rosy lips talking to me. She looked stunning with freshly dried warpaint framing her ocean eyes.

'I will smash skulls today, as my father taught me'I assured her. ' You don't want to make it a contest, I am the champion in this.'

'We'll see, I will beat your ass.' Eivor uttering those words brought me to the depts of my wildest fantasies for a moment. Holy mother of.. A shiver went through my spine as I actually pictured this. 'Okay, whoever wins this beheading game will pay for the best ale in land for a week.'

'That's a deal, officially.'-Eivor agreed playfully.

As we left Ravensthorpe Randvi joined us to briefly go through our plans , and of course to keep an eye on her drengr.

'Hi Soma..I hope you haven't lacked the care and wealth of Ravensthorpe.'

'Thanks Randvi, I had everything I needed' except for Eivor in my bed last night, but I guess that's the VIP package. It’s good I didn’t say this out loud.

'Good. Now our plans are the following. Eivor and you will hide in the thick bushes of the main road on both sides with our archers. When Birna's army is well inside the trap, Eivor will sign you with her horn, then both of your teams will fire and wipe out as many as you can. I will wait for Eivor's horn and join with a group on horsebacks to push them back towards the hills where their camp is. We'll follow them and burn it down to force them out of mainland.

Cheolbert's army will be only used if necessary. They are stationed on the right side of the forest.'

'Smart plan Randvi, I am sure we can protect our people, which is the most important aim, I feel honoured to be here today and lead this army' -Eivor answered then we positioned our forces in the thick undergrowth of the main road. Some archers even hid high on the old oak trees to have a nice and deadly view on the road. Our eyes met with Eivor and I was once again stunned by those piercing blue eyes, radiating godlike power and trust in me. She made me weak with one stern look, this feeling was brand new for me..Soma trembling like a leaf in the autumn breeze? My eyes wandered lower, on Eivor’s bulging arms holding those big, heavy axes.

Revna positioned herself right beside me like a protective bastian ready to spill blood, her hands firmly gripping the two hammers.

’They will eat my hammer for breakfast.’-she whispered to me, keeping her voice down.

A medium group of soldiers were nearing our forces, all of them on horseback.

They were led by a young woman with blood red hair, riding on a pitch-black horse. Just before Eivor could use her horn to give the sign for us to attack them, the enemy started throwing flaming throving balls into the thick and completely dry undergrowth that caught on fire in no time. They knew exactly where we were hiding, forcing us to be distracted for a second and be stunned by their unexpected moves. Revna quickly brought me back to reality with her loud roar she jumped out of the bushes and ranted at our enemy. As if she were a deadly panther, she pulled a man down from his straddle , threw him on the ground finally smashing his face on both sides with her double hammers. What left off that head was forming an unrecognizable mixture of broken bones and flesh.

I joined her swiftly and shouted at all of my men:'Don't just stare, cut all of the bastards down and burn their flesh!' The archers could perform a swift attack from above before the flames got to the upper branches, then joined us from behind our shield wall Eivor was forming with the Ravens.

I quickly got on my horse and joined at the side of Revna, who was sandwiched between two twin shieldmaidens fighting with swords. Just before the bigger one could plunge her longsword into Revna's spine, I trapped her with my axe, agressively pulled her body to mine from behind holding her still for a moment shouting in her face: 'I will burn your whole village for this.' -then I slit her throat and pushed the body down to the dust. My face became sprayed with fresh blood, and I could see Revna kept herself busy, the other one joined her sister in death.

-Thanks Soma, I am glad you have my back, literally -Revna shouted at me with ave.

-I am never late, you know me.-I winked at her assuringly. -someone betrayed us Revna..we have to find that son of a bitch. -I shouted back while I saw a huge man charging at me with a poisoned axe.

-You will die bitch-his deep growl ecoed in my ears as I prepared for defense. I thought I would end him with my wit instead of my valuable strength, I slipped between his legs and cut right into his balls leaving him a suffering mess falling on his knees, and finally collapsing in the bloody pond forming underneath.

-Not today, bastard.-I stated. While we fought our way a little further with Revna I quickly looked behind my back to see how Eivor was holding up. Then I saw the blood-haired war-chief woman charging on her horse at full speed towards the wolf-kissed, she wanted to end Eivor. Her plan was to cut the head of the snake, I saw her green eyes burning with ambition, fury and wrath, she jumped off of her horse slamming Eivor to the ground. Unfortunately, the charging horse killed several men around Eivor failing to hold the shield wall.

I felt my heart beating in my throat , as both Eivor and that killer bitch disappeared from my sight behind the crowd of clashing soldiers.

-Revna, you have to hold this mess, I will be back!-I gave my clear orders to my right hand , and with that I ran into Eivor’s direction as if there was no tomorrow. Many men tried to stop me on my way, but I cut them all, roaring like a beast, both of my arms were drenched in blood. The inner bear has awoken. I saw Randvi charging on her horse towards the same spot, my worry mirrored in her desperate eyes. She fought like an amazon, a tiger let out of her cage , she was never really tamed behind that map table after all. I must admit she fought fiercely. Her long copper braid was dancing around in circles as she slain anyone who got near her. Unexpectedly, her horse got an arrow in the front leg, causing Randvi to fell foward harshly, she was flying several meters from the saddle. The killer-witch had supporter archers at the top of a nearby rock, they were backing their leader and her evil plans.

I didn't have time to care for Randvi, I slammed into the shield wall to see what was happening with Eivor behind it.

The blood-witch was strangling Eivor with her strong arm, Eivor had deep cuts on her own arms and her side. Fuck.. she really didn't see it coming.. oh that fucking bitch ! Eivor wanted to kick her in the face but her legs were entangled in strong hold by that serpent. She fought differently, wrestled her enemy, held the body in position to slowly end it with deadly cuts. I couldn't let her finish her work..my heart would break in two for an eternity..

I grabbed her hair pulling her upwards, while I watched her cry out from the pain.

-Hey, you blood whore, don't you dare to move or I will cut your pretty head off. Eivor broke free swiftly, but instinctively put her right hand on her ribs. I saw a considerable blood stain growing there, which felt like a punch in my stomach. It seemed I actually got one, as the redhead tried to break away. Just before I could end her, I felt a powerful but blunt hit on my back, an arrow's burning head fought it's way into my flesh. I instantly fell on my knees then I started to crawl on the ground ghasping the dust.

Eivor didn't give a fuck about her serious wound on her side she ran towards that sly whore to avenge this mess. Randvi arrived just in time her huge smash with her shield put the escaping rat onto the ground. The blood-witch was cornered and there was no way out. My sight became blurry and I wanted to vomit from the pain that radiated into my chest and my back.

'Tie this one up quickly, we'll inerrogate her at Ravensthorpe. Randvi instructed two soldiers. -Oh God..Eivor you're bleeding-she mumbled with care as she stepped to the wolf-kissed, her eyes wandered on the huge blood stain. Randvi's bottom lip was craked and bleeding, probably from a huge stroke.

'I am fine Randvi, bring our forces left to safety, we have to retreat, now' Eivor's raspy voice echoed, turning to Randvi. 'I can only thank my life to Soma' Eivor hurried to me while Randvi called a retreat to Ravensthorpe, we could defend the way from the woods but it was clearly a trap. Somebody gave valuable information to the enemy, Birna and Ivarr could attack any moment.Both sides lost countless men, the woods was in flames around us.

'My poor bird..' Eivor whispered calmly, holding me in her arms in a second sitting on her knees on the ground. She turned my body really slowly to spare me from the additional pain, I could have screamed out loud in my despair, but I couldn't show the slightest sign of weakness while she was around me.

'I m have to get this out now' she said apologetically, furrowing her brows.

I couldn't speak as I felt my power leaving me, I was close to fainting, so I just nodded and let myself concentrate on those strong arms being folded around me. This was the closest Eivor ever got to me.. my heart was burning and beating fast both from the trauma I endured and the excitement that was ruling over me inside.

'I will be as quick and gentle as possible'Eivor promised with a light smile.

I held onto her arm and mumbled a few words:'Just do it, please..' I closed my eyes knowing what will come.

Eivor clearly had pratice in this, as she firmly held onto the arrow, turned it slightly in my flesh, then pulled it out with a powerful move.

It felt as if a burning blade was turned inside me ripping out my flesh. The pain was undescribable with words, I cried out, my eyes became blurry with tears.

'Fucking GOD' I shouted.

'The worst is over Soma, I promise. I can thank my life to you, so I am in your debt, I will help you through this and bring you to Valka.' Eivor lifted me up, placed one of my arms around her neck and holding my weight with her arms below my knees. ' 'I got you now -she gently stroked my arm and carried me to her horse, we headed back to Ravensthorpe with our forces left , following Randvi's soldiers.

As we rode along those old oak trees I could feel the sweet scent of Eivor's skin around her collarbone as I laid my head on her broad chest. Small sweatdrops were glistening on her perfect face while her ice-blue eyes stayed focused on the road, I could watch this living statue of perfection all day.

Spring breeze played on my cheeks while I closed my eyes to just feel the bumps and turns of the road.

I couldn't get a peaceful monent as my thoughts caused me an inner turmoil. Where the hell was Revna? Did she join to Randvi and her forces? How am I supposed to fight like this? The hardest part of this battle is still ahead of us..I came here to defend Ravensthorpe, not to behave like a whining child. And who was that blood-haired shieldmaiden?

***

[king-maven-calore]

Odd question no. 16, who are your top 5 fave Red Queen characters and which part of the series/books did you start to like them.

You know anon, your questions aren’t odd at all 😊 but I’m guessing this is your signature at this point. Here you go! (it got a little long, sorry)

5-Farley: She grew on me tbh, there wasn’t a point in particular that made me feel like wow now I stan her. Nah, I just thought she was badass, smart (also she got that short haircut at some point that I totally fell in love with 🥵) ) and I liked how idealistic she is. She is the female version of one of my favorite characters in all of literature, Enjorlas from Les Miserables. (Except her revolution did work 🤧 )

4-Evangeline: I fell in love with her the moment she shows up at Queenstrial clad in leather and spikes and smirks like she owns the place. 10/10 stole my heart and kept stealing it every time she opened her mouth (except when she screams “he was supposed to be mine” about Cal in the Bowl of Bones yikes) I was praying to the literature gods that she would be a lesbian and they answered. When she said fuck the war, I’m going to Montfort with my GF to sip piñas Coladas? Absolute legend behavior. Unparalleled.

3-Mare: She started to grow on me when she decided to go through with the shooting and again in Glass Sword when she straight up maims those prison guards despite Cal asking her not to do it. Not her best moments for a lot of people, but for me, this is exactly the kind of behavior you can expect from a girl who has been oppressed and starved all of her life and has seen the torture inflicted upon her people. White people tend to have this high and mighty rhetoric about how oppressed people should react to shit, how they should be the better person. FUCK that. I’ve seen it play out a thousand times on TV and in books. Characters of color and especially women aren’t allowed to be raging, teeth bared, screaming and kicking angry about anything, or they are called crazy, irrational, and barbaric. 

tl,dr: Mare is rightfully angry, she acts on it, she has love for her people and her family, I love ❤️❤️❤️her. I love she gets everything she wanted. More brown women getting everything they want, please.

2-Cal: I liked him when he showed up and helped Mare tossing a coin at her, later when he helped her get a job, the dancing lessons. All good things. But the moment I really was like damn, silver boy 😏😏 was after the shooting, how this cold, pragmatic part of him comes out. Like Mare says, he’s a warrior through and through. And later when he refuses to join the Red Rebellion, that completely sold me. Too often YA love interests have “the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair” and throw their beliefs out of the window to make out with the protag and there’s nothing I loathe more. He slowly changes as the series progresses and I love his character arc so much sometimes my heart aches lmao. Because he starts off as an upholder of the oppressive system with a ver flimsy sense of compassion and ends the books wiser, actually compassionate, with a sense of striving for the greater good, and a huge softie. As I said before, I consider him the Darcy of YA.

1-Maven: oh my tragic child. First started liking him when he seeks out Mare under the rain and then takes her to Cal so she can see her family. Completely owned my soul when he rises from the ground as Mare asks for help and he’s like “Nah, fam. I’m good.” how easily he drops the act and how far he is willing to go to get power. I’m going to cut it here because when I start talking about him I can’t stop (That’s why I don’t include him in fics that much oops). There are personal reasons why I like him and literary ones. He’s extremely layered and whenever he showed up, he elevated the story to a whole new level.