#and she describes what made her feel uncomfortable but it all ties in to the whole losing her freedom thing

[umbracirrus]

OC in Fifteen

Tagged by @skyrim-forever and @hircines-hunter to post fifteen lines of dialogue that showcase your oc's personality!

Of course I'm going to use my girl Elyse <3 Lines 1-13 are from The Perfect Storm, line 14 from 'A moment in the sunset' oneshot, and line 15 from my smutty '"Do you surrender?"' oneshot :3 I looked through Seeking the Sun but she hasn't spoke much in that yet-!!! She's very much in her shell still.

"He knows well enough that I’m not getting involved in the war. After everything that I went through for Skyrim… It might sound selfish of me, but I can't. Won't.”

"What Ulfric failed to mention... Was that he wanted to force me to marry him. He wanted to take everything away from me so that he could use me. What better way to sway the masses than saying ‘look, I’ve married the Dragonborn who saved you all, you should join me because she’s with me and not the Imperials!’, right?"

"That bastard wanted to take my freedom away from me!"

"I wouldn’t be surprised if it is. Why else do you think that I decided to come here? Not to invite the Jarl for salad, that’s for certain."

Now… the sooner we get this tidying done, the sooner we get some free time, and the sooner I we can have a look around. I mean, I didn’t even know Dragonsreach had guest rooms until last night! Maybe I can ask the Jarl if there is anywhere of interest… Do you think that there would be a library? There has to be one, right? Or maybe a-"

"When the time comes that I have to pick a side in this war, I already know what I will be choosing. Divines, I already have chosen. I will be on the side of Whiterun."

"No matter the consequences. He trusted me through everything as I worked towards defeating Alduin – now it’s my turn to trust him. He hasn’t given me reason not to."

"If, as Farengar said, not even the Skyforge could melt it… getting it far away from civilisation is likely the next best option. There is nobody at Skuldafn. One or two draugr, but most certainly no people."

“I saw that, and it isn't funny! This was a fluke, there’s only two bows I can use properly, and this isn’t like either of them!”

“Sweetrolls, cake, tarts, candies, berries... How could I not?”

“I... I don’t like burdening others with my issues. It just drags others into the chaos that has been my life since I made the stupid decision to leave Cyrodiil years ago. Balgruuf took on enough of them by letting me into his home...”

 "For so much of my life, it was just me and my parents. It was us against what felt like the world. Then it was just me, on my own… I'm not used to having other people trying to look out for me. Or at least… never for long. Not without some sort of ulterior motive or ending in death."

“Winterhold is in my blood... But Winterhold never has nor ever would truly accept me.”

"Perhaps we could slip out to the Bannered Mare for a warm meal and a drink? I'm sure that Irileth and Lydia wouldn't mind… so long as they don't realise that we are gone."

"Heh… 'mercy', is it? Balgruuf, I have the capability to knock you onto your backside with just a word, and you know it. Just try me."

[steveyockey]

While some of both Davis and Crawford’s work could arguably be described as camp (for the former, King Vidor’s Beyond the Forest; for the latter, later-era films such as Strait-Jacket and aspects of the wondrous Nicholas Ray film Johnny Guitar), that their entire careers and places within film history are defined as such does a disservice to their artistry. But they aren’t alone in representing what has become a troubling trend when it comes to women’s work. As camp entered the mainstream lexicon, especially after Susan Sontag’s landmark 1964 essay, “Notes on ‘Camp,’” the term has been increasingly tied to work featuring women who disregard societal norms. Camp is often improperly and broadly applied to pop culture that features highly emotional, bold, complex, cold, and so-called “unlikable” female characters. I’ve seen films and TV shows such as the witty masterwork All About Eve; the beguiling Mulholland Drive; the stylized yet heartwarming Jane the Virgin; Todd Haynes’s Patricia Highsmith adaptation Carol; the blistering biopic Jackie; the deliciously malevolent horror film Black Swan; Joss Whedon’s exploration of girlhood and horror, Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the landmark documentary Grey Gardens (which inspired the 2009 HBO film starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore); and even icons such as Beyoncé and Rihanna be described as camp. Look at any list of the best camp films and you’ll see an overwhelming number of works that feature women and don’t actually fit the label. Usually, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, the film whose behind-the-scenes story provides Murphy’s launching pad for Feud, will be at the top of the list.

While camp need not be a pejorative, that hasn’t stopped it from being widely used as such. In effect, being labeled as camp can turn the boldest works about the interior lives of complex women into a curiosity, a joke, a punch line. The ease with which camp is applied to female-led films and shows of this ilk demonstrates that for all the (still-paltry) gains Hollywood has made for women in the decades since Davis and Crawford worked, our culture is still uncomfortable respecting women’s stories.

That major Hollywood icons such as Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford (and, more recently, Natalie Portman, thanks to Jackie) have been roped into this lineage isn’t surprising. Society doesn’t know what to do with women of this ilk without discrediting their very womanhood. Take artist and filmmaker Bruce LaBruce’s offensive description of Mae West in an essay on camp: “[She] played with androgyny to the degree that her final performance — her autopsy — was necessary to prove her biological femaleness.” In his 2013 essay “Why Is Camp So Obsessed with Women?”, J. Bryan Lowder expands on Sontag’s most well-known line: “It’s not a lamp, but a ‘lamp’; not a woman, but a ‘woman.’ To perceive Camp in objects and persons is to understand Being-as-Playing-a-Role.” Lowder writes, “‘Woman,’ the concept within the quotation marks, is not the same thing, at all, as a real woman; the former is a mythology, a style, a set of conventions, taboos, and references, while the latter is a shifting, changeable, and ultimately indefinable living being. Of course, there may be some overlap.” But if all gender is a performance, where does the “real” woman begin? And why does the presence of camp hold more importance than the actual work and voices of actresses such as Crawford, who have come to be defined by it?

At times, camp can feel like a suffocating label. Its proponents often misconstrue the fact that recreating oneself as a character is not merely an aesthetic for women, but rather, for many, a matter of survival. Living in a culture that profoundly scorns ambition, autonomy, and independence in women, girls learn quickly the narrow parameters of femininity available to them. When they transcend these parameters, life can get even more difficult. Women often pick up and drop various forms of presentation in order to move through the world more easily. Performance as a woman — in terms of how one speaks, walks, talks, acts — can be a means of controlling one’s own narrative. Camp often limits this part of the discussion, focusing instead on the sheer thrill of watching larger-than-life female characters cut and snark their way across the screen. How these works speak to women, past and present, becomes a tertiary concern at best, and the work loses a bit of its importance in the process; it either comes to be regarded as niche or, if it still has mainstream prominence, as abject spectacle. In turn, the conversations around these works become less about the women at their centers and more about how those women are presented.

Much of Baby Jane’s camp legacy comes down to how more recent audiences have interpreted Davis’s performance. She’s ferocious, frightening, and grotesque. But framing Davis’s performance as camp, as Murphy does, doesn’t take into account how dramatically acting has shifted over the course of film history. In some ways, camp has become a label used when modern audiences don’t quite understand older styles of acting. Modern actors privilege the remote, the cold, the detached. The more scenery-chewing performances that make the labor of acting visible — such as the transformative work that Jake Gyllenhaal did in Nightcrawler, or most of Christian Bale’s career — is typically the domain of men. (Or, at least, it’s only men who can get away with it without being called campy.) As Shonni Enelow writes in a marvelous piece for Film Comment, “[Jennifer] Lawrence’s characters in Winter’s Bone and The Hunger Games don’t arrive at emotional release or revelation; rather than fight to express themselves, her characters fight not to. We can see the same kind of emotional retrenchment and wariness in a number of performances by the most popular young actors of the last several years.” Davis’s work as an actor was the antithesis of that; she painted in bold colors. Even her quietest moments brim with an intensity that cannot be denied.

[justagirlwholikesadam]

The Wolf Among Men

WARNING : RATED M, Death, Mention of Rape, Attempt Rape, Violence, Witchcraft, Themes of Religion, Miscarriage, Shapeshifting, Worship, BLOOD BLOOD

A/N: Thank you for everyone who liked and commented on this story. I'm so happy you guys are liking it. Remember to comment and like. PLEASE READ THE WARNING TAGS BEFORE READING! Enjoy - L

Summary: Jon was told that his eldest sister, Y/n arrived to Castle Black. He was surprised when Y/n arrived with The Hound, Sandor Clegane.

Word Count: 11.2K

━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ Chapter Four

It took you a minute to realize someone was talking to you. You were out of breath and your arms were sore but you couldn't stop. You had to get enough wood for the next trip into town. Unaware of your surroundings, you didn’t even notice the man hiding behind the trees staring at you, planning on making his next move. 

You looked ahead and he was a few feet away from you. He had raven hair that was tied in a low ponytail. His eyes were dark and his smile made you anxious. He had one of those smiles, the same smiles given to you from the people in King’s Landing. 

“What?” You asked him as you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the sleeve of your tunic shirt. You had seen him around when Ray introduced you to the group. 

“I asked if I could help you.” You weren’t sure why he was asking, no one helped you when you became part of the group. You were an outcast amongst them. He looks over at Stranger who was always with you, usually tied up in the nearest tree. You had Stranger with you at all times when you were outside. The horse followed your every move. The dark mare was smart and acted almost like a protector during Sandor’s absence. 

Stranger had come to trust you just like he trusted his owner, Sandor. A woman in the group who was fond of animals gifted you some apples which Stranger ate greedily. You were relieved that another woman was talking to you, but it ended quickly when she started talking about the Children of the Forest and other mythical creatures you had read in fairy tales. She was kind hearted and didn't deserve the horrible words aimed towards her. You couldn't dislike her especially when she gave you a flower and told you that the Children of the Forest wanted to help Sandor. You didn't believe her at first because how can a flower save an injured man but you followed her words and made a paste of the strange looking flower. The petals were yellow and green. The middle part of the flower was prickly but didn’t hurt when touched. The best you can describe the smell of the flower was the scent of ale.  

“I’m Isaac.” He was walking closer to you but stopped when he saw you were still holding on to your ax. You didn’t respond to him at all, you continued to stare at him. 

“Are you really with that fellow in the shack?” He questioned. This made you frown. He was there when Ray gathered men from the group to carry Sandor away from the bottom of the cliff. He knows the answer so why is he asking, you thought. 

“Yes, I’m his wife.” You lied because that was the first thing Ray had told you to do when he took you to meet the group. Ray gave you a concerned look when you told him the truth about not being married and whispered to you to lie to the rest of the group that you were. Feeling uncomfortable with the wandering eyes from the men of the group. It was at that moment that you realized why Ray had told you to lie. You even avoided the looks the women in the group gave you. They noticed the pretty dress you had on and from that they knew you weren’t around here. 

“Why do you ask?” Isaac shook his head before letting out a chuckle of disbelief.

“What a lucky man he is.” Isaac said as he took another step towards you but you took a step back, your hand tightening around the handle of the ax. 

“What do you want? I’m occupied with this.” You pointed at the pile of chopped wood on the ground with the ax.  

"What do I want?” Isaac looked at you shamelessly up and down. You wished Sandor was awake and next to you so he can warn this man off. 

“Just want to help.” You didn’t believe him so you didn’t answer him. 

He got the message that you weren’t going to talk and bid his goodbye to you. You watched as he gave you one last look over his shoulder before walking away towards the camp site. Letting out a sigh of relief when he left, you glanced over at Stranger who was staring at you. Stranger titled his head to the side as you walked over to pet its head. You felt Stranger tense up and you gently hummed to it trying your best to relax the horse. Running your finger through its hair, it calms Stranger. You weren't the only one freaked out about Isaac. 

The sun was setting and you had forgotten all about Isaac. You were done with supper and had piled the logs to sell outside the shack. You were cleaning your hands before aiding Sandor’s wound. You clenched and released your hands multiple times, trying to get rid of the stiffness and soreness. 

You wouldn’t forget the day that Ray gave you an ax when you told the group that you would do a man's work in exchange for Sandor and you to have shelter and food. Ray tried to talk to you out of it but you wouldn't have it. You were going to work your ass off and you did. Ray taught you how to swing an ax and gather the wood.  You cried the next day from the pain on your hands and shoulders. You weren’t used to manual labor, you didn’t work a day in your life and you thought about the times you would skip lessons with Septa Mordane. She would reprimand you for skipping. She would tell you that a woman’s job is to know how to sew and how to be a proper lady. 

You wonder how the sweet elderly lady would have reacted if she saw you now. Wearing pants, hair greasy as well as knotted. Dirt underneath your fingernails along with beginning stages of calluses forming on the palm of your hands. 

When finishing work you spend your evenings alone mostly, Ray would often visit just to see how you were doing and give you any sort of news about joining you on the next trip into town to sell wood. The times he wasn’t there to visit, you thought about your family. 

You thought about Robb and his wife that you never met. Your parents, you missed your mother’s kisses and your father’s warm hugs. Arya and Bran’s endless energy and Rickon’s kind heart. You thought about the times how Sansa would beg you to brush her hair like yours and even knowing about the betrayal from Theon, you couldn’t help but think of him well. Theon didn’t have the Stark family name but you thought of him as one just like Jon. 

Memories of them were your only company and you thought that you had cried a lot during your stay in King's Landing but you were wrong. Your eyes were always puffy, cheeks were blotchy and you thought you were going to lose your mind when it came to Sandor. 

You sobbed as Ray held you when the maesters popped his knee back in and cleaned his wounds. You have never seen so much blood in your life before but as the days grew you followed the maesters’ instructions on how to clean and look after it. You finally managed to not cry whenever you saw the nasty wound on his knee. You wash the dirt and blood off his body. You cleaned him daily, and changed his clothes. You spend endless nights by his side dabbing the sweat off his forehead and neck when fever took hold of him. 

You pull the blanket up to Sandor's chest when finishing cleaning his wound and lean forward to comb his grown out beard with your fingers, pushing his hair out of his face while tucking a strand behind his ear. You feel your throat starting to close up and your vision goes blurry with tears. You missed him so much. Letting your fingers linger on his face, you lightly trace his nose and lips. You were utterly exhausted, tired from the workload and tired from the heat. You were tired of seeing Sandor still in a deep slumber. You grew more worried that he would never wake up. 

“Sandor.” You whispered to him.  “Can you hear me?” Tears rolled your cheeks when Sandor gave you no response. 

The maesters had told you before leaving for good that Sandor may never wake up. Sandor might be a cripple and would have to be bedridden for life. 

“Give me a sign, Sandor. Please.” You begged him. Sandor seemed to be getting better, his fever had gone down but he made no movement yet. He hasn’t even opened his eyes or moved his legs. 

“Wake up.” You cried out softly as you laid your head on his chest. Closing your eyes when you hear his heartbeat, it was strong. You cried as you hugged him, laying on him trying to get the same feeling of warmth and security he had provided to you during your travels together. 

“Please wake up.” Begging into his chest, you wept more. 

Your head shot up when you heard someone knocking. You sniffed and wiped your tears quickly. 

“Ray?” You called out, running your hand through your knotted hair. Wanting to look presentable for Ray. The person behind the door didn’t answer, the door was pulled open and your face dropped when you saw Isaac by the entrance. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked him as you looked around the shack, your heart fell to your stomach when you realized you left your ax outside next to the pile of wood. The only weapons were below the makeshift bed Sandor laid on. You had hidden his sword along with his knife so no one could steal it. 

“I was on a walk when I heard you crying. I wanted to make sure you’re fine.”  

“I’m fine. You can leave now. I wish to be alone.” You rose up from the bed, eyeing his every move. 

“Alone?” Isaac stepped into the shack and shut the door. 

“A pretty thing like you, alone? It’s such a shame.” You started to tremble by the tone of his voice and that smile he gave you. 

“You take such good care of your husband.” He stops a few inches away from the bed. 

“But who takes care of you?” He asks. “Please leave.” He frowns at you and his eyes darken at your plea. 

“I’m trying to help you here!” He shouted at you. “Let me take care of you.” 

You look over his shoulder to see the door, you were thinking if you ran quick enough you would be able to get to Ray. The hope of escaping and running to Ray disappeared when you saw Isaac taking a knife out of his belt and pointed it at you. 

“Plea-.” Isaac shook his head at you as he hushed you to be quiet. 

“It doesn’t have to be hard, girl. Drop your pants and bend over at the edge of the bed.” You let out a whine and shook your head at him. 

“BEND OVER!” Isaac shouted making you flinch. “I’ll fuck you bloody girl. I’ll rape that cunt in front of him.” 

“I’ll kill him if you don’t obey.” Isaac smiled when he saw tears rolling down your face as he pointed the knife at Sandor. He saw you move towards the edge of the bed near him. 

“Good.” He starts to breathe heavily, his eyes grew wide at the sight of your trembling body. He holds the knife in one hand while he palms himself over his trousers with the other hand. 

“Drop your pants and show me that cunt.” You turn your back towards him. You cried as you stared at Sandor. You couldn’t believe you were going to be taken advantage in front of Sandor. 

“Aim for the heart, little wolf.” Sandor’s voice echoed inside your head. 

You began to wail when you felt Isaac behind you, sniffing your hair loudly. You felt him grab your hair from the back and pulled it harshly towards his face. 

“I never fucked a lass with her husband in the same room before.” He told you as you felt the tip of his knife digging your lower back. 

“Please.” You cried out and he pushed you down on the bed. You let out a sob when you felt him rip your trousers off with his knife. 

“Be quiet. Don’t want to wake him up.” Isaac laughed as he began to grope your ass. 

“Aim for the heart, little wolf.” 

Unwanted hands grabbed your behind, you hear Isaac’s moans grow louder behind you and his taunting words of you being raped was making you lose all faith in yourself. You heard about the girls who shared the same horrid fate say that it’s best to lay still and hope he finishes quickly. You were about to accept your fate and you were about to reach out to hold Sandor’s hand that rested on his side when you remembered his words. 

“Kick him in the legs. He will fall to the ground and that would be your opportunity. Aim for the heart, little wolf.” 

“Give me a little moan.” Isaac said. He was going to pull his trousers down when you immediately kicked him from behind, hitting his shin. You heard him fall to the ground and you went down to the floor to grab Sandor’s knife under the makeshift bed. 

“Fucking bitch.” You cried out, you were close to grabbing the knife when you felt a pair of hands grab your ankles pulling you out of the makeshift bed. 

Isaac shouted as he kicked you in the stomach. You held your stomach when he managed to grab his knife from the floor and walked towards Sandor. Your eyes widened when Isaac raised his knife. 

“No!” You shouted and pushed yourself up. You had managed to get on the bed on the other side and grabbed onto Isaac’s wrist. With little strength you had left, you held him off. He pulled your hair with his other hand but you grabbed the knife screaming as the blade dug into your flesh. Isaac’s eyes grew at the sight of you grabbing the blade with your bare hand. He dropped the knife to the ground and pulled you over Sandor’s body, dropping you to the ground. 

“Crazy bitch.” You heard him yell at you. 

“No!” You yelled as he was about to grab the knife but he turned you on your back, getting on top of you. You started to claw his face as he sat on you, his legs on either side of you. He brought his hands to your neck and began to choke you. 

“When I’m done with you. Everyone is going to have their turn at you.” Isaac jeered at you as he lifted you by the neck and slammed your head on the wooden floor boards. You gasped for air as he slammed your head once more. You slapped his face with both hands, blood from the cut coated his face.

You were losing consciousness, you began to see spots in your vision and you knew if you shut your eyes, it would be over. Sandor will be killed, you were going to get raped and you were going to die. Your life will end the moment you close your eyes. 

You looked to the right to see his knife near you, this was your only chance to survive. You pressed the palm of your hand on his eyes, spreading your blood all over it as you used your other hand to grab the knife. You gritted your teeth and shouted in pain when he grabbed a hold of your bloody hand. His eyes were stinging from the blood, the moment he shut his eyes to wipe it off. He let out a gasp when felt something pierced through his chest. He let go of your hand and opened his blood shot eyes, he dropped his mouth open when he saw his knife impaled in his chest.  

He looks down at you, letting out a whimper as he falls on top of you. You pushed him off of you and stared at him with wide eyes. You killed him, you killed someone. You cried as you held your wounded hand against your chest. The adrenaline was wearing off and your anger grew. Your eyes harden at the sight of him and you quickly got on top of him just as he did to you. You shouted and grabbed the handle of his knife with your good hand. You started to stab him in the chest repeatedly over and over again. You can hear his flesh being sliced, his blood was splattered across your face as you continued.

Flashes of your father being beheaded appeared as you kept stabbing him. The sight of Robb’s wolf sewn onto his body made you scream as you started to stab Isaac in the head. The evil smile on Joffrey's face. The look Cersei gave you when you were being beaten. Lastly, images of a small child being pushed against the fire. The child screams echo inside your mind and the face of Gregor appears. 

“Y/n!” 

You stopped at the sound of a familiar voice and looked towards the door. The door was opened and Ray stood there with a horrified face. His eyes shifted to you and Isaac. You looked down at Isaac’s mangled face. He was unrecognizable, you dropped the knife. Looking over at Sandor, you began to hyperventilate and let out a sob when you saw a knife embedded into his chest. 

“Sandor?!” You cried out, about to get up you heard a screeching sound next to you. You looked back at Ray who was turned into a wight. Ray had transformed into one and you quickly looked back at Sandor who was now sitting up on the bed, the knife still in his chest. He dropped his mouth open to let out a terrifying screech. His eyes turned bright blue and the bed started to catch on flames. You remained still as Sandor began to crawl towards you, snarling at you as his entire body was consumed in flames. 

Gasping for air, you woke up from your sleep. You shoot straight up from bed trembling, breathing heavily as you look around. You were in a room alone. You let out a sob you were holding in. Ray and Sandor became one of the dead. The same dead you fought beyond the walls. You had to see Sandor, you had to make sure he was safe. The last thing you remember was shouting and how tired you felt from running after carrying Jon on your back. 

Quickly, you pushed the blankets of fur off of you, you stopped when you felt light headed. Taking deep breaths you carefully managed to get out of bed, your legs shook as you stood up. You looked down at yourself to see you wore a white undergarment dress. You took a moment to look around you, you saw a table near you. Towels, sheets and pitchers along with bowls were on the table. You noticed the dirty rags on the floor. You weren't alone, someone was here with you. You were going to step away from the bed when you came down with a thud on the floor. Wincing as you pushed  yourself up to your knees you looked around the room again. 

“Sandor!” You shouted out but was answered with silence. 

Once again you took a moment to breathe. You felt so weak, tired and so hungry. It’s been so long since you last ate. You were thinking about just laying down on the ground until someone arrived. When you looked down at your hands, you saw the healed scar on your palm. You thought of your dream. This dream felt too real unlike the others you had before you fell ill. 

You had to see Sandor, you had to make sure that he was alright. You had to see if your brother was alive as well. You began to crawl to the table near you. Grunting as you grabbed the edge of the table and pulled yourself up. Managing to get up you leaned against the table. Looking down at the half empty bowls on the table you saw a small mirror. Rising it up to see your reflection, you were glad you were back to normal. You had transformed back into a human. You didn’t know how you managed to do it. You looked tired and sickly. Your eyes were dull,  lips were dried and cracked. You placed the mirror back down on the table not wishing to see yourself anymore. You didn't look like you anymore. Letting out a soft moan as you flex your sore feet. Your toes cracked before you began to take a few steps towards the door. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. Sandor had died and he became one of those dead creatures. You saw he went up with the rest of the group on the dragon. Slowly walking to the door you stopped when you saw your ax, the weapon was leaning against the door frame. It had to be the lack of food, perhaps it was the stress but the dream had disturbed you deeply that all you can think of was finding Sandor and making sure he was ok. Ignoring the stomach pains, you leaned down to grab your ax. Using your weight to push the door open, you winced when the freezing wind hit your face. You began to stumble down the hallway ignoring the cold sting on your bare feet. Your hair whipped as another gust of wind blew, you walked to the end of the hall and began to step down the stairs. Your eyes grew wide at the sound of people. 

“Sandor!” You shouted with all your might as you walked down the snow covered stairs using the ax as a cane. 

“Lady Y/n!” 

You step into the courtyard, you can see a few members of the Night Watch staring back at you. Some looked at you stunned while others looked terrified, they started to walk away when you began to walk towards the center of the courtyard. 

“Sandor!” You cried out as you looked around, looking for him. More of the members of the Night Watch had walked out to the courtyard at the sound of your cries. You feared that your dream became true when you didn't see Sandor. You dropped your ax as you started to cry. 

“Y/n!” You looked ahead to see Sandor standing at the edge of the courtyard. Beric and Thoros peeking behind him.  They were in the dining hall when one of the wildings came running inside saying that the great goddess of the wolf had woken up. 

Sandor quickly ran as best he could to you. Jon and Daenerys along with Ser Davos came out of Jon's office at the sound of shouting. Jon froze when he saw you standing in the middle of the courtyard. You were practically shaking in the cold. Your bare arms and legs were getting red from the harsh cold winds. 

You had leapt into Sandor’s arm. Sandor wrapped his arms around you, his lips pressed against your forehead as you sobbed into his chest. Sandor quickly untied his fur cape and wrapped it around you when he pulled away. 

“I saw you-.” Sandor shook his head as you kept crying. He couldn’t understand you. 

“I killed him! Isaac, but he got to you, first. I didn't see the other knife. I didn't see it. You became one of them!” Sandor cupped your face when you started to get hysterical, screaming the name Isaac and the hidden knife. 

“Y/n, calm down.” Sandor told you firmly but you didn't stop.

 You have started to grab Sandor’s coat, pulling the laces almost ripping it. You ignore Sandor’s words to calm down. You had to see it for yourself. Sandor tensed up when he felt your cold fingers touch his bare chest. Your cries quieted down as you touched him, the hair on his chest felt warm. He wiped the tears off your cheeks as you placed your palm against his chest.

“He killed you and you became one of the dead.” You whispered to him. Sandor held you close. 

“I'm not dead, Y/n. I'm here and you're here with me.” Sandor softly said, rubbing his thumb over your cheek trying to help you calm down. 

“You’re here.” You said as you felt his heartbeat under your touch. Sandor grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand up to his lips. He nodded at you as he kissed your knuckles. 

“I’m here and you're here.” He repeated over and over again. You hugged him once more. He threw a glare at the men from the Night Watch who stared.  He had forgotten about them, he had forgotten that both of you were still in the middle of the courtyard in front of everyone. He didn't believe at first that you were awake but he heard you calling out for him after one of the wildings came into the dinning hall. 

You lifted your head from Sandor’s chest when you heard your name being called out. Sandor had turned around along with you, Jon was there in the courtyard. His eyes were wide and filled with tears, he gave you a smile. 

“Go.” Sandor whispered to you as he tied the laces of the cape tighter.  He watched as you ran to your brother. Jon had started to run towards you as you walked to him. Jon cried as you held him, kissing your forehead as he hugged you. You were alive.

“I missed you.” Jon whispered. “Me too. I missed you so much.” You told him crying.

“I thought you were going to die.” You told Jon as you pulled away to look at his face. Jon has aged, you can see in his eyes that he was tired, his hair was longer. He didn't look like the same boy that left Winterfell. You smiled when you touched his chin, he was growing a beard now.  

“You saved me. You saved all of us. Daenerys said you showed her the way to us.” You looked above to follow Jon’s gaze, you saw a white haired woman leaning against the wooden railing. 

“The dragons.” You whispered looking back at Jon who nodded. 

“Yes, do you remember? They followed you.” You leaned against Jon, grabbing his coat and looked around. 

“Where’s the rest?” You asked softly. Jon pointed behind Sandor. You looked over at the pair standing at the edge of the courtyard.

“Lady Y/n.” Thoros welcomed you as Beric and he walked towards you. He let out a surprised yelp when you hugged him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Beric was shocked when he also received a hug from you as well. “I’m so glad to see you both.” You said with a smile. 

“My lady, you need shoes.” Beric said with eyes filled with concern. You looked down at your bare feet in the snow. The one eyed man was going to say something else when he heard your stomach growling. 

--

Sandor and the rest couldn’t help but stare as you ate. You weren't really breathing as you stuffed your face with chicken and stew. With your mouth full of food, you grabbed a slice of bread near you soaking it up in the stew. He even casted a look over to Jon who was going to stop you but didn't when he saw how famished you were. Jon put the utensils down, figuring it’s pointless now. 

They all knew you had to be hungry since falling ill then being dead and waking up again to only find yourself beyond the wall with no food. Lastly when you did return you were passed out for two days and for those two days they stayed in your room. The atmosphere in the room was tense. The group were quiet and thinking about what they just witnessed in the courtyard. It was something out of this world, the things you hear about in fantasies. A person turning into a wolf and not just any person, you. The ritual worked, you came back from the dead but you came back as something different. 

Men shouting was heard outside of your room and they did their best to ignore it. Jon watched as Sandor squeezed the excess water from the rag he used to wipe the dried blood from your body. He had flat out refused for the maesters to look over you and dressed your minor wounds.

‘He didn’t do fucking shit when she was sick. I don’t want him around her.’ Sandor yelled when the maesters was brought into the room. Word had spread like wildfire in the East Watch all the way to Castle Black about you being alive and being a creature. 

Tormund had told the group when bringing supplies into the room that the men of Night Watch were calling you evil while the wildings called you the Goddess of the Wolf. Beric and Thoros stood guard by the door on the inside as Ser Davos and Jorah tried their best to calm down the angry crowd standing outside the door. The words monster and ungodly were shouted when you transformed back. Sandor had carried you up the stairs while the group was ready to defend you. 

The rag that was once white, is now a reddish brown. Sandor remained quiet for the most part as he cleaned you. He stared at the light scratch marks on your body, it was from the wights. 

“Thought you would get turned into one if they touched you?” Sandor asked Jon who sat behind him getting treated by the maesters. 

“Guess their nails don’t count.” Jon said, wincing as the maesters treated the cut on his shoulder. 

“Maybe because she wasn’t human.” Beric told them.

“The polar bear was one of them. Doesn't make sense.” Thoros spoke out before the maesters told Jon how very lucky he is that he didn’t get frostbite. Jon told them about you rescuing him from the icy cold waters and using your body to keep him from freezing to death. 

Sandor stops in mid cleaning when he reaches your thighs and his stomach twisted at the sight of dry blood on your inner thighs. He remembered what the red priestess told him. A life for a life. He knew the moment you woke up, he had to tell you. He just hoped you wouldn’t be mad at him for doing it. He felt responsible for turning you into this creature, into a wolf. His worry grew when he saw you were alive and he wondered if you would grow to resent him. 

Sandor wipes it softly and halts when he feels your leg tense up. He looked at your face, trying to see if you would wake up. You moved your head to the side and let out a deep sigh in your sleep. 

“She ran a lot.” Jon had told him. 

“She was faster than a horse, it was amazing how fast she is.” Sandor tried his best not to lose his shit. You were a wolf, you transformed back into a human. The wolf that saved them beyond the wall was you. The door knocked causing everyone to pause. 

“It’s me.” Jon looked over at the door and nodded to them to open. Daenerys walked inside with Jorah and Ser Davos. 

Her eyes widened at Jon’s bare chest. She was told about Jon and how he came back to life. She thought it was a joke, a trick to make her give Jon her army to fight with the dead. She looked at his healed wounds, he had so many. Daenerys quickly walked towards him, unraveling a white fabric she was holding. 

“Should work until she makes it back home.” Jon let out a gracious smile when she held out a sewn white undergarment made of sheets. There were no clothes for women in the East Watch. Daenerys can hear footsteps behind her. She turns around and looks up at the Sandor who towered over her. She holds her breath at the sight of his face. She was a bit nervous when being told Sandor was from House Clegane. Ser Jorah eased her fear and told her Sandor was nothing like his brother who was the one to assault Elia Martell and killed her along with her children, Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen. 

Sandor didn’t speak to her but he gave a nod of gratitude. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have too.” Jon told her as she turned around.

“It’s nothing, she’s a lady. When we get back to Winterfell, I would need to thank her properly.” Jon watched as Daenerys looked over at you. He noticed she started to play with her hands in front of her as she looked back at you. 

“It’s hard to believe. Isn’t it?” Jon asked. She shook her head at him. 

“It isn’t.” She told him as she looked back at Jon. “I have dragons. We have an army of the dead coming to end the living. Now your sister came back from the dead and became a wolf. A wolf that my dragons are curious about.” 

Daenerys casts one last look towards you and drops her hands to the side when she notices you were in good hands. She was scared you were in harm's way with Sandor but that was until she noticed the burly man washing your feet. Sandor treated you like you were made of glass, his large hand was completely wrapped around your ankle. He wiped the sole of your feet gently and with such care. She found herself reminiscing about her time with Khal Drogo when he found out when she was pregnant. He treated her with such grace and with so much love.

Eating the last piece of bread, you grabbed the pitcher of water ignoring the cup that was near you. Sandor wanted to chuckle at the sight of you drinking straight out of the pitcher. Drinking fast, droplets of water fell on to your dress with an unladylike burp, you wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your dress and placed the pitcher down on the table. 

The men didn’t say anything as they looked amongst themselves, they didn’t know how to start the conversation without it being awkward. They were all eager to know about you and the transformation. Beric and Thoros had shared their ideas with Sandor. Beric had told Sandor that he knew you were part of something greater. It almost ended in a fight when Sandor reminded Beric that it wasn’t some god that brought you back. 

“It was because of our child who brought her back to me.” 

You were staring off in the distance when Jon called your name out. You frowned as you heard people outside, whispers and the sound of the blacksmith working across the courtyard clear as day. It was impossible that you could hear all of it. Your trance was broken when you felt a warm hand on your knee. Looking down, you saw Sandor’s hand. You placed your hand over his and looked at him. He raised his brow at you, worried that you weren't answering. 

“I-I-well..” You stuttered for a moment and looked at them. You didn’t know how to start, you didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you.” Thoros spoke first. “You saved us from that bear.” Beric added with a shocked face. 

“Of course.” You said looking at them. “We’re a group. We must protect one another.” 

Beric smiled as well as Thoros. They had mentioned to you those very words after another group thought it was a good idea to mess with the Brotherhood without Banners during their trip to the North.

“Y/n, do you remember turning into a wolf?” Jon asked. 

Death was quiet for a moment. It was just darkness, cold and nothing else. You found yourself in a dark cave but a light appeared ahead when you heard a woman’s voice.  She spoke English then it into a different language, you didn't understand. The only reason you followed her voice through the darkness was because she mentioned your name then your parent’s name. The more you followed her voice, the warmer you got and the louder her voice became. You froze when you heard a wolf howling and the voice stopped. You remained still in the dark place until you saw a light above you. 

Your eyes opened wide, you found yourself staring at the night sky before questioning yourself what had happened. You cried out when you tried to roll over but were unaware where you were. You fell off the altar with a thud as you landed on the wooden platform under the altar. You wanted to call out for Sandor but the moment you opened your mouth. Your arms twisted. Letting out a scream, you can feel your bones cracking.  Your limbs started to move on their own. On your stomach now, you tried to crawl but your back began to arch like a cat. You didn't know what was happening, your body had a mind of its own. You cried as you felt your back arch to the point of breaking. 

You whine when you feel something warm between your legs. 

“Lady Y/n.” Lifting your head off the platform, your eyes widened at the older man ahead of you. He took a step back from you when he saw your limbs twisted abnormally. 

“Help me.” You scream with all your might. It all happened in a blink of an eye, your body convulsed and the moment you opened your eyes. Your view had completely changed. You can hear the man screaming for help when he watched your back spit into two and a wolf appeared. Two men on watch nearby had run to the altar but froze in mid step when they saw an enormous wolf on top of one of their brothers ripping his body apart. 

“My bones broke and grew again. I couldn’t control my body.” You told the group as you described your transformation. Thoros and Beric gave each other a look and Jon looked terrified.

“I killed them but I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t control myself.  Something took over me. It was the-the.” 

“It was the animal in you that did it.” Beric said. You nodded at Beric, “Exactly.”

“They must all want me dead for my actions.” You said looking down at your lap, you were grateful Sandor didn’t let you go. His touch gave you some sort of relief. 

“The situation has been dealt with.” Jon told you and you looked at him surprised. You were excused of what you did, it didn’t make sense to you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked the group when you saw Beric and Thoros looking away from your gaze. You caught Jon and Sandor having a stare down, Jon looked away first with a sigh. 

“Nothing. What happened after you transformed?” Sandor questioned, giving his full attention to you. 

“I escaped over the wall and I kept running until I couldn’t anymore. I thought I wasn’t going to find my way back until I smelt it.” 

“You smelt it? What thing?” Jon asked. 

“Sweet rum.” You said with a small smile looking over at Thoros. 

“As I got closer, I could smell the trees, the earth itself. Nature.” You looked over at Sandor. He bared the same scent you smelt after leaving the bloody gates. 

“As I got closer, I knew one of those dead were on you.” 

“You can smell them?” Beric asked. 

“Aye, they smell like rotten meat and steel.” You told them. 

“There were so many of them. How is this possible?” You asked them. 

You remained silent when Jon told you what you had missed. The events of his stay of Castle Black and his time Beyond the Wall, he had even gone far to show you his scars, and told you he had died when they stabbed him through the heart. He told you how he was brought back from the dead as well.  The white walkers, the wildings, and Daenerys Targaryen. He told you Samwell saw Bran and they still had hope that he was still alive. Sandor noticed you started to cry when he told you about Rickon and the Battle of the Bastard. 

“Is Arya alive?” You asked him. “There’s been no word of her.” 

“Sansa?” When you asked Jon about her well being. He became quiet and you heard a thumping sound. It seemed to echo in your head and your ears started to ring. You looked ahead at Jon, to see him nervously looking at you. 

The thumping sound seems to have duplicated. Into four different thumping, you counted. You looked over at the men, they didn’t meet your eyes. 

“What happened to Sansa?” You asked Jon softly. Jon’s eyes were dark when he looked at you. 

You heard the thumping grow louder as the words from Jon’s mouth spilled. The words of Sansa escaping with Little Finger, Sansa at the Vale, Sansa getting married to a Bolton who took over Winterfell and lastly the words you never thought would come out from your brother's mouth. 

“What?!” Was all you said and the thumping sound disappeared. 

“She was broken in.” Jon said. Sandor had looked away from Jon. When he heard the news about Little Bird, his first thought was how you were going to handle it. 

“Are you positive?” You whispered in a rough tone feeling your body grow hot. Sandor felt you move your hand away from him and started to push yourself up from the seat. 

Sandor called out for you but you ignored him. Jon rose up at the same time as you. 

“Jon, answer me.” You shouted at him. 

“Sansa said it herself.” Jon told you and you started to walk away from the table. He noticed your face was pale and he began to tell you all about the win of The Battle of Bastard and how the Stark have Winterfell back but all you could think was about Sansa.

“Y/n.” Sandor said your name when you walked to the wall of the dinning hall. He sees you untying the fur cape around your shoulder letting it drop to the ground. They can hear you starting to breathe heavily. Jon and Sandor walked away from the table telling Beric and Thoros to stay back. 

“What’s happening? Y/n. Answer me.” Jon said behind you as you placed your hands on the wall. You tried your best to answer them but you couldn’t. 

You couldn’t breathe, every time you tried to shut your eyes to calm down. You kept thinking about Sansa and Ramsey. A shock ran through up and down your spine of the thought of your sister being abused, you wanted to kill Ramsey. You wanted to kill someone for hurting your sister. 

“Y/n.” Sandor shouted your name when you began to shout as another shock ran up and down your spine. You felt Sandor grab your arm and you were quick to shove him away. You did it without a single thought. 

Jon and Sandor looked at you in disbelief. You haven’t realized but you shoved Sandor, almost knocking the 6’6 men completely off his feet. They turned their attention back to you when you turned around, your back was against the wall. 

“Get back.” You yelled at them. 

“It hurts.” Sandor frowned at your words but he obeyed and remained still on his feet. He noticed your eyes, your pupils were dilating. “We took back Winterfell, Y/n. The Bolton’s lost, the Stark has Winterfell again.” 

“And Rickon? Sansa’s innocence? Our people from home?” You questioned him with a scream. 

“We have to go on, Y/n.” Sandor grimaced as your face changed at Jon’s word. 

“Go on.” You repeat. The tears had stopped and the aching on your back disappeared. Your jaw clenched as you turned to him. 

“Is Ramsey dead?” You questioned him. When Jon didn’t respond fast enough you yelled the question again. 

“No. Sansa released his hounds on him. All they did was eat one of his legs and injured his face. They were hungry but they were still loyal to their master.” 

“Why isn’t he dead?” You asked. 

“They suspect someone is taking care of him while he’s in custody. They believe there are still people who are still allies of House Bolton. She’s been keeping him in the kennels. Hoping the cold and the loss of blood would kill him.” 

“And you just want to go on.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“What would you like us to do?” Jon asked. “We took back Winterfell.” Jon said and he walked near you. “We will deal with this.” 

“We?” You said as your eyes were wide, he saw a yellow shined to them. 

“Yes, we.” Jon answered you while he took a step back. 

“When we get home, I’m gonna find those people.” You walked closer to Jon as you spoke. “I’m going to kill them, all of them and Ramsey. I’m going to tear his throat.” 

Jon stood still as he saw you become angry. He had never seen you like this before. You weren’t the sweet and gentle sister he had known. You never cursed before, especially in front of him. You have changed completely. 

“Ok.” Jon and you looked over at Sandor. “Ok.” He repeated to you. 

Sandor walked closer to you as he gave you a nod of approval. Sandor ignored the look Jon gave him as he passed him and got closer to you. 

“He’s gonna pay for what he did to Little Bird.” Sandor told you as he offered you his hand. You took it and he got next to you. You leaned against him putting your head against his chest. Jon saw you relax the moment you got next to Sandor, he began to rub your back.  

Sandor and Jon shared a look, a mutual understanding that your anger is the key to transform. Sandor was trying to calm you down and it worked. 

“The Lannister too.” Jon wrinkled his nose at you. 

“Y/n, we can’t do this now. We are at a war. Those wights will end us if we don’t all work together. I have told you we need Cersei and her army.” 

“You think she’s gonna help you?” You asked.

 “She has too.” 

“She won’t.” You snapped back.

“We can not start another war. You will be sent to Winterfell. Sandor is coming with me back to King's Landing.” 

“Like hell he is!” You shouted. 

“There is a bounty on his head. I’m not letting you take him back to that shit city. Cersei will never let him go. I will go with you.” 

“If you go and she kidnaps you?” Sandor asked, looking down at you. 

“We need to be smart, Y/n. She won’t do anything stupid because the last living Targaryen with dragons is coming along.” 

“I’m not letting you go alone.” You said firmly looking up at him. “I will not be apart from you. I have to keep an eye on you, what if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen.” Sandor answered you. He didn’t let the stinging rejection feeling hit him hard when you pushed yourself away from him as you shook your head. 

“I’m going with your brother. He needs me.”

“Y/n. It’s final. You are going back to Winterfell. Beric and Thoros had offered to take you back. It will be safer.” You were about to refuse. 

“How long do you think people will know about your abilities?” Jon asked. 

“Word has spread around the Night Watch. You will be a target for many people.” 

“He’s right.” Sandor said softly. 

“Sandor.” You beg him. “You know, I can help. Please.” 

“I saw you dead, Y/n.” Sandor said. 

“Don’t make me go through that again. Please go to Winterfell, where it’s safe.” Sandor pleaded with you. 

--------

Sandor opened the door of your room and was met with how he left you. You haven’t moved an inch, you kept still in the brass tub near the fireplace. Locking the door behind him, he dropped the towel he brought on the table by the bed. 

“You alright?” He asked you. He let out a sigh when he was answered with silence, you were still angry. He removed his cape and draped it over the chair as he walked over to you. 

“Shoes should be ready for you tomorrow. Jon had given the measurement to the cobbler.” He grabbed a chair by the table and dragged it near the tub. He sat down on it and looked at you. You wouldn't meet his eyes. 

“You’re angry. Yell at me. Call me an ass. I don’t care but I need you to know this is best for you.” You looked over at him. 

“I thought we were together. No matter where one goes, the other follows.” You told him. 

“We are together.” Sandor said but you shook your head. 

“If we are then I need to be with you when you go to King's Landing. I should be there with you.” Sandor bites his tongue hard to not lash out. He didn’t want to lash out and create another problem. 

When he didn’t say anything, you grabbed hold on the edges of the tub and pushed yourself up. Sandor holds his hand out to help you out but you ignore it. You walked past him to the table and grabbed the towel he left.  Taking a deep breath and trying to come up with how to explain his feelings. He felt like he was back in the woods again, after finding out how jealous you were. Sandor rose up and followed you as you made your way to the bed. Sitting on the edge, you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Y/n.” You looked down at your bare feet, the hot water helped you ease the pain on your legs. Transforming has taken a toll on you. Noticing Sandor was standing in front of you, you were to get up when he quickly knelt down, spreading your legs. Kneeling between your legs he finally managed to get your attention. 

“I wasn’t with you when you died.” His confession made you look at him. 

“I was locked up because your brother questioned my intentions with you while the maesters was looking over you. I don’t blame him. He visited me in the cells and I told him how we met and about our journey getting here. When I was finally allowed to see you again. I was walking up the stairs when I heard Jon’s screams. I got up there and- an-.” Sandor begins to falter, you touched his arms when you saw his bottom lip trembled and his eyes welled up in tears. 

“You were dead. Cold and stiff. Fuck, Y/n. Never again, Y/n. I can’t go through that.” Sandor exclaimed to you. 

“I need you to go to Winterfell. Go there, see Sansa and be safe. By the time I get there, the wights would be close. We need to prepare Winterfell and its people to battle.” 

Something about seeing Sandor cry hurt you more than the blade digging into your palm and your bones cracking as you transform. Seeing this strong willed man break down over your death was so hard for you to see because you didn’t want to see him suffer. You loved him and you didn’t want him to feel that way again. 

So you nodded at him. “Ok.” You whispered, wiping the tears off his face softly, cupping his face with your hands. He let out a sigh of relief, you were going back home and you were going to safe there. 

“I’m sorry for being angry.” He shook his head at your apology. 

“No need for that. I would have gone with you but I gave my word to your brother that I would go with him.” Sandor was a man of his words, you knew that and you felt shame for thinking he wouldn’t keep his promise to your brother. 

“Little Bird needs you. More than ever now.” Sandor said as you dropped your hands on his shoulders. 

“I know.” You told him. “You’re right. It would be best if I go to Winterfell. I just- I just.” You let out a sigh and shrug your shoulders. 

“I feel like I’m going crazy, Sandor. I’m so tired.” Sandor’s eyes soften. 

“Everything hurts. Rickon is dead. Bran and Arya are probably dead too. No one was there to help Sansa and Jon bend the knee to help us with the war of the dead. I’m this creature who killed those men.” 

“Y/n. I must tell you something.” Sandor told you nervously. 

“Tell me what?” You asked him. “I’m the reason why you are this way.” 

“What?” You asked him and Sandor was about to get up and when you grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“You died. I didn’t know what to do.” You held on to his coat. 

“Thoros couldn’t bring you back and the red priestess but she told me there was another way. A life for life.” Your eyes grew wide as Sandor explained to you as he began to touch your stomach. 

“You were with a child and it was the only way to get you back but I didn’t know you were going to turn into a creature. I swear it.” 

You placed a hand over his, he was being sincere. You can see it on his face. Beric and Thoros had spoken to you as Jon and Sandor grabbed the tub for you. They had mentioned that Sandor was on edge. They all were with this coming war, with everything that had happened. 

“I couldn’t lose you, Y/n.” You leaned down to hug Sandor tightly. Your face between his neck and shoulder. He pressed his face against your wet skin, not caring if he was getting wet. 

“I’m sorry.” You hear him mumbling to you as he holds you. 

After getting dried both of you laid on the bed, you were under the blankets while he laid on top of it. Facing each other, no words were spoken, you patted the empty space next to you and he joined you after taking his boots off and coat off.  

“I’m alive because of you.” You were the first to speak. You were the first to touch him, you touched his hand that was resting on his stomach. 

“Because of me you are this.” He said. You squeeze his hand softly. 

“Are you afraid of me?” You asked him. He shook his head. 

“Never.” 

You leaned over him immediately, kissing him. Sandor was pushed on to his back when you leaned on top of him pressing your lips against his. His hand cupped your face, pulling you closer to him as he gripped the blanket over your body. 

“I’m alive because of you, Sandor Clegane and because of our child.” You said after pulling away from his lips. Laying your head on his chest, you felt his hands on your bare back. You didn’t let Sandor see the tears roll down your face, the thought of him in pain. The thought of your unborn child dying. 

Soon after Sandor laid behind you under the covers. He had gotten up to remove his clothes, before laying back behind you. His arms wrapped around you as you faced the fireplace. One hand under the pillow beneath your head and the other holding Sandor’s hand that rested on your stomach. You kept staring at the fire, thinking about your baby. You thought you weren't pregnant during your trip to Castle Black. You thought it was stress, lack of sleep but you were wrong. Your eyes widened when you thought about your mother. 

“Sandor.” You whispered his name. You heard a sleepy hum from him. 

“I think I know why I was sick.” You heard a faint, why behind you. 

“I remember my mother told me she became very ill when she was pregnant with me. It had to be because I was with a child and without any proper medicine or rest. I just collapsed.” Sandor tense up behind you. 

“I’m sorry.” You heard Sandor say in a quavering voice making you tug on his arm tighten so he was closer to you. His front completely pressed against your back. He held you as your body shook while crying. Both of you were mourning over the loss of your child. Mourning what could have been if you survived and had the baby. 

Sandor doesn’t remember when he fell asleep but when he woke up. He felt like someone had kicked him in the head. He was sleeping on his stomach, with his head smush against the pillow. The wood was still crackling and he had the blankets on him. Sandor didn’t want to get up, he only did when he noticed he was alone in bed. 

He was about to call out your name when he stopped at the sight of you. You were sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the room facing the door. You had your arm resting on the table with the ax in your hand. You turned around when you heard Sandor call out for you. 

“What are you doing?” He saw you get up from the chair, you were wearing his tunic shirt. 

“Taking watch.” You told him and he let out a small frown. 

“Door is locked and there’s a watcher outside. No one is coming. Come.” Sandor moves the blanket for you to come lay back down with him. You looked troubled and it worried him. He waved at you to come back to bed. You looked back at the door and quickly went over to check the locks. 

Satisfy that they were lock tight, you went to bed. Sandor casts one last look at the ax on the table when you settle into bed. He looked at the door then the ax again. He kept thinking about how he woke up in the shack and saw you sleeping on the ground near the door with a knife in your hand. You were keeping guard and the words you told him in the courtyard kept running around in his head. 

 He was spooning you once more, holding you tight against him. Sandor was a southern man, he wasn’t used to the cold, especially this up in the North. Sandor realized as he drifted back to sleep that you were practically radiating with heat. This was new to him, he was always the one burning hot and keeping you warm. He made a note of all the things he noticed since you woke up. You were stronger now, your body heat was high, and your anger was getting to the point that you won't be able to control it. 

The warmth was cut short when both of you had to get up to break fast. Afterwards, Sandor had to get ready to go with Jon to King’s Landing. Sandor was finishing with the straps on Stranger when he saw you walking towards him. He grins when Stranger lets out a neigh at the sight of you. 

“Good boy.” He heard you whisper to Stranger as you patted its head. 

Sandor noticed you walking closer to him, you had reached out your hand. “In case you get hungry.” 

“Thank you.” Sandor tells you as he unwraps the bundle of cloth to see jerky. He placed it inside the bag strapped to Stranger. 

Sandor looks back at you to see you standing by with your arms crossed over your chest, with your own dark fur cape wrapped around you. He can see the new shoes on your feet. You wouldn’t look at him. Sandor heard Jon alerting the others to hurry along behind him, the gates were opening.

“Stay close with Thoros and Beric. You hear me.” Sandor tells you as he walks near you. He looks ahead and realizes why you wouldn't meet his eyes. There were a few members of the Night Watch standing by the sidelines staring at both of you. His eyes landed on an older man who had a black eye and busted bottom lip. He gives Sandor a scowl look and Sandor remembers the old man's words for mercy when he finished killing his brothers and started to beat him. 

“They think I'm going to kill you.” You tell him. Sandor looks away from the old man and looks back at you as he shakes his head. He knew if he didn't tell you sooner that you would find out eventually. Hopefully you won't be too upset, he thought to himself. 

“Bunch of idiots.” Sandor lets out a swear under his breath.  

“Goodbye.” You tell him. Sandor doesn't move at all, you frowned at him and he grabbed your arm pulling you next to him. 

“No farewell kiss?” The light pink blush on your cheeks disappeared when you looked around at the men again. 

“They will call you names for kissing me. For kissing a monster.” Sandor let out a chuckle. He had seen real monsters before the ones Beyond the Wall, the ones who hurt the innocent and the one he calls brother but you weren't one.  

“I've been called so many names. Another name isn't going to hurt me. What will hurt me is if I don't get a farewell kiss.” You gave Sandor a smile. 

Jon looked away when he saw Sandor kissing you. He let out a small smile when he looked over at Ser Davos who had his own smile. 

“They care deeply for each other.” Jon nodded at Ser Davos.

 “Aye.” Jon answered him as he got off his horse to say his farewell to you when one of the stable boys was walking out with Ghost. 

“I’ll see you soon.” Sandor’s words felt heavy on your chest. Both of you will be apart once more. You knew you were going to tear up again, so you walked away from him. 

“Ghost!” You heard Jon yelling, looking ahead you let out a smile when you saw the albino dire wolf running towards you. Kneeling down, the wolf began to lick your face. Patting its fur, you giggled loudly when he licked your ear. 

“Ghost, relax.” Jon said, making his way to you both. 

“I'm happy to see you too.” You told the wolf while scratching behind its ear. 

“Would you do me a favor?” Jon asked, you looked up at him and nodded. 

“Take him back to Winterfell for me. He should spend time with his original owner.” 

“I will. Be careful, your grace.” Jon chuckled at you as you got up. After the dining hall, Jon and you spoke privately. Jon cried in your arms when you told that father would have been proud of him. You told him you were so proud of the man he had become. King of North, Lord Commander, and friend of the Freefolk. 

“I’ll see you home, sister.”  He pulled you into a hug, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

“Home.” You repeated. You long to be home. Jon repeated it as well with a nod. He too missed home. Pulling away, Jon said goodbye to Ghost. 

“Safe travels, Lady Y/n.” Looking over your shoulder you saw Daenerys Targaryen riding towards you. 

“I look forward to speaking with you at Winterfell.” You nodded at her. 

Beric and Thoros came towards you with their own horses. “Ready?” 

“Aye.” You answered them as Jon and the rest of them started to depart. While they left Thoros made sure your horse was ready to be straddled and Beric did a final check on their supplies. You tied your cape tightly and made sure your knife was still attached to the belt you wore. Sandor has given you your weapons back before leaving. Thoros had looped the ax in the sack on your horse.

“Pardon me, M’Lady.” You were about to get up on the staddle when you heard a small child behind you.  The child was a wilding, you can tell from his clothing. You noticed a group of wildings standing behind the child. 

“Yes?” You asked, looking at the brown haired child who had rosy cheeks. 

“I wish to say safe travels to the Goddess of The Wolf. “ You had a bewildered look on your face when all of sudden the Wildings stepped into a line in front of you. One by one they all bent down to touch your feet and wished you safe travels. Thoros and Beric were amused by it. 

You were going to stop them but didn’t when you saw the face of the last person in line. It was Jon’s friend, Tormund. Jon had introduced you to him and the rest of the men who stood behind Jon. The red head wasn't afraid of you at all. You were nervous that Jon’s friends would come to hate you for what you did but they weren’t. Tormund had told people back in the East Watch about what happened Beyond the Wall. He didn't left any details out when he told everyone about your fight with the dead polar bear.

He gave you a genuine smile when it was his turn. He knelt down on one knee and pressed the tip of his fingers on your feet. “Safe travels, M’Lady.” 

“Thank you.” You told him, looking behind him. You noticed the Wildlings were waiting for something but you were unsure what to do so you bowed your head at them and they did the same. 

Beric had come down from his horse when they were done and helped you up. Thoros rode next to you as you settled on. Looking behind you, the Wildings were still watching you. You waved at the little boy, he let out a wide toothy smile and waves back, flailing his hand at you. 

“Let’s get you home.” Beric told you as the three of you rode out of the gates of the East Watch. 

Home, you smiled at the word. You were finally going back home where you belong. You couldn't wait to see it, to see Sansa and see the people again. Your mind drifted back into what Jon told you about Ramsay Bolton, you tightened the rein in your hands as you thought about that bastard. You were going to do exactly what you told Jon in the dining hall. 

Beric and Thoros were talking when they noticed you became quiet. They gave each other a concerned look when they saw a smirk on your face and your eyes had a bit of yellow shine to it. 

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

TAGLIST:

@spookymicrowave @fruitymoonbeams-blog @abbiesxox @paola-carter @theghostofshadows @swee-thea-rts @dabislut @skyofsteel

[tsunael]

part. I -> II

“It’s beautiful here.”  She commented long after the flock of long-tailed tits she entertained had deemed his sudden presence unworthy, and fluttered off home. 

She spoke of the ripe peach of a Sharlayan sunset blazing before them. The Dawn Father being laid to rest, he recalled her once saying, in which she described a tale where He died every day just to let the moon breathe, or some such other romantic notions relating to Auri duality.

He replied, “Agreed.” Although the horizon was much too far when everything and more stood right in front of him. The dropping temperature was not what brought him to her side, for lately he found an uncomfortable need to be close, positively overwhelming in its insistence.

Tsuna turned away from the burning skyline in sensing that his attention had ever been elsewhere. To his surprise, she did not shy away from his sudden proximity. There was a certain delight that a tryst could bring, he knew all too well, and he could feel her basking in the moment in her own reserved way– soaking in the privacy afforded only to them. 

She leaned on the parapet. "I'm setting off to Thavnair on the morrow. I… wanted you to know.” Tsuna finally spoke, and he wished she hadn’t. 

He frowned at the notion. Her wounds were finally healed, yes, but her orders were still to avoid strenuous exertion. Her aether still remained thin-- much like the rest of her in the past few moons.

“So soon?" He bartered. "You’ve only just been given leave.”

“I cannot stay here any longer while my father is out there,” she sighed deeply, tired. “I need to find him. I need to know he’s alive– that he’s not suffering alone.”

Her father, the proud man he had the displeasure of meeting some time after their initial arrival on Hannish soil would have been truly terrifying in his youth for how their first meeting had been. He was withered now, and moreover wounded during the deluge of Blasphemies that descended upon Thavnair. His wounds could have been mortal before they were separated, although Thancred very much doubted a man so stubborn would succumb to something so base without a fight.

Naturally, he kept those acrid thoughts to himself.

Though her tone certainly had changed, for once she would have cursed her father’s name and all he held dear, and now she would risk life and limb to find him again– having no real blood ties of his own, Thancred almost understood it. Almost.

He reached out to gently tug at her arm, and she twisted to better look at him. “I would go with you.”

Her gaze fell beneath her lashes in challenge, though her barb was dull. “Do you not think I can handle it?”

His brow raised, bemused. “Fresh from your sickbed? Not at all.”

“Gods… Please, Thancred.” Tsuna made an exasperated sound. “I won’t suffer you travelling so far for my personal matters. It will be much easier if I go alone.”

He chuffed, incredulous. 

He had gone to the bloody moon for her, to the very ends of the universe and back– attending to her during what would be a quick jaunt to Illsabard paled in comparison, he reasoned. He had made enough trips to and fro that even the aether sickness had dwindled to that of a mild headache. There was nothing stopping him, save for her pride.

“It was my hope that when I said that I would follow you anywhere... that you would believe me.”

He watched in real time as she weighed his word’s worth. The tension slowly but surely released from her shoulders, which eventually led to her concession. He could not help but lose himself when she looked at him so: a gentle smile that bloomed until her eyes creased, twinkling in gratitude. 

"You are kind," she said with an edge of defeat. She drew closer, whispering for his ears only. "Much too kind."

She drew his wry smile. "And it will be the end of me someday, I am sure."

He played the role of lover well.

So well that the lines did so often blur, just as they did when he eased fully into her space, openly caging her against the parapet in hopes of capturing some manner of kiss. It was their worst kept secret: something he knew he must cull before it grew out of both their hands, but she reached up to splay fingers on his chest, and he felt himself pull on the leash of his own longing. He moved forward to meet her, aided by her tiptoes.

“Someone might see,” she chided softly against his cheek, yet she lingered. 

He hummed in consideration, ultimately finding the notion impossible. They hid it well– in plain sight one night say– though ‘love’ did well in dulling all sense and reason whilst sharpening others. He cared not to check his corners in his eagerness to chase the electric feel of her. She craned to meet him, her breath hitching in anticipation as their lips brushed, noses touching.

“Tsuna dear, I wondered where you had wandered off to after supper." A woman’s voice sounded that did not belong to one of theirs, and he felt the rare prickle of embarrassment trail up the back of his neck.

"... It seems I had no reason to worry.” Ameliance stood before them, looking completely and utterly amused at their expense.

In hindsight, considering he had picked her balcony as the stage for his ignominy it was to be expected. Still, he had thought himself grown out of such foolishness.

Tsuna immediately pushed herself into his chest, gasping in terror, then fell to pudding in his arms once terror gave way to the hot knife of shame. 

“Gods– I’m… We weren’t– Lady Ameliance, I–”

Ameliance sidestepped Tsuna’s blathering with grace. “Never did I imagine such an adorable pair of lovebirds would deem it fit to roost.” She looked beside herself with girlish amusement. 

Thancred huffed a self-deprecating laugh in extricating himself from the fretful girl. “We were caught up in a bit of bird watching ourselves,” he began, knowing he could not fully bluff his way to innocence. “Might I say, my lady, that you are looking positively radiant this evening–”

Tsuna shot him a glowering look of disgust for his act, though it was simply comical when her face was as red as the horizon. The humiliation, however, was too much for her to bear. With a respectful bow, Tsuna stole from the balcony, falling into a staggered run to where only the Gods knew. Thancred stepped forward, thinking to give chase, but Ameliance kept him rooted by way of her hand.

“Oh dear,” she tutted. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. No, the fault lies with me, my lady.”

It seemed, however, his words once again were chosen poorly. Ameliance made a sound of distaste “My dear boy. After all these years, how many times must I ask you to simply call me by my name?”

It was his turn to feel the patronized fool. He felt himself founder, jaw wagging in vain until he could think of a clever response. No matter how many times she called him family, he could not help but shy from it. He cleared his throat, and reeled himself back in…

“Aye. Of course. Ameliance,” he opened his arms in concession, though his shoulders sagged for it.

She finally burst into laughter, entirely of his chagrin. “That's better, much better! Though you still think you can simply sweet talk your way out of everything, I see.”

“Lost my touch, you think?” 

“To lose insinuates that you had it from the beginning.”

He winced. Touché. “Then I will speak plain: my sore lapse in judgement notwithstanding, I ask only for your confidence.”

“A secret, is it?” she asked, tapping the corner of her mouth in thought. Her expression suddenly wizened, and he knew it to be the precursor to something he did not wish to hear. Finally, she cocked her head. “I see. You’ve fallen for her.” 

His eyes widened at her assumption. “No. Gods no,” he forced a laugh. “Nothing of the sort.” His unsteady gaze fell instead to the darkening skyline. It was an infatuation-- just one of many.

He could feel her silent judgement, though he did not rise to refute it. Her expression changed slowly into one of concern. “I suppose I could give you my word… however– and you must excuse me for my eavesdropping– but what was all that nonsense about leaving?”

Thancred opened his mouth to apprise her, though he wished he were not the one to parrot it. Tsuna had run off before she could explain, and he only hoped she did not pack up and leave for the Aetheryte without him whilst he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place.

“Twelve preserve. You know she is not fully well.” He was gladdened when she reached the self-same conclusion. "See to it that you tend to her."

“I will. If she were to have me... And even if she won't." He was not above tailing her from the shadows if it meant her safe return.

Ameliance hummed, making a curious sound of appraisal whilst also looking fit to spill all sorts of secrets from his past and maybe even some of her own– and he sorely hoped it was the latter.

“You know, Thancred, dear. I believe that’s called love.”

[always-outlander]

Outlander 7x04 Spoilers & Easter Eggs “A Most Uncomfortable Woman”

Lallybroch

Jemmy is older! New actors and actresses have arrived and two years have passed. They are fixing up Lallybroch and restoring the inside. My question is how are they affording all this?

The preview at the end of the opening credits shows a desk which is very important for the Bree and Roger storyline.

Jamie and Claire on the road

Why are these two SO CUTE?! These two have done a wonderful job conveying elements of their younger selves. Ian is worried about Arch Bug following him around and it is beginning to haunt him.

William!

William and his cousin are in Wilmington discussing the excitement of the looming war and their eagerness to partake. William has been assigned to a post in New York. We get a horrific fire ship scene from the books which in all honesty made me cry in the books. It’s just as horrific in the show but thankfully they made it less gruesome visually than described. This is the first scene where Williams honor is in display and he does the right thing.

Captain Richardson assigns William as a messenger through to great Dismal Swamp/Town. The names he’s instructed to deliver the notes to are Samuel Cartwright, Henry Carver, Joshua Harrington. In the books, he’s also given the name Washington (!!!). After that assignment he is to travel to New York to meet with the rest of the men. Book readers know that he has a bit of an adventure and detour before that happens, however.

While in the forest Williams horse is spooked by a snake and he falls and is injured by a stick through his arm. In the books this poor guy is constantly lost, constantly being heckled, constantly complaining. He wanders through the woods for days before he is uncovered by Ian and Rollo. The scene between Ian and William was one of my favorites of this episode, and Young Ian is easily one of my favorite characters.

While they switched up some minor details, the shows version of this encounter is still very insightful into Ian’s time with the Mohawk, and William asks him questions about the Mohawk’s thoughts on showing fear or distress. He himself is trying to be brave while injured and Ian tells him of the death song. when thinking about what he would sing, William calls himself by his full name, then at one point says ‘William James’ and you can tell Ian is having very complicated feelings about it. William James was the name Jamie had given to him as a child in Helwater, his secret papist name. I loved this detail in both the show and books. Jamie is still having an impact on him, even without him realizing it.

Book on Time Travel

Roger is writing a book on time travel for Jemmy and Mandy, documenting all they know about it. He discovers that the musket ball is gold and mull over asking Jemmy about it. Jemmy claims pixies took a clock apart and Roger and Bree know he’s lying.

Bree is interviewing for her new job at the Hydro plant with a very frustrating man who completely underestimates her abilities. This was actually a great scene for her to show off her brains. I think most people have forgotten just how smart Bree is. She gets the job but comes home to a distraught Roger who feels like he’s failing to support their family in the traditional ways. Their experience going back in time has shaken his beliefs of God, and he has felt like he is breaking his promise to Jamie and Claire to provide for her and their kids.

Jemmy continues to behave strangely and tells Roger and Bree there’s a nuckelavee in their yard. They have a discussion about his powers and his believe in magic and how to foster that while still keeping it a secret.

Wilmington

Cornelius Harnet reappears and is tied back into the war by a blackmail. He conscripts Jamie to go to Fort Ticonderoga in New York. I love the scene we get from the season preview where Jamie states that he wants to fight for his family and because he couldn’t ask for anyone else to fight in his place. Claire can provide him with the confidence that this is a war they will win.

I think Sam has been outstanding this season. He has done a great job of subtlety in his acting. Ian wants to fight for the land too, and be a part of the change for the Indians. Claire promises she will go with Jamie and provide her medical expertise.

When in Wilmington Tom plants a mighty kiss on Claire which shocks her to near silence. Tom acknowledges the fire and that her and Jamie are not dead as he believed. He admits to placing the obituary in the papers as he could not leave flowers on her grave. He calls Claire A Most Uncomfortable Woman and admits he has only loved two woman, his wife and Claire. The loving of her has led him to his salvation, but the loving of her will bring him no peace while she lives. He absolutely knocked this scene out of the park.

Tom asks if Jamie knows about his feelings towards Claire, and Claire has a very awkward conversation about his love towards her. Tom tells her how he escaped with his mind and literacy, and was employed as a secretary thanks to his ability to write. Tom also heard that Allan had left the Ridge but Claire omits to tell him the truth of that matter.

Jamie & Claire

I have to crack up over Jamie and Claire discussing the kiss and Tom’s love for her. This scene was great at providing a moment for them to reconnect, while also adding some humor. The moment between them in the window was adorable. They also touch upon her hair turning white, coming into her full power one day, and have so many call backs to previous seasons. I loved them bantering over her sticking her with needles and the two of them having jealousy over others. There’s also a mention of Laoghaire, whom we know we will see again later this season when Jamie and Claire make it to Scotland.

The Hunters

We finally set eyes on Denzel and Rachel Hunter, who Ian delivers William to and they attempt to save Williams arm. William stating he’d rather die than amputate his arm was a parallel to Jamie wanting to die rather than remove his leg. They do not have to amputate but William ends up passing out at the idea of it.

Ian and Rachel have their first scene together and I can immediately see how she’s interested in learning more about Ian. They have chemistry which was very important. He asks Rachel to give William some money and keep the rosary beads.

Likewise you can immediately tell that William has a crush on Rachel. He attempts very much to flirt with her and Rachel for her part does entertain it. William has healed and Rachel tells William that Denny is choosing the side of Independence. They have essentially lost their place in their family and will now ride to Fort Ticonderoga on suggestion of a Samuel Cartwright whom William Carrie’s a letter for. William intends to go with them and we end the episode with Jamie and Claire’s arrival to Fort Ticonderoga. In the books this took them months to get to, so once again the storyline is being condensed greatly. In one episode they went from Wilmington to New York.

Preview of Episode 5

Jamie becomes more involved in the fight (very reminiscent of him at the table informing Charles Stuart before Colloden). A preview of the fort when it comes under attack. We got a snippet of Ian when he returns and sees Rachel again, and in the future, Bree begins her job at the plant.

Final Thoughts

The beginning of this episode I’m finding that the editing is at times clunky, and once again the speed in which we go through these scenes feels like they are just checking them off for the sake of it. For jamie and Claire to begin this episode in Wilmington and end it in New York is incredibly fast. Bree and Roger have aged up children, so that’s a large expanse of time the viewer has to adjust to. It’s a necessary evil of course (the books truly go on forever), but definitely something I notice each new episode that passes.

I love Charles’s take on William thus far, he’s far more likable than book William, and once again… JOHN BELL! He’s the stand out for me.

[psychospore]

Mothers Know Best

Popping in for a fluffy fic 💕 Hope you enjoy

Check out my Masterlist

0o0o0

Loki was so proud to show you around Asgard. It's been a few years being away, staying in Midgard that coming back here feels nostalgic to him. He was beaming the whole time he described the architecture of the place, plant and animal life that were non-existent in Midgard and the exquisite view of nature, visible miles away from where you were standing.

You were invited by Loki to visit here after Frigga's incessant requests through Thor. You were the only Midgardian that Loki seems to be interested in and Frigga thinks he fancies you more than just a friend. Of course, you were in denial.

He is a handsome god, a smart and powerful one too - it would be far-fetched to think he'd fall in love with some mere mortal whose only redeeming asset is being able to break down Loki's tough exterior and be able to talk to him heart to heart.

Of course, in Loki's perspective, you were more than that. You were his light when he lost all hope, you found him worthy of friendship, love and company when the whole world spurned him. He does hope you find it in your heart to see that.

You were with Loki as you walk side by side to his mother's garden for an afternoon tea with some young ladies in the kingdom as you wait for the queen to join you. Unlike billowing dresses similar to what those girls were wearing, you pleaded to wear something more comfortable, more you.

You ended up wearing Loki's clothes when he was a bit younger - green and gold and black colors adorning you, tunic and pants and high boots. You tied your hair to a high ponytail and fixed your horn-rimmed glasses as you walked.

You don't want to look underdressed in the presence of Frigga but can't find it in your heart to be pretentious in front of her, not like you were wanting any favor from here anyway. She did want you to feel comfortable when she invited you.

As you close in, the girls started to gaggle and hound around Loki. One even pushed you away so they could get closer to the god. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but that didn't want you to confront any of them. Maybe Loki fancies one of them and you just don't want to get in the way so you take it to yourself to step back.

You noticed Loki though starting to feel uncomfortable with the unwanted attention and the constant touches. It was a bit unusual given Loki's flirtatious nature but you knew you had to do something. Maybe it was concern, or maybe it was the pang of jealousy growing in you.

You tried to call the ladies' attention but they ignored you despite your protests to give Loki some space. You've had enough of the scene unfolding in front of you.

You yanked back the hair of the lady in front of Loki, making her slump into the soft grass underneath with a soft thud which surprised Loki. You stretched one arm towards Loki's nape, securing your hold with your hand and pulled Loki to lean on you. You stared at him for a split second before pulling him in for a deep and passionate kiss which made the ladies gasped and stepped back around him.

With one arm he held your lower back as he pulled you back closer to him. He pulled back his lips to stare into you and gasp for some air before he locked his lips against yours again, tongues intertwining. With his free hand, he caressed your cheeks. Your heart was pounding like crazy, so does Loki.

You broke your kiss when he heard a familiar voice. "Should we postpone our afternoon tea? It seems like I'm interrupting you two lovebirds" Frigga grinned as she walked towards you, ladies-in-waiting promptly following behind.

Your ears and face went beet-red with embarrassment. It was your first meeting and you were sure you just made a total fool of yourself. Frigga invited you here for a reason, not to find you snogging with his son in the open.

"I'm sorry, your majesty. It was inappropriate for you to find us like that, it was my fault." You curtly bowed down from where you were standing.

"Mother..." Loki gave a quick bow, feeling surprised about what happened but he internally admits that he liked what you just did. Claiming you in front of those pesky ladies. Maybe there was a chance that you liked him despite your previous interactions - avoiding those topics and such.

"Nonsense dear, please raise your head. I am Frigga, Loki's mother and I am glad that you're finally here with us," she beamed, walking closer to you.

You raised your head to see the beautiful woman in front of you took you into a warm hug. You hugged her back, she smelled like fresh flowers in spring, and you wanted to bury yourself in her embrace but she lets you go so she could speak with you more.

"I'm y/n... Your majesty" you mumbled, giving her a quick bow.

"please, enough with the formalities. Call me mother from now on," she spoke excitedly.

"yes yo.. mother.." you looked confused and you looked at Loki.. also looking equally confused.

"well, Thor has been talking about you a lot when he comes to visit. I'm so excited to meet the beautiful woman that Loki has been madly in love with. Thor told me you just needed a teeny tiny nudge. I invited you here to maybe help you realize and I guess my plan worked."

You were embarrassed that you played right into Frigga's plans but Loki assured you he was with you when he held your hand tightly.

"I am perfectly capable of confessing my love for y/n mother, I guess my big oaf of a brother tattled way too much this time." Loki firmly responded.

She gently tapped Loki's cheek, "I'm sure you are my son, I'm sorry that I just couldn't help it. It's great meeting you, y/n. I wish you could visit here and bring Loki more often. You both look perfect together," she smiled shifting her gaze to you.

"It's my greatest pleasure meeting you too... Mother" you meekly responded, still blushing.

"I guess I'll leave you two here for now. I'll see you both during dinner" she smiled as she took everyone with her back to the palace.

When everyone cleared out, Loki took the time to face you, holding both of your hands together. "I'm sorry that happened y/n, this was not my intention in bringing you here. But I stand by my word from earlier, I have been in love with you for some time now, and I want to know if you feel the same for me too"

"yes, Loki..." you hesitated for a bit "I've liked you too but I wasn't too sure if you'd like me back given my... mediocrity. You are constantly surrounded by beautiful people and I already feel lucky just being your friend"

"but darling, you are everything but mediocre. You've shown me that someone as unlovable, as irredeemable as me is worthy of love. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me,"

Before you could answer, Loki took you in another soft and sincere kiss - witnessed by the dusking sky of Asgard. A testament of his devotion to you, and you to him.

[stealerofthe2ndbraincell]

what are your top 5 in9 episode endings?

Oooh I loved thinking about this, thank you! It was great re-examining these episodes specifically through that lens.

Honourable mentions to The Last Weekend and Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room. With the former I'd feel like I was repeating myself a bit.

5. The Bones of St. Nicholas

When making this list, this was tied with BCDR but I feel like TBOSN is incredibly underrated so I thought I might as well.

With the frequent flashes back to different "Warning's" Jasper was given in regards to his fate, this episode could have easily felt like it was spoon feeding details to you. Imo it avoids that completely.

I really like the decision to not make whatever supernatural force is involved explicit in nature or even that malevolent. Granted the motorbike accident with Posy and Jasper's hanging still happens, but the narrative doesn't seem to paint them as a result of evil intent.

We as the audience get to see exactly how Jasper ended up in that situation and, although his actions to reach St. Nicholas' jawbone were quite extreme, it still feels understandable how Jasper never picked up on those clues even when they're in your face - similar to the audience. He's realising what's going on at the same time as the audience.

I think this ending does an excellent job at using those flashbacks to give the audience just the right amount of information without forcing it down your throat and removing the mystery entirely.

Finally, the last bit of Jasper hanging from the tower as the other shoe drops (>:) ) was superb.

4. To Have And To Hold

The concluding shot of Adrian in chains reaching for the pot noodle is fully seared into my mind.

This isn't an ending I would call that positive, considering the surrounding circumstances and context. For example, Agnes telling Harriet that she should have left Adrian to die and reminding her of how long her torture went on for at the hands of him really reflects how not happy of an ending it is. Things are definitely better, but Adrian is still present. That uncomfortable air never vanishes.

However, it is an ending that is incredibly satisfying regardless. I think a lot of it has to do with Nicola Walker's excellent performance and that chilling recollection of the marriage vows she does before the final revelation of what has become of Adrian.

3. Mr. King

Describing it as the "ending" is pushing it a bit as the whole reveal actually takes up the last 7 minutes of a 29 minute episode, but I do really love how this one ends so I'm taking some liberty with that. lol

I love the Wickerman-esque ritual so much.

This ending makes sure to take what it's doing seriously, because otherwise it would be at risk of not matching the menacing atmosphere it contains. For example, the reveal that the criteria Alan had matched for this was having good dick and being "uncut and still sheathed" would be easy to take as ridiculous if the scene did not take it as seriously as it did - with that doll being stuffed down his trousers really driving that home.

The costume design for this ending twist is absolutely incredible. The children's masks still manage to remain intimidating within the context of the ritual sacrifice even though they are clearly made from arts and crafts materials children that age would realistically use. Winnie's entire "Mother Womb" outfit is genuinely horrifying and I'm mildly surprised they were able to get away with that in front of the child actors cause that would give me nightmares at that age. Finally, Alan's "Mr. King" mask used in the ending is so excellently made with tons of little details that I love: the little eye slits where all you get to see of his face is truly how terrified Alan is in that moment, the crown and facial hair being made seemingly from wheat to tie his sacrifice even closer to the incoming harvest etc etc.

This whole ending blends the two concepts of childish and intimidating really well where it doesn't feel suddenly dissimilar to how children talk and behave but remains so chilling and distressing throughout. Poor Alan wow.

2. The Stakeout

I love myself some vampires, what can I say more than that?

This ending contains probably my favourite twist of the whole series and reveals it in a kind of similar manner to TBOSN and achieves it's goal in a similar way - Varney's reveal of him listing down different vampire tropes that apply to him that have been scattered through the episode feels both in line with how the episode discusses tropes and never feels like it's spoon-feeding information to the audience. It also doesn't give up all the tropes seen within the episode. Just 5 that most people, and Thommo, would recognise.

The sudden shift in characterisation of Varney doesn't feel too far gone personality wise to what we've seen so far and yet he's suddenly so much intimidating.

This is even before he goes absolutely HAM on Thompson's neck. That entire feeding bit is so good. Varney feeding on Thompson is a little too long and a little too detailed for it not to discomfort the audience a bit and I love that.

(Btw it's described as very "homoerotic" in the official Inside Inside No 9 podcast, so take that as you will. I have an entire thing in my head that I could write up about how queer this entire episode is but that's unrelated and a bit rambly lmao)

That final bit with Dobson is also superb. For as little screentime as he has, Malik Ibheis as Dobson is such a great physical actor. There is that immediate impression of Dobson's absolute feral nature at this point which is done very well.

And it all feeds back to the beginning little monologue again! Love that.

1. Wise Owl

God I adore this episode.

And I especially love this ending. It's an instant tear jerker, I love it, I love Ronnie. 5 stars no notes. <333

That final sequence in the whole 70's PSA format as Ronnie grows, whilst Wise Owl is yelling the same insults desperately and pathetically is so impactful and also so different to the rest of the series in my opinion.

(Also with it keeping that style on the "Get Stuffed" final line makes it seem like Ronnie isn't even looking at his father/Wise Owl when he says it, which is perfect to me.)

In9 isn't exactly a stranger to more positive endings or an ending where a hateable individual is punished by the narrative, but Wise Owl feels a step apart, it truly feels hopeful in a way I can't say the other endings have.

I still think this episode would be really good if it had gone with a more messed up ending as I think the episode forebodes a bit, however I believe that final confrontation and the final animated sequence really makes Wise Owl as incredible as it is.

[wreckmetoji]

Angel Eyes, Cold Heart

A fic in which your local priest face the music after sleeping with your local priest

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, religious guilt, alcoholism(mild), smoking, blood, angst, mentions of sex

This is a purely self-indulgent fic. Please note that even though this is a reader insert, this isn’t my usual vague reader insert. This reader is heavily based off of me and my own experiences. If the idea of any of these content warnings make you uncomfortable or are off putting, I suggest checking out a different fic. Smut will be in Pt. 2

minors DNI

A continuation of Reach Out and Touch Faith. Part 1/2

6.5k words

"Jesus Appears to Two Disciples at Emmaus. Now that same day two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had occurred."

Hands clasped together, fingers interlocked and balled hands held in front of your mouth, you stared with furrowed brows as the priest stood at his pulpit, reading from his bible in a low, calm tone. Really, you should have been more conscientious of your outwardly uncomfortable demeanor, but you were far too tied up in the movement of his lips, the sway of his hand, the peek of his canines when he smiled a particular way, to care about your outward appearance. Taking a deep breath, you leaned forwards, elbows resting on your knees as you hung your head in a more than conspicuous manner, interlaced fists pressed firmly to the line of your mouth.

"And what is more, this is the third day since all of this took place.Some women from our group have now given us astounding news. They went to the tomb early this morning,but they failed to find his body. When they returned, they told us that they had seen a vision of angels who reported that he was alive."

It had been two and a half weeks since your... tryst, with Priest Nicholas D. Wolfwood, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't avoiding him after the fact. Much to your surprise, he'd been quite tender after your romp, leading you to believe there might potentially be something more in store for you. The following Sunday proved you wrong, he was no more or less friendly, but upon trying to talk to him privately, he simply removed your hand from his shoulder and gave you that disingenuous smile, stating he needed to tend to other matters. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you tried to let it roll off your back, he's a priest, what did you expect?

Having to face the repercussions of your reckless actions wasn't exactly your style, much preferring to turn tail and run than look your mistakes in the face. And what a glorious fucking blunder this one was, truly taking the cake for poor decisions you had consciously made in your many years of living. You felt a hand on your upper back, no doubt belonging to your more than clueless mother. You hoped she couldn't feel how damp your skin was underneath your button-down due to nerves. Surely she just thought you were so moved by the specific citations priest Wolfwood had chosen the past two Sundays. She didn't seem to question your inability to make it to your regularly scheduled after-work confessions, using the guise of picking up extra hours to help out your coworkers. Realistically, that time was spent at the local dive with your face in one hand, drinks carelessly nursed in the other. You couldn't tell her that though, she might beat you for it.

"They set out immediately and returned to Jerusalem, where they found gathered together the Eleven and their companions who were saying, 'The Lord has truly been raised, and he has appeared to Simon!'Then the two described what had happened on their journey and how he had made himself known to them in the breaking of the bread."

 Turning your wrist, the face of your watch lit up, showing you the time. Relief washed over you, hands shaking as your mother muttered something about you being too eager to leave so suddenly. Taking another deep breath, you whispered a disingenuous apology, eyes glancing up through your lashes to the priest stepping away from his pulpit. Much to your dismay, he seemed to already have been watching you, catching your gaze only briefly. Eyes shooting back down to your feet, you felt your ears heat up, wondering how many sins you must have committed in your previous life to be subjected to this fate. 

 "Luke 24 is one of the most beloved accounts of the resurrection of Jesus," His voice was getting a louder, low chatter being had through the rows of pews, "It also relates the broken bread in communion to the way God works in our lives."

 Gaze staying fixated on the floor, you clenched your hands over your knees, knuckles turning a lighter shade of white with every clack of shoes against the floor getting closer and closer. The words he was speaking didn't even register to you anymore, not with every nerve on end, not with how much of a visceral effort it was to not vomit right there and then. Your stomach churned when you saw the peek of poorly polished, scuffed shoes in the corner of your vision, followed by hushed silence in the room. You didn't want to look up to see Wolfwood, you didn't want to look up to see every eye on you, you didn't want to face the music and realize you had to act like you were fine being the center of attention in a room full of people. Daring a glance up, you saw his furrowed brows, eyes looking into you just a little too deeply for your liking. Your fight or flight kicked in, pushing yourself up from your seat and past the man blocking the exit of your row.

 Your mom reached out for you, whispering out a very clearly concerned, "Honey-" 

 "Gonna puke," Is all you said, perhaps a bit too loud, as you rushed down the aisle and pushed through the massive double doors. 

 After you managed to scurry down the church steps, not without tripping over yourself once or twice on the way, you walked across the parking lot, running your hands through your hair nervously, exhaling a deep sigh. Patting down your pant pockets, you pulled out a nearly empty carton of cigarettes, shaking one loose and placing it between your lips. You fumbled with the lighter, sparking it once, twice, three times, before losing your composure and letting out a frustrated shout, overhanding the piece of colorful plastic across the gravel park with all your frustrated might.

 "Fuck!" You shouted again, snatching the cigarette from your mouth and turning on your heel to make your way to the car, nearly bumping into the broad figure that once again blocked your path. 

 "Didn't know you smoked," Wolfwood remarked, lips formed into a firm line. Clearly he wasn't amused. "Need a light?"

 "I don't." A bold faced lie, considering he had caught you in the act. "And no, I'm fine, Father. Thanks."

 Once again pushing to get around him, this time a hand on your exposed forearm held you in place. Glancing back when he called your name, you couldn't hide the distress on your face, refusing to look up at his eyes. He said something, something that you didn't hear, something you're sure was impertinent to your current stressors and life problems, so instead of listening you yanked your arm away, running your hands through your hair again to smooth it out. 

 "I'll see you next Sunday, Father." 

 Not giving him another chance, you walked off, deciding that waiting out the rest of church in a café for your mom to finish or cabbing home would be better than being near him for another second. You were scared about what he was going to say, what he was going to do, sure it would ruin both of your reputations, but you'd be damned if you stuck around to see what would come of it. Sure, he had run you a shower, sure, he had cooked dinner- shockingly well, but that's besides the point-, and sure, he had treated you with more respect and aftercare than most of your regrettable flings, but he was a priest and obviously that lead to some kind of guilt, or regret, or something. That completely negates any and all feelings that might have bloomed in the pit of your stomach thinking about what could potentially come out of that relationship, because there was no relationship. He was probably just doing it all to shut you up so you didn't blab, or maybe he had worse ulterior motives. He seemed sleazy, maybe he was just trying to get dirt so he could blackmail you.

 But if that were the case, wouldn't have your confessions been enough ammo for him?

 Sulking over your cup of coffee you had absentmindedly ordered, and admittedly didn't even want, you leaned back in the café chair, glancing out the window and across the street at the church doors, awaiting the emergence of your fellow Sunday goers. Part of you felt bad, maybe even a little guilty, putting your mom in a situation where she most likely had to apologize on your behalf, but you knew you'd get an earful for it the second you spoke with her again. You weren't sure if steeling yourself for that talk would prevent you from getting audibly frustrated though, so to avoid an immediate fight, you cabbed home, ignoring the barrage of texts and calls from your mom, dad, and close relatives. God knows this wouldn't be the first time you've disappeared on your family, and it probably won't be the last. 

 Since this wasn't your first rodeo, you ended up leaving an hour early for work every day to avoid unexpected morning guests, coming back at ungodly hours to avoid the beater coupe you knew was inevitably to be waiting for you in the drive if you got home any time before eleven at night. What else to do but spend your time at the local dive bar, specifically the dive bar because there was no chance in Hell any of your family, or their church-happy friends would set foot in there. Sometimes you came with coworkers, sometimes with friends, sometimes by yourself. It was all the same for you anyways, a distraction, something to occupy yourself with instead of coming face to face with the glaring issue that you were a coward unable to handle the conflicts and positions you put yourself in. 

 "Really, it's not that funny!" Your friend boasted, laughter erupting from the few bodies around the table, shaking you out of your thoughts. You let out a small, forced chuckle, cheeks heating at the fact you had completely missed the topic of conversation by being far too stuck in your head and feeling bad for yourself. Maybe the exhaustion of the past week had finally caught up with you. 

 "Be right back," You announced to no one in particular, not that anyone noticed anyways, pushing back from the table and making your way out the side door. Normally you would announce a smoke break, expecting the gaggle of people to join in for nothing if not the social aspect, but you had a feeling it would suffocate you right now. 

 A ding in your pocket got your attention as you sparked up a cigarette, pulling your phone out and staring at the unregistered number in your phone. It was hard to read, blinking a couple times to focus your doubling vision. 

 [unknown]: You didn't come to church today. You okay?

 Scrunching your nose, you glance up at the bold clock on your front screen, the small "Sun" sitting underneath making you groan. Fuck, it was Sunday. And you missed church. And you haven't spoken to your mother in a week, because you had blocked her number. She was going to fucking kill you once she managed to get her hands on you. But that begged the question, who was trying to talk to you about going to church? You were more than certain no one that actually went to church was savvy enough with technology to know how to text, and the kids were too young to have phones in the first place. 

 [you]: Sorry yeah, who's this?

 Thank God for auto correct, you muttered around your cigarette, clearly too tipsy to write out a legible sentence without help. You watched the message immediately come up as read, humming as you leaned back against the brick building, waiting for their response. Those three dots bounced, and bounced some more, before they disappeared. Furrowing your brows, you went to type out another text, before a call screen popped up. It was the same number, and considering they were trying to hound you about not attending your regular Sunday Service you were apprehensive to answer. Clearly, your alcohol riddled brain was much too curious to be put off by the potential of getting into a screaming match over the phone with whatever relative decided to contact the Family Disappointment. 

 "Hello? Who is this?" You muttered, pinching your half burned cigarette between your index and middle finger, removing it from your mouth so you could speak properly.

 "Where are you? Are you okay?" The deep voice behind the receiver sounded vaguely familiar, but your brain was lagging too far behind to recall where you remembered hearing it. 

 "That's not how you play twenty-one questions," You mused, taking a drag from your cigarette, scrunching your nose and looking up when a droplet of water hit your nose, "I asked first."

 "I'm not playing a game here, your mom has been worried sick-"

 "Jesus fucking Christ, who is this? I can promise you, she isn't worried-"

 "She has been in this church every fuckin' day, praying for you and cryin' her damn eyes out, and you don't think she's worried?" The growl into the receiver had your breath catching in your throat, the slow patter of rain increasing in intensity.

 "Nicholas?" You whispered, standing up straight and wobbling on your feet. "How the fuck did you get my number?"

 "I didn't- look, she gave it to me hoping I could talk some sense into you-"

 Throwing your burnt out cigarette to the ground, you felt anger bubble up from the deepest pit of your gut. "Right. Got it. Well I hate to tell you this, but you're gonna have to tell her mission failed," You scoffed, opening up the side door to step inside. Immediately upon doing so, the blaring music from the jukebox in the corner assaulted your eardrums. "Sorry you don't get to be the big hero today, Mister Preacher Man."

 Vaguely registering the call of your name before you thumbed the hang up button, swiping your phone screen to clear off the stray raindrops and block contact, you entered the bar again. Your hair was damp, the shoulders on your button-down a darker hue than the rest of your shirt. Muttering out a quiet fucking Christ, you shook your head, shoving your phone back in your pocket as you approached your table. Rounding the corner, you paused mid-step, staring at the empty chairs and stray empty glasses. Fucking assholes. Whatever, it wasn't like this was your first time drinking alone in this place. With how regularly you were coming by you were sure the recently posted AA Meeting poster up by the bathrooms must have been targeted at you, or at the very least a subtle jab. 

 Taking a seat at the bar, you settled your previous tab, resting your elbow on the counter and rubbing your hand over your face, then combing it back through your hair, messing up the damp tresses to stick out and point in every direction. The music paused as the jukebox plucked out a record, allowing you a moment of peace to sit and listen to the patter of rain on the window behind the bar. Once the next record began to play, you steeled yourself, patting your hands against the bar in a small beat and ordering your next drink. You wouldn't let your mother, or that fucking priest, get to you. It was about time you put your foot down and stopped bending over backwards to partake in that stupid culty shit anyways. Your thoughts were interrupted by the slide of a glass in your direction, which you accepted with a small nod of appreciation, nursing it between your hands for a quick moment before tipping it back.

 It was a Sunday, it was a work night, you were a responsible adult with a responsible adult job and responsible adult obligations. Which is why you were groaning into your hands as the room spun, having had maybe one or... six too many drinks. Really, you had lost count, the only record of how much you drank would be the negative numbers in your bank account screaming at you when you checked in the morning. Another problem you would simply put off for the time being, not wanting to look at the glaringly obvious issues you were causing yourself. It was fine, everything would be fine. Tilting your wrist to look at the time on your watch, you muttered a quiet fuck, not seeming to realize you'd gotten to the point you couldn't even read a digital clock. You let out a pathetic, inquisitive sound when another glass was slid in your direction- when did you even order this? Regardless, you shrugged to yourself, moving to wrap a hand around the drink, before it was snatched up from in front of you. An offended noise left your lips, in the middle of making an accusatory remark as you glanced at the person beside you stealing your drink.

 Maybe it was the fact you were heavily intoxicated, or maybe it was the fact you had never seen him in semi-casual clothes that didn't resemble post-sex pajamas, but you found yourself having to blink dumbly for a beat or two before scrunching your face in irritation at the scornful look you were receiving. Admittedly he looked good, the top three buttons of his grey shirt undone, his black jacket hanging heavy and wet on his shoulders. His hair was just as soaked, more wet than you thought should be appropriate, considering the walk from the parking lot to the front door was a matter of seconds if you were in a rush to get out of the rain.

 "The fuck are you doing here?" You slurred, running your hand over your face for the umpteenth time that evening, hoping it would help sober you up enough to engage in this conversation.

 "How much have you had to drink?" Wolfwood asked, nodding at the bartender and tossing some cash on the counter. All you did was scoff and roll your eyes.

 "You're really bad at this game," You stated matter-of-factly, earning a questioning raise of his brow. After letting him sit on it for a moment, you rolled your eyes, tapping a hand against the wooden counter. "Twenty-one questions," You elaborated, earning a sigh from the taller man that made you grin. 

 He didn't say anything, tipping back the drink and finishing it in one go. It was probably because you were drunk, but watching him tilt his head back, exposing the column of his throat had you biting at the inside of your cheek. "Alright, let's go," He slammed the glass back on the counter, placing an arm around you, hand settling on your waist as he heaved you off your barstool. You protested, or at least tried to, until you were tumbling into his side, and suddenly the idea of getting yourself home seemed like an impossible feat. "You're a hot mess, kid. Is this what you've been doing all week?" 

 "Mmm, more or less," You didn't have the energy to fight with him about the infantilizing term of endearment, or his jab, simply leaning your head on his arm as the room spun around you, offering you respite for only seconds before everything began to move again. As if to make matters worse, the second you walked through the front doors with him, a heavy onslaught of rain immediately dampened your hair and clothes again, thick droplets soaking you to the core and running down your face as Wolfwood helped you walk your way to the parking lot around the building. Every time you tripped, you laughed, the less than amused grumble your dark-haired savior emitted making you laugh even harder. What should have been a thirty second walk turned into a five minute struggle, eventually resulting in you being leaned up against a bright red four-door. You stuck your lip out, snickering as he fiddled with the keys and opened the door for you.

 "Red doesn't seem like your color," You teased, resting your head on the car with a dull thud. Wolfwood pried the door open, holding it with his knee as he reached for you, guiding you into the passenger seat. His palms were warm, scorching your skin through your freezing cold, wet clothes. A shiver ran up your spine as you plunked down in your seat, throwing your head back and gazing up at him dumbly.

 "Ain't my car," He stated, reaching over your body and buckling you in. He smelled like sandalwood and cigarettes, the scent alone reminding you of your rendezvous in the confessional. You groaned, more to yourself than anything, as he pulled back and slammed the door shut behind him. You slumped in the seat, hands coming up to your soaked shirt and peeling it away from your body slightly, only to have it stick right back when you let go. The car jiggled as Wolfwood climbed in the drivers site, making you sway with the motion. He buckled himself in, sticking the key in the ignition, turning the engine over. You glanced over at him, lazily eyeing him up and down, making note of the tight clench of the muscles in his jaw and the white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. When he turned to shoulder check, he met your eyes, caught in your half lidded stare. Too out of your mind to even try salvaging what little of your dignity you had left, or make an excuse, all you did was grin, fingers plucking away the wet shirt from your body once again. 

 "What's your address?" Wolfwood spoke evenly, calm, but there was an irritated lilt at the end that made you drunkenly snicker at him.

 "Ohhh, why do you want my address you weirdo? Gonna sneak in while I'm sleeping and f-"

 "It's so I can bring you home," Wolfwood interrupted, turning his gaze away as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Don't be an idiot."

 "Jussayin', you seem the type," You quipped, leaning your head up against the glass window, watching the rain trails scatter and jump as the car sped up. "Not like I would mind."

 "You- Christ, give me your damn address."

 "Oh, you're going to Hell now! Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain! Bad priest," You tutted, wagging your finger at him in jest as you slid in your seat around a turn, your head bobbing and body swaying with every small movement. 

 "Fine," Wolfwood grumbled, turning his grip on the wheel and speeding the car up, "Have it your way." 

 An indignant noise meant to mock him left your throat, forgetting why you were even bickering in the first place. The drive was short, much shorter than you anticipated it would be, but you chalked it up to possibly not remembering half the ride. Squinting your eyes as he put the car in park, you glanced around at the surrounding street lights, not finding your immediate area as familiar as you should. God, how fucked up were you? Wolfwood shut off the car, hopping out and slamming his door shut behind him. Trying your best to track him with your eyes in the rear view mirror, you watched him loop the car, coming around to your side and yanking the door open. You'd like to say the act itself gave off that he was irritated, but really you couldn't tell, or care. For just a moment, he stood holding the door open, staring down at you as you lolled your head back, grinning defiantly at him. He was soaked, hair dripping and button-down clinging to his torso.

 "Fuckin' ridiculous," He muttered, leaning down and over you, unbuckling your seatbelt.

 It was probably because you were drunk, or at least that's the excuse you would use if you were interrogated about it, but the smell of him paired with the proximity was making you lightheaded and nauseous. You were agitated, agitated by him showing up unannounced, agitated by him stealing your drink, and agitated that he seemed to so easily let go of him fucking you stupid on his living room couch. You were annoyed, so annoyed that you couldn't help but curl a fist into the collar of his shirt, couldn't help but tug him down to your level and clash your lips into his with nettled irritation that definitely didn't translate properly into your actions, if the warm hand on your waist was to speak any truths. To your surprise, he met your fervor, quickly turning your boldness around on you as he pushed into you, the back of your skull hitting the headrest as your mouth was pried open with his tongue. Just as quickly as the kiss had started, it ended, him being the first to jolt back and peer down at you with a conflicted gaze. 

 "Jesus Christ," Wolfwood shook his head, wrapping a hand around your bicep and helping you out of the car. You wish you weren't vividly aware of the disappointment practically dripping off of him.

 Before you could quip some smartass comment about The Lord, he was throwing his jacket over your head and slamming the car door behind you. The arm around your shoulders holding you against him kept you steady despite the uneven gravel ground, the urgency in which he rushed you across the park and up a set of concrete stairs probably more for his own sake than yours, considering you were (mostly) shielded from the onslaught of unforgiving weather conditions. A hand came up, grasping the collar of the jacket thrown over your head and pulling up so you could watch where he was taking you to, presumably, dump your body. Upon seeing the massive wooden doors and stained glass windows only moderately illuminated by a faint orange flickering light inside, you dug your heels into the ground, trying and obviously failing to redirect the route in which Wolfwood was dragging you. Instead, you toppled over, tripping over yourself and colliding face-first into the hardwood door in front of you. You weren't able to register the frantic curse that came from the man beside you, too busy slapping a hand over your nose and mouth as you slid down to your knees, only removing your hand briefly to see the blood pooling into your palm.

 "What the f- shit, are you okay? What was that?" Wolfwood scrambled, crouching next to you, a hand hovering over your back, the other hesitating beside the forearm belonging to the hand firmly clasped over your face. All you could do was stare at the ground as your surroundings spun, watching rivulets of red drop and disperse, diluting on the wet ground below. "Hey, kid-"

 "Don't," You said firmly into your palm, taking your hand away and swaying back, his black jacket falling off your shoulders and onto the ground as you looked up, pinching the bridge of your aching nose to stop the bleeding. 

 "I can't," You confessed after a moment or two, eyes scrunching closed, "I can't go back in there, Nick." The name felt distant, given that you hadn't called him anything but Father in nearly a month.

 "The hell are you talking about?"

 "You and I both know you're not that stupid," You tilted your head, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, blood leaking down your chin and dripping into your mouth as you spoke. The copper taste was bitter, but did a fantastic job at sobering you up some. Or, maybe it was the throbbing pain in your face and ache in your chest, it was hard to tell at this point. "I think it's better for both of us if you stopped pretending to care so much when no one is watching."

 All he did was stare, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line for a beat or two, before his hands were grabbing under your arms and scooping you up from the ground. You let him, any fight you could've put up long gone once tears began to sting your eyes, from the physical or emotional aspect you weren't quite certain. Once he got you standing, he snatched up his sopping jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and wrapping an arm firmly around your waist, pushing open one of the double doors and ushering you through. The arm around your waist, his rushed steps, the twists and turns down the halls you had only seen once before gave you deja vu, a wall of nausea hitting you like a ton of bricks as he helped you through the door to his living quarters. You followed wordlessly after he closed the door behind him, dragging you in the direction of his bathroom, before he was unceremoniously dropping you down to sit on the edge of the tub.

 The silence was deafening, your ears ringing after every small noise as he rummaged about in the wall mounted mirror cabinet. Snatching out a couple packages and a roll of medical tape, Wolfwood turned to you, crouching before you as he dropped the supplies he'd gathered on the toilet lid beside him. You watched with your eyes, body unmoving, offering him a quick glance.

 "'S not very sanitary," You teased, but it was devoid of any wit or good-natured ridicule your tone usually held when taking jabs at him. He noticed this, continuing to say nothing as he gripped your jaw in the palm of his hand, turning your head to one side, then the other, as he examined your nose. This gave you ample time to gauge his expression, and even with your alcohol riddled mind, you could see the tension in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, could see the slight downturn of his lips as he ripped open a paper package, lining the thin cotton material up at the bridge of your nose, ripping a piece of medical tape from the roll with his teeth to set the gauze in place. 

 "Isn't broken, you're lucky," Wolfwood finally spoke up, balling up a thick wad of cotton and dousing it with saline, wiping up the blood from your nose, lips, and chin. His hands were surprisingly gentle, only making you wince when he secured the gauze with a second piece of tape to ensure it wasn't going anywhere. "Might be an ugly bruise though."

 Tossing the used materials in the tiny garbage, he heaved a sigh, resting the palms of his hands on his thighs as he leaned side to side, inspecting his handiwork for a moment. You sat in uncomfortable silence, the chill of your soaking wet clothes making goosebumps erupt on your skin as you suppressed a shiver. Wolfwood stood, stepping out of the room and leaving you to sit with your own thoughts which was never a good thing, your eyes falling to the floor as you brought a hand up, wiping the heel of your palm down the side of your face. The quiet slap of your hand hitting your sopping wet pant leg echoed through the tiled room, not a second later your equally- if not more- drenched companion was emerging from the hall, the same pants and shirt that he had let you borrow last time in hand. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the fact he kept them in the opaque white plastic bag you returned them in, "donation" scribbled in crude sharpie on the side.

 He dropped the bag onto the toilet lid, turning and leaving the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. You waited, fingers gripping the edge of the tub like your life depended on it when he paused just before the door shut. 

 "You got it backwards," Wolfwood spoke low, hand twisting the door knob in his grip, "I don't pretend to care when people aren't around. I pretend I don't care when people are around."

 You were certain nothing good would come out of you mulling over that thought for too long, so you distracted yourself with getting changed, putting your disgustingly wet clothes in the plastic bag you previously brought his clothes in. Snatching up one of the towels hanging beside the shower, you toweled off your hair, tousling it a bit before smoothing it out with your fingers. At least now it was only damp instead of completely saturated. Scooping your phone up from the counter and being met with nothing but a black screen, you grumbled lowly, carelessly letting it clatter back into it's previous position and pulling open the door. Surprised to see a freshly changed Wolfwood on the other side, arms crossed and leaned back against the wall, cigarette hanging from his lips, you blinked up at him. Much as he had done before, he nudged his head to point down the hall, before setting off, leading you just a few doors down to a bedroom, his bedroom, you presumed. 

 Not surprisingly, the space more reflected the life of a bachelor more so than a priest, clothes strewn about beside a basket as if he couldn't be bothered to properly place them inside, a couple empty scotch glasses on the nightstand. If it wasn't for the massive intricate stained glass window directly behind the bed you would have thought it was just an average older house, the white walls with the occasional wood panel running up the wall giving no particular out of the ordinary or holy aura. You tried and failed to not pay attention to the more dubious items on the opposite nightstand, consisting of a half-empty bottle of lube and scrunched up tissues, quickly averting your eyes as he cleared his throat and nudged past you to tidy up a bit. Unsure what to do with yourself, you shoved your hands in your pockets, shifting your weight from side to side and staring up at the ceiling until he was giving you a verbal cue that you could welcome yourself into the space.

 "Don't have a guest room," Wolfwood tossed the bit of garbage he had collected into a small plastic waste bin, words muffled around his cigarette, "Got plenty of rooms, just not another bed. You can take mine tonight."

 Swallowing at the implication, you dared a glance in his direction as you spoke, watching him pluck up some clothes from the floor. "I can take the couch. I have to wake up early anyways, so..." The thought in itself gave you a headache, getting up stupid early so you could cab home and get changed and get yourself to work when it was already an ungodly hour and you were still tipsy. "Honestly I should probably go home-"

 "Stay."

 You blinked, watching him stand to his full height again, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way his gaze seemed to harden upon making eye contact made you nervous, like somehow he was managing to look right through you and your excuses, giving no room to weasel your way out of your present position. Throwing his clothes in the hamper, Wolfwood stood in place, mimicking your position and crossing his arms, the cherry on his cigarette burning dangerously low to the filter, ash falling off and onto the hardwood below. "You'll stay for the night, I'll get you to work in the morning. Got it?" His tone was firm, and all you could do was stare and nod, earning a similar response in return. "Alright, good."

 After holding eye contact for maybe a couple moments too long, he looked away from you, not meeting your eye again even as he walked past you. Watching his hand raise, hover above your shoulder, before falling back to his side, eyes tailing him as he walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving you to yourself and your thoughts again.

 Unsure what to do with your mind or body, you took a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest and tucking your hands into your underarms, staring at the floor in front of you. Finally gathering the courage, you shuffled forwards, climbing onto the bed and laying your head down on what was possibly the least comfortable pillow you'd ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. Discomfort was quickly set aside when all you could smell was him, and suddenly you were chastising yourself for being foolish enough to think you could have willed yourself into having any other reaction that wasn't reddened, ruddy cheeks and a half-hard cock jumping in your borrowed sweats. Not when you were surrounded by him, not when you closed your eyes all you could see was the way he fucked into your throat, or how he bit into your neck, or how he gripped your hips so hard he left round shaped bruises that perfectly matched the pads of his fingers. It was like you could still feel the hand gripping your jaw, the fingers pushing into your mouth, and the warm press of his chest against your arched back.

 Throwing a hand over your eyes, you grit your teeth, palming over the growing tent in your pants and emitting a low, quiet whine, and instantly you knew what you could do wouldn't be nearly enough, not when your alcohol addled mind was showing you nothing but lewd imagery of the man just a room or two over, memories playing relentlessly like a movie behind your eyelids. Heaving a sigh, you slapped your arm down onto the bed, pushing yourself up and onto your feet, and carrying yourself out of the room. You didn't care that you flung the door open so hard it banged against the wall, the loud noise echoing off the tacky ornate cross-ridden walls and bouncing off ridiculously high ceilings, didn't care that as you came down the hall it looked like Wolfwood was already comfy and getting ready to sleep, didn't care that as you approached he asked you what you were doing. All you cared about was the flex of his forearms as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, throwing your leg over his lap to straddle him, and crushing your lips into his in a desperate, messy kiss. All you cared about was the hand weaving through your hair, settling on the back of your head, and the tongue pushing into your lips begging for more.

 Religion was a mess, people justifying discourse and hate as the word of God. But, you were just as messy, so maybe God, and Wolfwood, could eventually forgive you for fucking up your life just a little bit more.

[tumblingxelian]

felt like explaining more on my "the SentiKids are hybrids" theory! Keep in mind, it’s just how I see it, but I hope it at least sounds interesting! Would love to hear your thoughts!

So, I think most people are at least a little uncomfortable with the idea that many Sentimonsters are Sapient beings that Ladybug is basically killing. I personally also feel like just "creating life" like that makes the whole thing feel . . . best word I have is "cheap". Sentimonsters, to me, should read more as advanced AI, or maybe programmed toys, which sounds a bit demeaning, but that might be kind of the point? No, maybe puppets is better. They should feel like reflections of real things, but not real themselves, if that makes sense? But I also feel that them eventually BECOMING real people shouldn’t be impossible. Like, it should take either a LOT of time, or immense amounts of power, but Sentimonsters are made from human emotions, I feel like the building blocks for having them be real should be there.

Jumping to the SentiKids for a minute, the way I see it working, is you could absolutely create a "kid" with the Peacock, but it wouldn’t really act like an actual child. More like a highly advanced doll, like the ones they market to little girls, that can "eat", "poop", and "cry". Plus, you'd have to be really particular, unless you wanted them to be a child forever. One thing I headcanon, is Sentimonsters don't "grow" in the conventional sense. They are created as is, so a Senti-baby, even if they eventually become a person, would kind of be stuck in a child form. And, of course, that's not what Emilie or the others want. They want actual kids.

So, the way I see it, they kind of cheat the system a little. They don't use the Peacock to wholesale make children, but to fertilize an egg, making a fetus. The Peacock magic is sort of used as a power source, to "power" the process of making a kid, which they don’t have to think about too hard. I mean, besides the act of conception, once you're pregnant, your body kind of just . . . gets on with it, with little to no input from you. And I have no idea what kind of fertility issues were making it so that Emilie & Amelie (&Tomoe, if she didn’t just want in for other reasons) decided that magic was the way to go, but let's say that the Peacock can kind of . . . fill in those gaps, and it works very similarly to how conception works. So, the SentiKids are less straight up Sentimonsters, and more hybrids. They are born as human babies, they grow up and act like humans, cause they basically ARE human, their moms just used magic to power them as apposed to relying on biology. (I hope this is making sense)

But, the kids are still technically part Sentimonster, so they are effected in similar ways. If you are holding their Amoks, you can give them orders, but rather than seeing it as programming, I see it more like Ella Enchanted (if you've read that book). The kids HAVE to obey, but they can find loopholes if they know what to look for, and with enough strength of will, they can resist the orders all together, although it’s VERY hard, and unlike Ella, resisting hard enough doesn’t "break the spell" because the Amoks are PART of the kids, in a way Ella's "gift" wasn’t ever a part of her. The best way I've found to describe the kids themselves, would be sort of like Steven Universe, where the Amoks are analogous to Steven's Gem. The Amoks are tied to their life forces, and damaging them hurts the kids. Somewhat conversely, they also mean that as long as the Amoks are okay, the Kids can survive just about anything that might kill a regular human, the Amoks supplying energy to keep their bodies alive long enough to heal.

Anyway, the end result I see is that the kids can't "become" real. They ARE real, real people, real humans, their origin is just a little different. The Amok thing, either the kids have to keep a hold of their Amoks at all times, or find a way to "absorb" them into themselves, so they are no longer separate from them, meaning their existence becomes closer to that of "regular" humans.

Aaaaaand, that’s all I got right now, so, tell me what you think!

I love hearing thoughts and theories!!

I complete agree, I have an exchange with @princess-of-the-corner regarding the revised butterfly and one of the big things we agreed on was that all Sentimonsters being alive default feels way too easy and rather messy given the murder. Plus I don't feel it really add much to most of them conceptually when many are essentially just tools or magically generated guard dogs.

That is an interesting spin regarding the live doll angle, kudos there!

(Low key, if and when I do roll with Senti!Kagami I just have it be that Tomoe was like, "I want to magically bio-engineer my kid to be able t do all the things, maximum potential, can fulfill any role, the ideal heir" and it never went beyond that. motive wise.)

But yeah I think that is a good way to square the circle and if I had kept my revised Peaock of Evocation & Emotion, I'd have done the same thing.

Mhm I think that angle works really well for the Amoks, kudos there! Though I do tend to think the angle of them being able to survive anything doesn't work as well with the hybrid angle. I think if anything it should be more a case of like... So long as their body remains alive & the Amok un-damaged they can eventually heal from any damage.

IE, unlike most humans who stop healing after a point and scar, they don't. Which also means Kagami has to keep re-developing her calluses which sucks XD

Anyway very interesting stuff and yeah I can see the logic of wanting to absorb them or keep them safe.

Thanks for sharing!

@rachelsshowerthoughts

[magnoliabutters]

• FEELING EVERYTHING •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: so what kas saved your life?! it’s not like you owe him everything…

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon divergence, enemies to lovers trope, season 4 spoilers, previous parts mentioned; sexy angst, slight suicidal ideation, manipulation, child abuse (previous trauma mentioned), toxic ass kas, sexual advances tied with a misunderstanding, hot and cold dynamics, dwugs, depression, grief, anxiety (panic), y/n count: 3, etc.

word count: ~8.9k

reblogs, comments, & thoughts are appreciated 🦇

• stories of eddie munson series • season two • previous part •

note: as always, thank you for the patience! we're almost coming to a close y'all! in this part, i tried to challenge myself to focus more on describing the visuals and the scene. let me know your thoughts! i cannot wait to read your reactions!

note to the note: my partner, who was so kind to beta-read, found an inconsistency around the border of vecna’s “new world.” you may or may not catch it. i just wanna share i am aware, and i am upset haha unfortunately caught it too late 🥲

The dried grass is rough against your shins. A sea of plains ahead that curl into waves with each blow of the wind. The orange streaked sky, a beautiful sight, now a daunting reminder to find shelter before the night. You wish you could have been here any other time. The gorgeous way the sunlight trickles onto the glossy leaves of the trees. The way the sun feels against your skin. The air just cold enough that the warmth of its rays feel nostalgic. 

Eddie would have loved this. The opportunity to find civilization, as though it was some challenging quest. He would have compared it to some battle his Dungeons and Dragons character led the party into. His arms stretched out as he passionately tells the tale of how they won the fight with only a sliver of a chance. A heroic and miraculous story that only he could tell correctly. 

He always told stories in a way that made you feel as though you were actually there, feeling each and every emotion. All the ups and downs. He had you clinging to the edge of your seat, clinging onto every word no matter the topic. Your heart warms at the thought of that beautiful mouth speaking a million words a second as he excitedly shares a story. God, how you wish you could see him again. 

The uncomfortable scratching of the heavy grass continues to remind you that an oversized t-shirt and panties is not the ideal hiking gear. Not that you exactly had a choice. You struggle to step through the field, stumbling along with your arms held out wide for balance.

“You look like a bird,” Kas scoffs as his thick leather boots crunch against the yellow waves of the pasture. His bare chest still littered with pink scratches. He carelessly plows through the tall grass. Your eyes instinctually roll, leaving another muffled chuckle to drop from his lips. Your hands gradually fall to your side as embarrassment seeps into your pores. 

“Do you even know where we’re going?” he mutters as he swats away a horse fly. Your annoyance levels have been seriously dampened with the recent events. Kas’ constant “are we there yet” attitude is not helping in the slightest. “I figure if we keep heading north, we’ll get to the highway and,” you bite your lip, tensing your brow as you point over the vast hill. “Um, we’ll just hitchhike.” You shrug, looking back at him with a weakly confident expression. His face deadpanned as he stares back at you with lack lustered eyes. 

“Hitchhike?” Kas asks with a monotone. “Yeah,” you grumble in hesitancy. “Doesn’t everyone in a fifty mile radius of Hawkins think I am some satanic serial killer?” he inquires with the side of his lip pulled as he stares at you in judgment. Your eyes fall as you realize your mistake. “Well, um, let’s just find the highway first and figure out what to do from there,” you utter as you push through another bundle of grass. “Okay,” he says in a sing-songy voice as he walks off in front of you. 

This is your life now. You try your best not to compare between the two - knowing that would cause you nothing but pain, but it’s hard. It’s so hard to know what you had and what you have lost, and what you have now. A small part of you wishes you had nothing at all.

With great love, comes great vulnerability and despair. You find yourself wondering if it was worth it. If loving Eddie was worth the pain of losing him. Of having his complete opposite inhabit his body and parade the fact that he is no longer the love of your life. In fact, he punishes you for thinking that, as if you could resist the urge. The agony you feel, both physical and emotional, almost pushes you off the edge. The question of “is it worth it?” echoes through your mind. 

Kas looks ahead of the pairing. He notes a break in the clear pasture and sees a tree line. His eyes discern its distance, noting that it is a rather thin tree line. Suddenly, he sees motion rushing by behind the trunks. The only vehicles he is used to were filled with and destroyed by Vecna’s blackened veins, but he still identifies the motion as cars. Excitement fills his chest as he hurriedly turns around with a finger pointing at the tree line. 

But when he turns, his smile disappears. He watches as your eyes are glued to the ground. Your face is solemn. The edges of your beautiful lips turned downward as your hair covers your face. The excitement immediately shifts to worry as he takes a step towards you. His hand slowly moves to your gaze, interrupting your thoughts. 

As your head innocently raises towards him, Kas shoots you a comforting smile. His hands, both naturally and hesitantly, flow to the sides of your arms. You decide to shoot him a weak grin as you appreciate what he is trying so hard to do. And with that, Kas pulls you in - deeply pressured against his chest as his arms wrap around your upper back. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers against your ear. His chin finding a place upon the top of your shoulder. Such a familiar feeling, Eddie’s embrace, and yet you have another reminder of his lost presence. You want him so badly. You wish he could be here. That his true self was holding you, comforting you. Your hands fall upon the base of his spine, pulling him tightly into you. Abruptly, the sobs fall from your lips as you push yourself deeper against the warmth of his skin. 

Kas knows you are hurting - who wouldn’t be after what you have been through? The thing is he wasn’t sure exactly how much pain filled your saddened soul, but once he heard those sobs - he knew. It is gut wrenching to feel your body heave against his. The pain is so much worse than the sensation of your nails digging against his skin. His hands smooth out your back as he attempts to comfort your contorting body. 

Finally, you feel it. You feel everything you have pushed deep within yourself since you heard of Eddie’s passing. The pain. The anguish. The betrayal. The threat of death. The fear of death - an actual impending death - no longer one in the far off future. You lost the love of your life. 

Eddie is dead. 

And your heart has felt empty since your realization of this. Your knees give out and both you and Kas fall to the floor. Kneeling beside each other and still stuck in a beautiful embrace. 

As tears stream down your face, Kas pulls away slightly to look at you. His brows push together as his thumb traces against your cheeks. “Sh, sh, sh,” he whispers as one of his hands caresses the back of your head. He pulls you gently and closer to his chest. His chin now resting against your hairline. 

Abruptly, you pull away, sniffling as you do. You are confident you look a hot mess but you don’t care, not even a little. You wipe your nose as your eyes darken before him. He stares at you in confusion and worry. His body aching for your touch. 

“You said you saved me,” you start slowly, attempting to push down the sobs that climb your throat. “That you would have never killed me.” Kas nods with curiosity as your eyes raise to his. “I-I want to talk about something and I don’t want to hear shit about it,” you spit out harshly. However, your expression immediately returns to the vulnerable girl that Kas has grown to love. It leaves a hint of a smile on his face.

“What would you like to talk about?” he asks softly. With a deep sigh, you mumble, “I want to talk about Eddie.” Kas winces at the name, something you immediately notice. Another physical pain shoots through your chest as you prepare your body for his rejection. He takes a deep breath, placing his palms to his knees as he slowly nods with eyes to the ground beneath you both.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. Your heart fills with joy, enough to completely disregard his body language. Soft sobs follow your laughter. Your hand pushes the tears away from your cheeks as he slowly raises his head. “He was beautiful,” you choke out whimpers with an ambiguous smile to your face. “He is easily the best person I have ever met,” you laugh out weakly.

A small, tight smile forms on Kas’ face as his hand slides behind your head once again. He pulls you into the side of his neck. His other hand collapsing around your crying body. “At first, I had no idea how he could be so confident and silly,” a smile emerges on your face as he wipes another round of tears from your cheeks. 

“Do you remember any of his rants in the cafeteria?” you ask excitedly. Your inexperience with vulnerability attempting to make the conversation less one-sided. The smile on his face slowly grows as a low hum of a chuckle riffles in his throat. He slowly nods as his grip tightens at your waist. "I remember one distinctly about how the cafeteria stopped giving out corn on the cob," he answers.

In the midst of a laugh, you pull back to look at his face. “What else do you remember?” you ask, placing a hand to his chest. Tears now well in your eyes, as opposed to flowing down your cheeks. Kas takes a deep breath, following the press of his tongue against the back of his front teeth. 

The silence flattens your grin. You lean backwards to pull your thighs and legs from his knees. The tightness and excitement in his chest persists as Kas remembers how his words impact you. How your smile grows any time he shares a memory. How his heart flutters at the sound of your giggle. 

He winces, disgusted with the warm, cuddley shit that Eddie’s more accustomed to. And yet, here he is - desperate to put a smile on your incredible face. A part of him wonders if you were manipulating him. Show him a grin and he is a puddle between your thighs. He hates the hold you have over him. How your happiness makes his undead heart beat. 

Kas wonders if he will ever have autonomy, or if he will continue to be a slave for others as long as his mystical life will allow. His body craves for yours, pushing his mind to find a way back to caressing your soft skin. He sorts through the hazy fog and recollected memories. 

With a huff, he shares, “I remember the day you made Mac n Cheese.” He lightly taps his fingers against his thighs as he adjusts to sit cross legged. His eyes were down, but he could see you beaming off-center of his gaze. 

“We were with, um,” he hesitates as he looks up. His hands quickly move around, gesturing as he speaks. “Wayne,” the name pops out eagerly from your sweet lips. An encouraging nod to follow. “Wayne, yeah,” Kas agrees slowly, pretending as though he did not know exactly who his uncle, Wayne Edward Munson, was. 

“He liked you,” Kas says, lifting his brow as a smirk appears on his cheek. You laugh to yourself, feeling a warmth in your chest. “You know, Eddie - I mean - he told me that but I still wasn’t sure,” you end with a chuckle. His eyes lift to yours - those button eyes comparable to your childhood teddy bear. They always left happiness ringing through your body. 

He shakes his head. “No, darlin’,” he starts. “There’s no world where you wouldn’t be on anyone’s good side.” With a slight chuckle, he adds, “Hell, I kept pushing you away and I couldn’t stay hating you.” You bite your lip, trying to hide the largest smile since you last kissed Eddie. “I am pretty loveable, aren’t I?” you ask sheepishly. With his tongue stuck to his canine, he lets out a deep sigh paired with a smile. “Yeah,” he says slyly and with a shrug. “I guess that’s true.”

Your eyes flow towards the sky, noting the bright stars twinkling above. The joy you feel is addicting. Something incomparable to the last few days. You dare not disturb it. And yet...

“There was something about your family,” Kas starts with a furrowed brow. A memory floods his brain, something he did not account for. “It was complicated. You had so many locks, to be safe - to feel safe.” Your smile dropped, but he had not noticed. His eyes pull straight, narrowing as he attempts to grab hold of this memory. 

“They hurt you,” Kas lets out as a sigh, as though the realization was just then. “Why didn’t he do anything about it?” he asks in an accusatory tone. His nostrils flare as his chest rises and his back straightens. He places his sights on you. Your hands push together, sliding between your thighs. Eyes resting upon them as the sadness sinks in your heart.

“Eddie, you just don’t understand,” you say as you harshly push the tear from your cheek. “No, baby, I understand completely. What do you think my dad did to me before Wayne ran him off?” Eddie whisper yells as he points up the stairs. “They can’t keep doing this to you!” The fire fueling in his stomach is the same firing his clenched fists. How dare they hurt you? How dare anyone lay a finger on you?

“Please, Eddie, please just stop,” you mumble in between cries. Your hand pulling at his arm, creating distance between him and the stairs. Eddie could see your eyes were fixated on your bedroom door. “No, y/n,” he says abruptly. His stance fixed and firm. His eyes unrecognizable.

Eddie pulls his arm from your grasp, causing you to take a step back. But quickly, he grabs hold of your forearm. His fingers squeezing against your skin as he tugs you closer to him. His other hand lightly lands next to the assorted bruises you had up and down your arm. Gently, he raises your arm to show the purple splotches thrown against your ribs that were hidden by your shirt. He expected the surprise on your face, as he knew you thought he only saw the marks on your arm. 

“Y/n, there is no way in hell that this is okay,” Eddie says through grinding teeth. Heavied breaths fall from his flared nostrils as he looks up at the stairway again. “Eddie,” you say weakly as tears run rampant down your face. “Please, you’re hurting me,” you share as you lightly push at his hardened grip. 

Eddie quickly turns around with horror on his face as his eyes are met with the dark pink imprints of his fingers upon your skin. He stumbles back with his hand placed against his chest. “I-I I’m sorry,” he starts as he backs into a support beam. A small cough exists between you two as he clears his throat. His eyes watering as his chin glues stuck against his chest. 

“Baby,” you crumble before him. Your hand leading your body as it lands softly against his cheek. His hand collapsing over yours. Your other rests against his sternum. “Eddie, baby, you didn’t mean it...” 

Kas snaps his eyes towards you. Abruptly, he pulls himself from the memory, having seen everything he needed to see. His brows push together as his upper lip slightly pulls. “He hit you?” he asks with shock thick in his intonation. A hand reaches out to your knee. 

“Excuse me?” you pull away disgusted. You cannot help but stand and look down at him. “I just,” you chuckle in disbelief, giving up further with each breath you take. Your hands gesturing with a shrug. “I wanted to be happy, remember the times when life was actually good, for once.” A scoff falls, and you shake your head. “It’s like you want me to be in pain - to suffer along with you.” Eyes looking off into the night sky, desperate to go back to that happiness. But it does not come. 

Kas pulls his hand away, landing it softly against his lap. A white hot flash spreading between his nostrils and eyes. He meant to make you happy, but he remembered something. He pursued it, like he figured you would want him to. But maybe not this memory. Are there bad memories between the lovebirds? 

Like a switch, his anger kicks in. An undeniable defense mechanism that he will continue to deny. “And what pain am I in, darlin’?” he scoffs. Your eyes flick up, searching for some sign of dismay in his. You find absolutely none. “God, just never mind,” you throw your head as you continue forward, brushing the thought off to hide yourself from more pain. 

“No, no, no, little lady,” Kas laughs as he grabs your forearm, pulling you backwards. “We’re still talking.” The whiplash of his grip twists your body into his. His other hand quickly falls at the base of your back as he pulls you onto him. “Let go of me, asshole,” you demand brutally as you push against him. He laughs as he lets you stumble back. An ache begins to ring in your wrist. 

“You want to talk, Kas, fine,” you yell at him, pushing your palms harshly against his bare chest. His stumble back is met with another condescending chuckle. “Eddie never hurt me.” You can feel your entire face tensing up. Every muscle, even those you didn’t even know you had.

“Don’t forget, I was there,” Kas mocks, pointing a finger to his temple. “You weren’t there,” you spit out. “Those are Eddie’s.” He laughs, leaning over and holding his stomach. He takes a deep breath and in a combustion of sarcasm and genuineness, he softly says, “Eddie’s not here anymore.” 

Now, it is your turn to scoff. “And you just love reminding me,” you say, shame-filled. He chuckles, his head swaying side to side as he settles into his suave stance. Confident, boisterous, annoying.

“You do understand though, right?” you ask with confidence. He adjusts immediately detecting that he now has a contender in front of him, as opposed to a weak girl. “Eddie never hurt me,” you say softly. “You, on the other hand, you’ve hurt me every second since I met you,” you end with a hiss. 

Kas’ lips fall into a line. His eyes raking over your facial features, processing those sinful words. You watch, pleased with his response. You soak in the pain displayed exclusively on his face without regret. “What was that again?” you exaggerate thinking with a finger bouncing off your chin. “What pain are you in, darlin’? This kind,” you end with disgust as you point him up and down. 

He continues to stare at you with widening eyes. His face blank now, as though all the blood drained from it. “Let’s just keep going,” you suggest. The moral compass in your head is wavering. You walk forward, noting his lack of movement.

“Do you remember anything else about that night?” Kas calls out blankly. You turn around to face him, expecting sarcasm but seeing absolutely nothing in those dark brown eyes. “I do,” you whisper.

“Will you tell me?” he asks with his head down as he takes a step towards you. A part of you hesitates, wondering if this is just another trick of his. But you wanted to reminisce on memories. Here is your chance. “Sure,” you say in a lackluster tone. He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“It was just another regular day. Eddie came over after DND, like usual,” you shake your head as you attempt to remember. “My dad was a dick that day so Eds had to meet me at the back door.” Your eyes close as you continue, “I snuck him in and we went to my room and we were just talking about our days on my bed eating pizza.” You smile. “When we were laying down, I guess my shirt rolled up and he saw the bruises from earlier that day."

You laugh aloud, quickly pinning your mouth closed and hiding a smile. “He is the most stubborn person I know,” you share, forgetting who you were sharing with. “He wouldn’t let it go. He needed to know where the bruises were from and to see more.”

You stop immediately when you feel hot at your tear ducts. You quickly decide to keep a memory of love between you and Eddie. Another smile emerging as you acknowledge the realization that that was the moment you knew, without a doubt, Eddie Munson loved you. That he was the only person who loved you enough to care about your safety. 

“I fucking caved, as usual,” you giggle. “And when I showed him, he got pissed. I’ve never seen him more mad. I saw this fire in his eyes, I saw…” your brain stops working. Your brows crunch together as your eyes fall to the floor, processing the new information. 

After some time, you look up to Kas, who has been watching you continually. “I saw you in-in his eyes,” you say in awe. Kas’ flattened lips slowly flicker into a smirk.

You knew Kas? You saw him in Eddie, and you did not run. He existed before Eddie died. You know it to be true. He was there, and he was loved … by you. 

Quickly, you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the thought. You would not dare disrespect Eddie by comparing him in any way to Kas. “Uh, he wanted to beat up my dad for hurting me. I had to talk him down,” you say plainly. “He was feeling all those emotions so he-he just squeezed my arm,” you reenact the movement. “But when I told him to stop, it was like he realized he was hurting me and acted like he had control of it, like he should’ve known better.” 

Your eyes fall on Kas’ once again. “He did not hurt me on purpose. He would never hurt me on purpose. And that is what you should remember,” you say clearly.

But Kas will not remember that distinction. He has better things to think about. “Just as long as you remember that you saw me that night,” he says with a chuckle. “God, you’re so damn good at making everything about you,” you throw out with a hand to your hip. “Oh yeah? 'Cause I thought it was all about you later that night?” he asks with bouncing brows. Your eyes darkened. “You remember,” you reply flatly. 

“Yes, baby, I remember that night,” Kas smirks as he takes another step, like a lion stalking it's prey. “I remember when he laid you on the bed. How he traced his fingers up your leg,” he says softly as he attempts to do the same. You pull back in disgust, unsure of where this is coming from. He looks at you daringly.

“You liked it when he did it,” he huffs. “Well, what about when he kissed your neck.” He steps forward once more, hooking his arm around your waist and pressing your torso against his chest. Frankly, you were completely done with his manhandling. His lips fall upon your skin like unwanted tickles. Your elbow rests against his chest as you press your weight upon it. But this time, he did not pull away. He continues on.

“Oh, not that?” Kas asks amusingly, clearly not understanding the situation. His hands slowly trickle down your sides and to the front of your waist. “What about when he unbuttoned your pants-” “No, Kas!”  you yell, pushing with all your force. He stumbles backwards with arms held out wide. His face both concerned and surprised. "No," you repeat sternly.

“I thought we were…” he trails off, slowly understanding exactly what he was doing. “No, Kas, we weren’t,”  you say roughly. “Fuck, man! Why the hell would you even think that?” You push the hair from your face as you await his explanation. Kas’ held out hands slowly raise to a defensive position. “I-l I didn’t mean for any of that, we just, uh, we fight and then we,” he stutters. Wide, watering eyes. Stumbling his words as he continues to step back.

You could see him. Just like that night. Just like when he hurt you accidentally. His remorse. His horror of what he has done. You could see Eddie again. 

“Thank you for backing off,” you whisper. You look up to Kas as he sucks his tongue against his gums, pushing tears back into his eyes. He hides his face form you’d “I’m sorry,” he says with a deep voice after a quick clearing of his throat. “Thank you,” you mutter. “Let’s just keep walking, okay?” you suggest, pushing ahead. Kas solemnly follows behind you - at a distance. 

It was stupid to stop and talk. The sun is completely gone. That road Kas thought he saw? Yeah, that was a river. A river you both had to strategically hop stones to cross. A river you fell ass first in when you slipped on a mossy stone. His bustling laughter echoing in the emptied space, and yet you trek forward. 

An odd gesture but Kas offers you his black boots. The first six times you refused, but once your feet started bleeding you decided why the hell not. They were two sizes too big and clunky things. You don’t even think Eddie would wear these, not outside of his room. But Kas? He does not have a single care in the world. 

You figured that after Vecna, normal things like dark forests would not bother you in the slightest. You were wrong. You could hear him in any brush of leaves from the wind. You could feel him when you step on unexpected rocks, attempting to navigate through the tall grass. You could see him in the shadows by the tree trunks. You could smell him in the dry air. 

A snap. 

“What was that?” you whisper quickly. Your arms are held defensively in front of your chest as though you are ready for something to jump out. Kas looks back at you and immediately rolls his eyes. “I stepped on a branch,” he laughs. You cannot fully trust your eyes, but you swear you saw adoration in his smile as opposed to the usual condescending attitude. 

You shake off the jitters, feeling prickles trace down your limbs and up your neck. “It’s cool, I’m, uh,” you say as something catches your eye on the ground. You let out a soft sigh of relief as your eyes return to his. “Yeah, I am a-okay,” you say more convincingly. You could almost convince yourself. 

Kas bites his lip, studying you as you walk past him. “Are you afraid of the dark, little girl?” he whispers in your ear as ticklish fingers prance against the skin of your sides. “Kas, stop,” you stay sternly, swatting his hands away. “Seriously, though, what do you have to worry about with me here?” he scoffs amusingly. A smile growing on his face by the second as he catches up and walks beside you. 

“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe that flayed piece of jerky back there?” you say pointing behind you as you roll your eyes. “We’re outside of where he can reach, there’s no way he could get us,” he tries to soothe with a smile, but immediately recognizes the thin line growing between your brows. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kas whispers as he gently holds your wrist. He stops you in your tracks. You suck your tongue against your teeth as you avoid eye contact at all costs. “Hey,” he repeats in a deeper tone. His hands now cupped to your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Vecna cannot get us here,” he says clearly. “No one will hurt you as long as I am around.” 

You cannot help but search for Eddie in those eyes. Just to see him one more time, but you know that will never be enough. Kas will never be enough. But his words help and you are able to take a deep breath. 

You nod, and he slowly drops his hands from your face. “Thank you,” you murmur. The word is now way too common in both of your vernaculars. Kas walks off with a smile, not turning back to look at you, not even once. 

Staring at the glow of the moon, you would guess it had to be at least 4 or 5am. Not that you would even really know what to do with that information gathered from this view. All you know is that you are getting tired, and the night sky is changing from pure darkness to a deep gray. 

“Ok, I know last time I was wrong, but I’m pretty sure that’s an intersection,” Kas mumbles as he points forward. Your head snaps, following his gaze, with widening eyes. Your palm lands softly at your forehead as you quietly scoff in disbelief. Do your eyes deceive you? A honk of an 18-wheeler confirms your wish. You turn around with hands up in excitement. He chuckles at how big your eyes have gotten. A hand covering his growing smile. 

“That’s a car, Kas, that’s a fucking car!” you scream. You rush through the trees, trying your best not to slide atop of the wet leaves. Alas, you ram your torso against the trunk of a tree in excitement as you watch the scene unfold before you. The pain is unnoticeable.

The street lights illuminate like auras against the misty fog. The wafting smell of cigarettes fleeing the convenience store. The blinding shine of headlights wrapping around the corner every few seconds. Honking, dings, spitting, ringing, a musty old muffler - finally, people.

Not once would you have ever expected the joy of finding people again, and yet here you are. You just needed a fresh look at how shitty the alternative is to know that reality is at least 1% shittier. Hope fills your chest as you take a step forward, only for Kas to pull you back. 

“What?” you bark at him, pulling your arm away. “Take a good look at yourself, darlin’. You really want to walk up to that gas station like that?” Kas says with a point as he nonchalantly leans back on a tree behind him. You look down at yourself, remembering your lack of pants, Kas’ ratty shirt and his stocky boots. You take a deep breath as you softly say, “I guess you’re right.” 

He stands up, almost immediately, which draws your attention. A smirk growing on his face. “What did you say?” he asks with a leading tone. You roll your eyes recognizing his intention. “Must not have been important if you didn’t hear it the first time,” you murmur with a grin.

Kas slowly walks towards you, making your grin beam more and more with each step. “Oh, I heard it,” he says softly as he leans in closer to you. “I just wanted to hear it again,” he whispers and pulls back. You push against his chest with a laugh, leaving him with a chuckle and a raised chin as he peers down at you. 

“Okay, Kas, if we can’t go down there, where are we going to go?” you ask sarcastically. Kas smiles, moving his head to its side. “Oh, sweet girl. I know exactly where we’re going,” he murmurs. Your face deadpans as you watch him confidently strut down the hill and next to the street. “Wait, what do you mean?” you call after him. Rushing to follow him, you slip but Kas was able to hook his arm around you before you landed against the dirt and dust. He relinquishes his hand, faster than you expected and it leaves you confused. 

“You see that street? Hudson Ave?” he asks, pointing up at the street sign. You watch him with a perplexed expression, unsure of where he was going with the conversation. “Yeah?” you answer confusingly. “I know Hudson Ave,” he shares, looking back down at you. “We’re by Lover’s Lake.”

You take a deep breath of disappointment as you wipe your palms against your face. “I thought we were closer to the school than that,” you sigh. That would mean at least another 5 to 10 miles before being able to collapse into a bed. “Sounds like we need a place to stay for the night,” he says with excitement, as though he already knew the answer. “Yeah?” you ask again with squinting eyes. 

“I know a place. It’s safe, closed off, no one’s gonna be there,” Kas adds with a bit lip and slow nodding. Your face is emotionless as you watch his encouraging eyes. “How far is it?” you ask. 

“Kas, you didn’t tell me we were breaking into the place!” you ask with a worried, hushed tone. Your back stands behind Kas’, covering him as he hunches over to pick the front door’s lock. Your eyes scanning for any sign of life as the sun begins to rise over the patch of forest.

Arms are crossed against your chest, attempting to gather as much warmth as possible. “Yeah, I don’t tell you a lot of things,” Kas whispers to himself. A tongue stuck between his lips with pressed brows as he focuses on the clicks within the lock. “Almost there,” he leads.

One click and his smirk grows to an unbearable size. He turns to you with the utmost confidence. You pull your eyes away in an attempt to avoid looking at his sweetness. “Okay, we get it. You’re a badass,” you mumble, quickly moving into a whine. “Common, it’s cold out here!”

Kas chuckles to himself, almost a hum that vibrates within his chest. You could feel it too, in your own, that leaves a spark of something familiar. You push it away, deep within your stomach, refusing to acknowledge it. 

“Alright, alright,” Kas brushes off. “I’m hurrying.” With a twist and a push, you were in. The room was dusty. The air was stagnant. Your face showed everything, all your thoughts on the place. Completely disgusted by the state of the place. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

“It’s, uh, it’s cozy,” you whisper as you take a sharp breath. Half drunken beer bottles are left piled in the sink. A bra of unknown origin rests strung against the top of the couch. A rug, if you were so kind, rests tattered and torn throughout the room. A spindle of its fabric lays beneath your foot. 

The only pristine thing in the place is a glass cabinet filled with different variations of bongs. As much as you would like to deny it, the sparkles catch your eye. A brown glassed stem filled with peace signs - you imagine it to be at least 10 years old. Another looked like the yellow smiley face that has spread across the world in the past few years - you enjoy that one. One shaped like a dark blue toilet bowl - you are not too keen on that. Lastly, a pipe with a bowl painted like R2-D2 - that might have been your favorite. 

Before you knew it, you were standing right before the glass. Admiring the collection. Kas walks behind you. A cool whisper against your neck, “Can you guess where we are?” You shudder at his breath, but a piece of you welcomed his proximity.

“A dealer,” you say matter-of-factly, as you turn to face him. “Rick’s, right?” You knew he wanted to throw you off guard. He pulls back and slowly nods as respect fills the room. Of course, a respect that did not last very long.

“Then you must’ve known that this is where he stayed,” Kas mumbles carelessly. He carefully and judgingly picks up an opened bag of Fritos with his thumb and index finger off of the coffee table. Nuggets of weed organized perfectly upon the surface. Crushed green resting within a silver grinder. 

Eddie most definitely was here. You try your best not to let it show on your face, but you wondered if this is where he radioed you. Did he sleep on that disgusting ratty couch? Was that the last place he ever slept? You make your way into the kitchen, careful not to show your haste. Opened tin cans of corn stacked in a pyramid stare back at you. His last meal? A pot is barely balanced on the stove’s burner. 

Despite the rush of emotion in your chest, you smile at the thought of him cooking. Eddie was always a mess in the kitchen. You are honestly surprised that he did not leave the gas on. Memories of burnt pancakes and hardened spaghetti fill your taste buds. 

He may not have been the best chef, but he made up for it. There is nothing like watching him and that messy bun. Flour on his face as that familiar tongue sticks out while he’s focusing. An apron somehow already covered with syrup, even though there was yet to be any pancakes. His shirt cut off at the sleeves with strings of fabric comfortably against his biceps. 

Watching him in that moment, you saw your future. A future filled with laughter and messes. Dancing in the kitchen. Finally, feeling safe - safe in his arms. Maybe he would even make you feel safe enough to give him a little one when you were both older. The world deserved another Munson, another Eddie. 

But just like the rest of your dreams, this one will never come true. Another future ripped from your grasp. A happiness you had only a taste of and will never see again. And somehow, you are supposed to be okay with that - to keep moving on. Especially now that there’s some super villain dickwad that wants you dead. 

There’s no time to stop and grieve, like you thought. Part of you wishes you could, but another is thankful. Truthfully, you are afraid of what your life would look like if you truly let yourself feel everything. Feel your loss. It would not be much of a life, not after you get your revenge. 

Take one step at a time, you remind yourself. Vecna’s death is and should always be the highest priority. How do you kill him? How do you ensure that you are the final blow? What are his weaknesses? 

“Darlin’,” Kas whispers. He has been watching you silently as you stand in the kitchen. His intention was to catch you off guard with the information of Eddie’s stay. And he did just that but yet, no enjoyment in the act. What typically brings him happiness, his fucking with you, is not hitting the spot anymore.

He now worries about you. He worries about you constantly. He hasn’t stopped since that night in the diner. If he is honest with himself, these feelings would track all the way back to the night he first saw you. 

Kas lays a careful hand against your shoulder. Your head quickly turns to look at him. A shock coursing through your body. “Let’s get washed up,” he suggests softly. You nod, but a slow smile grows upon your face. His expression turns inquisitive as a chuckle leaves his throat. “Dibs on the shower,” you scream as you rush up the stairs. He watches you run and instinctually follows just as quickly behind you. 

You both playfully bump into each other as you struggle up the narrow staircase. As you manage to get a two step advantage, Kas grabs onto your ankle. You lightly fall against the wood as he scoots past you. “Fucker!” you giggle as you run to catch up to him. Bouncing off the walls, you push against his shoulder. You gain the advantage as you burst through a door.

Immediately, you are horrified by the sight. A tossed around bedroom with bright orange carpet. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the mirrored ceiling, which then led you to the cheetah print sheets. Your lips part as your jaw hangs open.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as Kas finally catches up. A laughter erupts beside you, but you cannot pull your gaze away. “Oh yeah,” he jokes in your ear. “Reefer Rick’s got bangin’ taste.” You push him away from you with a sneer. 

Beyond the disturbing clash in colors, you see a sliding door that leads to a balcony. The wood is of a greenish tint. Ivy covers its banisters. An old copper-rusted chair rests in the middle of the panels. A heavily used bong, tinted brown with tar, rests at its very edge. 

But despite all that, the view is incredible. There is no denying it. A gray and purple fog resides just above the black water. You could actually see the sun’s rays refracting within its dense mist. Sights like these have always made you feel better. There is nothing like Mother Nature to make that debby downer within you disappear. 

“Shower’s over here,” Kas says as he leans against the threshold bathroom’s threshold with crossed arms. You smile, turning around, and walking into the room. “Didn’t think you would actually respect a dibs,” you share. Thankfully, Reefer Rick seems to have better standards for cleanliness in the shower. You are pleased with its state. “Oh, I can’t mess with the dibs gods,” he scoffs incredulously. 

After noting which knob is for hot water, you realize that Kas is still standing beside you. You turn around to him beginning to unbuckle his belt. “What are you doing?” you ask with a nervous giggle. He pops his head up from his hands. His mouth in a thin line.

“Um, getting ready for our shower,” he answers. “Our shower, huh?” you giggle. “Oh, what? I thought you liked taking showers with your men?” he says as he leans in to you. His hands drop his buckle as his belt rests open at his waist. You struggle not to draw your eyes to it. 

You quickly recover and smile. “You remember a lot more than you’re letting on, Kas,” you say under your breath. “First of all, there are no men. Only Eddie, and you’re not him, right?” you ask with a leading tone. “So, I’m going to take this shower alone.” You point towards the shower curtain behind you with a smirk. 

Kas smiles with a shrug. “I guess I’ll wait my turn,” he says lightly. “Great call,” you whisper. Almost retaliatory, he unbuttons his black jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly. Teeth digging into his bottom lip.

You try your best to keep your eyes on his, but you are clearly struggling and he knows it. He loves it. The smirk growing on his face by the second. A hint of blush to his cheeks. “I’ll just be out here, sweet girl,” he soothes. His own thumb pointing back into the bedroom as he slowly walks backwards. 

An undeniable, unstoppable grin beams across your face as you close the door. Fuck. The thin wooden barrier gives you enough space to consider the wild things rushing through your mind. How you wish you could just pull those jeans down, get on your knees, and make him forget that Vecna never existed. How you wish you could have dragged him into the shower with you. How he could make you forget that your pain even existed with those hands of his.

You need to cool down. Quickly. Dragging your palms down your face, you walk towards the shower. You turn the knob for cold water, leaving a slight bit of heat to settle in. You slowly raise your arms, attempting to take your shirt off, but the pain hit you like a truck. You wince at the feeling. Immediately, you hear Kas knocking. “You alright?” he asks. You laugh, “Yeah, Kas, I’m good.” 

It feels so damn good to take off that ratty shirt. To take off those panties. To take off his oversized combat boots. With a deep breath, you step into the shower. The rush of the freeze was shocking, yet comforting at the same time. The feel of the water splashing against your scalp and running down your temples, cheeks, and chin. 

You reach for the soap and are immediately presented with a conundrum. You debate whether or not you should rub it against your skin. You wouldn’t imagine your body being any less dirty than Rick’s bar of soap, and yet, you hesitate. With a shake of your head, you rub the soap against your hands and then lather the suds upon your body. 

Feeling the sensation against your skin, you cannot help letting in the trickling thoughts of Kas. The sensation of his hands on your body. His finger tips pressing against your aching muscles. Fixing all your pains. His palms exploring your waist, making their way up your torso and to your breasts. You think of Kas. You wanted Kas. 

As you step back, your calf bumps into a bottle that clunks onto the bottom of the shower floor. The abrupt loud noise echoes through the air. A burst of adrenaline fills your chest as you startlingly fling yourself against the tiled wall. The scuffle of your movement is heard from outside the bathroom. 

Deep breaths heave against your diaphragm as you slowly slide down to the base of the shower. Rushing cold water hits harshly against your skin. It causes your hair to glue thickly against your face. You can’t breathe. You can’t. You just can’t. 

Kas knocks once again. “Darlin’,” he calls out but you don’t answer. You can’t. You were stuck. Stuck against the ground. You could not move. If you moved, you had no idea what would happen. You were safe, barely safe in that shower. Don’t leave that spot. You can’t. You won’t. 

He slowly peeks open the door. “Y/n,” he calls out but you are silent. You hear him walk closer. You can see his shadow against the blue mildewed curtain out from your peripherals. He opens the shower curtain to see your arms wrapped around your knees. You were in a tight ball, as tight as you could manage, shuddering in the cold. 

“Shit, baby,” Kas hushes. He quickly turns the knobs, adding more warmth to the water pouring against the crown of your head. Without thinking, he hops inside the shower and crouches behind you. His arms tightening around your shoulders. “You are safe,” he whispers. “You are safe.” The words falling naturally, almost scripted.

With the added pressure, you can feel your heart rate slowing. You naturally place your hand against his forearm as he tightens his squeeze. You have not felt this in some time. Your eyes close as slow breaths enter and exit your lungs. The silence is comforting. A reminder that nothing is actually happening. Reality is currently safe. You are safe in Kas’ arms. Your body can calm, can take in the cues of relaxation in this warm shower. 

“I am safe,” you whisper as you lightly land your forehead against his forearm. “You are safe, darlin’,” he murmurs. His head laying against your shoulder. And there you both rest. You naked in his arms. Him drenched in his jeans behind you. A tightening embrace underneath a constant stream of warming water.

Dustin has never been the same since that night. He knows his friends are worried about him. That they freak every time he disappears for an hour or two. But they wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t understand why he needed to visit him. How he would talk to him, even though he wasn’t there. 

He couldn’t even manage to radio Susie back anymore. It didn’t feel right to be happy with Eddie gone. He avoided it, avoided happiness like the plague. He avoided his friends, his family, his mother. He grieves in solitude, unsure of when he will ever be done. 

Every day since, Dustin made the trek to Lover’s Lake. To that spot in the woods where Steve, Nance, Robin, and Eddie went to Watergate. It is the closest he can get to Eddie. To remembering him. To wishing he was still there.

After a few trips back and forth, Dustin could make his way there without the compass - not that the compass was that helpful anyway. He would bring his backpack filled with old DND books, some of which were filled with “Munson’s Property” in thick sharpie. Sometimes he would run his fingers over them, hoping that Eddie was there too.

He would talk about the campaigns he wished he could play with Eddie. The one’s he knew the party would have a great time with. He would reminisce about when Eddie said he was “grooming him - grooming him to become Hellfire’s president. To be the Dungeon master. To be him. 

That is all he could ever want. Well, that and Eddie being alive. 

Another day and Dustin still sits upon his stump beside the lake’s shore. Seventeen rocks still scattered across the dirtied sand. He counts them here and there, ensuring they remain the same number. That everything remains untouched, like that day. But the fog was thicker today.

He could see the purple flecks within the gray mist. He appreciated when it was foggy. It meant he didnt have to think about the gang getting attacked in the middle of the lake. It meant he didn’t have to remember watching his friends and being helpless as they all dove into the dangerous waters. How he watched two of his heroes go in the abyss and never come out. 

Sometimes Dustin wonders if he will see the canoe floating out on the water abandoned one day. Or maybe he’ll find it on the shore somewhere. Maybe there’s something on it? A piece of Eddie, something he left behind. He wanted to venture out but felt glued to this stump. Glued to looking out into the water and hoping Eddie might just come out from the fog. 

Or maybe something will come out and take him. Take him far away from all this pain. Dustin was at his lowest, and yet he could only imagine going lower. Permanent reds to his eyes as tears continue to fall. It is his new norm. A new world without his big brother, without the person he looked up to the most. 

Dustin heard a branch snap behind him. He turns, hoping it’s not Mike or Lucas trying to drag him back to the Wheeler’s, to his mom. He is surprised by the emptiness of the woods. How it reflects how he feels inside. He assumes the noise to be due to an animal. A sigh and he’s turned back around to the lake. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of something odd. His head turns to the structure to his left - Reefer Rick’s. “What a shithole,” he mumbles to himself. He places his elbows to his knees as his palms carry the weight of his chin. A light turns on, clear and bright within the fog. Enough to pull his attention back to the building.

Dustin stands with furrowed brows and a need to investigate. Cops were his first thought. Maybe they were still looking for Eddie, or maybe Rick broke out of the jail? Rick did have a tendency to do that. Although, they would always catch him seeing as he would just go home to smoke more dope.

He walks up closer, trying to get a better look, and catches a glimpse of something on the balcony. Another side step and he tries to look past the tops of the trees. There were no beams of flashlights bouncing around the windows. Maybe it wasn’t a raid. Maybe it was more of Jason’s lackeys? Still looking for Eddie, and yet - they’ll never find him. Or maybe they’re looking for Jason? They won’t find him either. 

But who Dustin saw walking out the balcony made his blood instantly run cold. He was frozen, stuck in place, with a jaw dropped and shaking hands. The person is pale with black, wet, stringy hair resting at his shoulders. A familiar stance and posture that Dustin knew all too well.

Large, healed wounds wrapping from his lower back, across his side ribs, and a bit of his front. A familiar spider tattooed across his chest. The figure had a white towel wrapped around his waist. He is looking out - looking out into the lake. Just as Dustin was. 

His heart starts pounding. In an unrecognizable world he now finds himself in, he finally sees the one he has missed so dearly. “Eddie,” falls from his lips like a whisper. As though it was a secret that was never meant to be spoken. A secret that only Dustin knows. The hope that he might be back, that maybe he never left. 

Before his mind could register, Dustin’s feet were already running around the battered house, faster than he thought possible. His bag and compass left hastily by the shore. He stumbles trying to find his footing against the worn wooden steps as his fist crashes against the front door. All the excitement pumping through his body as he hears steps grow louder behind the door. 

It opens. And Dustin feels everything. 

note: hi, katrina here. i didn’t feel like it would work in the story (timeline wise), but i wanted to share that i most def wanted eddie to go up there and beat her dad’s ass. let me know what you think, please? ♥️

next part • posting 07/15 at 5pm pst •

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• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

[agathne]

CHAPTER FOUR | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

Description: Thranduil and Legolas are transported to the past - where the late Elvenqueen was still alive - minor hiccup, she doesn't know who they are.

series masterlist | chapter three

There were no words in any tongue that could describe the humiliation that he was feeling. Alas, the King of Mirkwood was treated like a lowly criminal - his frustration couldn't help but quadruple. Where was Legolas? and was he treated with the same hostility as his father?

"Ah," Erenion breathed, entwining his palms together - to his defense, nothing would've prepared him for the situation at hand. "Tis' not too late to kill him, sire." Cirdan comments, hands around Thranduil's cuffs that prevented him from taking another step further. "There is no need to treat our kin with hostility," Erenion began, smiling at Thranduil as he explains.

"I'm only here for Legolas - if you were to hand him over, then we'll be on our way." he replied, not wanting to be caught up in the Kingdom of the Noldors. His father was probably rolling on his grave. Thranduil was uncomfortable too - he's seen the destruction that the Noldor has done - the craven feeling they had over the Silmarils.

He wants nothing to do with them.

"No, you will be safe here." the King interrupted, rising to his full height. "Dress him in our finest of robes, take care of him until there is a way for them to return." he commanded, nodding his head his fellow elves. "You are welcome to stay," he comforted.

Thranduil releases a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding. It was about to be difficult - this was a world where you were alive. He is allowed to see you again - but you wouldn't be his wife. Nay, you haven't met each other yet.

You were strangers - actually, worse than strangers, for you could never fall in love with each other again.

Thranduil hatches a plan in the back of his mind; make sure that she doesn't love me in the future.

He was the reason that she died. He made her fight a war.

He settles his fists on your vanity, gently nudging the comb away from you hands. "(Your Name)," he tried to begin in a gentle tone, but there was too much anger in his veins. "Thranduil," you turned to look at him with a gentle smile.

"You sit here and comb your hair while our people die," he gritted his teeth, eyes softening at the sight of your features. Thranduil was a prideful prince - he wouldn't allow his bride to sit and knit by the fire while their soldiers died in warfare. "I apologize but - Ada Oropher has forbidden me," you tried to reason, not entirely believing yourself.

"I was in the battlefields yesterday - they were all singing praises of us, and what are we doing? Sitting here, guarded by our castle." he held a hand to his chest, remembering the faces of those that have fallen. "Parents - have to watch their children die while we sit here knowing that our son is guarded and safe." he continued.

There were many things that an elf would do to keep their own safe - but Thranduil didn't believe that it was necessary. There were two choices; the kingdom or his family - and he was a prince before he was a husband and a father.

"Oh, Thranduil." you breathed - pulling his body closer and wrapping him in a warm embrace. His anger wasn't directed towards you - it was towards himself. "We must fight with all that we have - because our citizens are doing the very same." he whispered and you press a soft kiss to his forehead.

He was right.

You press a finger to your lips - confusion running through your mind. "What do you mean? How are you uncomfortable with sleeping in the same room?" you ask, finding the notion to be absurd - a child should always feel safe around their father.

"Legolas will be comfortable with his own space." Thranduil answers, and he was partly correct - Legolas could only handle his own company due to his loud snores that could scare ghosts out of the very chambers.

"Shouldn't he be more comfortable around you? I apologize if it seems curt but there aren't any other rooms in this Wing. The next choices are sleeping parallel to Cirdan or the stables." you huffs while crossing your arms. There were a lot of things that the father and son weren't telling the kingdom - and you were bound to find out sooner or later. "O-or Legolas can sleep with the Twins." you added.

"We'll be fine here," Thranduil interrupts - not wanting to entertain the notion of his son sleeping in the same room with his rowdy uncles. "Alright, I'll take out a spare mattress. Have a great day." you smiled, closing the door gently.

Thranduil could hear his son snoring. It reminded him of when the little boy was a babe - sleeping on his father's chest and dreaming of a world beyond this one. He knew that their relationship was beyond repair - and that he's pushed his son off a cliff.

He leaves no hope for himself - only for Legolas to be better.

Another sigh escapes his mouth and he rises - sitting properly with his back resting upon the wall. He looks to his side to see Legolas' blanket on the floor. He smiles - nothing much has changed. He lifts the blanket off the ground, standing as he does so - and placing it squarely on Legolas' body.

He tip-toes towards the door - opening it until a single shard of light pierces through the dark room. He takes a step outside, and something clatters from the adjacent room. "What are you doing?" you whisper and he turns to look at you.

Your eyes mirrored the stars - your hair was still soft as he remembered, and you were still kind as summer.

"Why are you up this late?" you inquire, eyebrows merging with each other. You always swore that you were void of grace in your earlier days (before you met him) - but he digresses, you've always been beautiful. "I wasn't aware that guards are sent to parol my every move." he scoffed, crossing his arms in the process.

"I beg your pardon?" you take a deep breath - he bites back a chuckle. He knows what that phrase means. You're giving him another chance to change his tone. "Am I not allowed to be awake, my lady?" he raised an eyebrow. "I never said that - I was merely asking," you huff - not finding the power to look away from his eyes.

He made you feel electrified.

"Why does it concern you then?" he frowned, looking away from you. He had to stick to the plan. "You could be a charlatan and a thief, there are numerous secrets in these halls that should be - away from you." you reasoned, and a chuckle escapes his lips.

He takes a step forward, chest almost bumping with yours.

He resists the urge to reach for your jaw - instead, he looks down on your face. Tracing the features that he used to press kisses on.

"But you know deep inside that I am as harmless as a bug. You have no idea who I am - or what my entire name is, but you worry about me - you worry about my son. Why is that?" he notes, eyes looking deep into yours.

A door opens from behind them - Celebrian cautiously peeks her head through. "My daughter, can you keep your voices down? Your ada hasn't slept in days." the lady cautions and you nod your head. "Yes, naneth." you smiled at her.

You turn to look back at him.

"You are annoying." you snap and he rolls his eyes.

"You are an elfling." he replies while closing his door on your face.

Thranduil didn't expect Elrond to invite him to breakfast the following day - the elf was specific, only him and no one else - which led to it being awkward as they had nothing in common. "Your son looks like his mother, I assume that it is joy but even greater pain for you." Elrond smiled, seeing the shift in the other elf's demeanor.

"- I pondered last night if I should inform my daughter about her son and husband, but I realized that it was beyond her control." his eyes narrowed, remembering the conversation Thranduil and you had last night - yes, he did hear.

"How long have you known?" Thranduil began, taking a sip of the wine. "I can feel her soul inside Legolas - part of her fea remains tied to him." he answered.

next chapter>>

@murder0fcr0ws @cheyxfu @8hgel

[everythingsinred]

Hey, has it ever occurred to you why Mikan doesn't like her hair down?

This is a pretty interesting question! I'll try to answer to the best of my ability, but to be honest this is all conjecture. Also I made this a NatsuMikan post because discussions about Mikan's hair/Natsume's back turn into NM on principle.

Very long NM rambling under the cut...

Yes, Mikan seems to be very uncomfortable about her hair being down.

In Chapter 24, Mikan is dressed as the prince and has her hair down for the role. She's instantly insecure and contemplates putting her hair up again. She needs outside validation from an opinion she cares about (Hotaru's) to make her feel okay about it in the moment, but after this she continues to keep her hair down.

A lot of it seems to come from feeling like she looks weird somehow with her hair down, and prior to this she says she feels "antsy" with her hair down. At no point does she elect to have her hair down between this and when she's stuck in the labyrinth. If she ever switches up her hairstyle, she still keeps it up, like at the Christmas Ball or New Years. Even when she sleeps, she keeps her hair in pigtails or braided.

I am not sure why having her hair down bothers her so much, but let's discuss some possibilities.

Mikan's iconic pigtail hair style is pretty childish. That makes sense, because she is a child, but when she's aged up by the Gulliver candy, she defaults to the same style, which prevents her from looking more mature. I might say from a narrative sense that Mikan's hairstyle being so childish is supposed to set her aside as being more immature than the rest of the kids in Class B. Hotaru's short and practical hairstyle seems leagues more mature and chic than Mikan's cute little pigtail thing.

It might be nothing more than a habit. Mikan likes sports, and keeping your hair up comes in handy when you're exercising. Whatever the initial reason she built this habit is, she might be so unaccustomed to seeing herself with her hair down that it feels bizarre and wrong.

But I genuinely don't know what an in-story reason for her behavior is, because it seems much stronger than a mere preference or habit. She doesn't like herself with her hair down at all, and never has it down until this moment in Chapter 24. Maybe she's just insecure for whatever reason and thinks she looks bad with her hair down (though she definitely doesn't).

In any case, my idea is that it feels vulnerable to have her hair down. She describes the feeling as "antsy", like it doesn't feel right. I think her wearing her hair up is a comfort zone thing, where she feels more protected with her hair in a do. In a way, it might be comparable to her insistence on smiling. Mikan is, despite everything, actually very hard on herself. She doesn't think she's smart, capable, pretty, useful. She is surrounded by smart people, by people with interesting and useful alices, by people she perceives as "strong" while she is weak. And, of course, people who are beautiful, when she is not.

Just like Mikan gets very pathological about her smile after being told it's a charm of hers, I think she might rely on her hair being up. She is not pretty on her own, but if she puts extra pizzazz into her hair, maybe it'll make up for how plain she is? Maybe is she uses different hair-ties, sometimes with ribbons, sometimes with flowers, she can be a bit cute sometimes? Mikan thinks very little of herself but is very interested in making up for it.

What's really interesting is when she starts wearing her hair down more. When is that? Oh, yes, during the time she's trapped in the labyrinth after coming to terms with her love for Natsume, who told her once that she looked better with her hair down.

Mostly she wears her hair down in the labyrinth when she goes to sleep, and that could easily be brushed aside as a given EXCEPT that Mikan has always had her hair up before, even when she was going to sleep!

So what makes this time period different? Why should Natsume have anything to do with how she wears her sleep when she goes to sleep anyway? It's not like he's living in the labyrinth with her. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she can hear him calling for her every night...

She does keep her hair up in pigtails when she's wearing her school uniform, of course, but when she's out of it, we see her exclusively with her down. The best example of this, of course, is on Christmas when she stays in her room because she's not allowed to go to the party.

She dresses it up a bit with those fluff balls, of course, but it's still down. And that's a big change when we consider that Mikan used to EXCLUSIVELY have her hair up, no matter the occasion.

When I was analyzing this chapters in my essays, I did say it helps make the confessions scene seem more surreal, having him dressed like a lil bat and her with her hair down, both of them out of their uniform. The surreal nature of the scene makes it dreamlike, for both of them, almost like it never happened, and I think that's important, but it didn't occur to me at the time how important it is narratively for Mikan that her hair is down for that.

I will concede that Hotaru told Mikan in Chapter 24 that she doesn't have to put her hair up, that it looks cute down. She does say that. But what Natsume says in Chapter 38 is a bit bigger. He doesn't use words like cute or pretty, but he makes a point of saying he prefers her hair down, that her pigtails won't suit her in a few years.

He doesn't say it out loud, but this is a compliment, and it clearly means a lot to her. If Mikan feels like she's not pretty (and she is called plain by so many people in the manga it's hard not to imagine that's how she views herself), and her putting her hair up is her way of "making up for it", then Natsume saying he likes her better with her hair down is, essentially, saying she looks pretty as she is, without all the trimmings.

It's kinda akin to those love songs where a girl swoons that a guy likes her better with her makeup off. Mikan wears her hair up because if her hair is cute or styled, then it can distract from her otherwise plain appearance. But Natsume prefers her as is, that the extra work she puts into tying her hair isn't necessary because he does think she's pretty, that she has nothing to make up for.

Once Mikan realizes she's in love with Natsume, and that this love is fully reciprocated, she wears her hair down more (or at all), because it's her way of connecting with him even though she can't see him as often. Her hair is down, and it doesn't need to be up, because somebody told her she looked better with it down. And, even more than that, she wears it down when she hears his voice, or there's a chance she might catch a glimpse of him, because she wants him to see her with her hair down.

Mikan, who got "antsy" in Chapter 24 with her hair down, sees Natsume in Chapter 144 and 145 and doesn't feel antsy about her hair at all. In fact, it's down because of him. For him.

I'm not saying girls should base their entire appearances off of what boys what, but that's not what this is either and I think that would be a cynical takeaway. Please don't misunderstand me! This is a boy making a girl feel better about how she looks, to the point where she feels like her hair down is a selling point, not another plain element to her appearance. There is nothing wrong with wanting the person you like to think you're pretty, especially when the person you like helped you feel prettier in the first place.

Anyway, that's basically the summation of my thoughts on this topic. I'm really grateful to you, Anon, for bringing this to my attention. Obviously, I did know Mikan didn't like her hair down and that Natsume did, but I have never observed it all that closely. This is one more aspect to the manga I was given the opportunity to analyze more and I'm so happy with having one more reason to love these two together!

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Sneak Peek Sunday 01/09/24

Got more writing down than I expected to, so here’s a bit of the next chapter of Unsinkable 💛

“What’s next on your agenda?” she asked Omega, twisting around on the couch to semi-face her. “In the grand scheme of things,” she qualified.

Omega shrugged, attention on scooping instant caf into two mugs (Sabine thought she and Din took their caf strong but Omega’s preference could leave a Devaronian with insomnia for a whole cycle). “Still wanna go see Hera,” she said. “I promised Jacen I’d tell him all about my exploration of the Caves of Dy’Biit the next time I swing by. Then I was thinking it’s about time I head back and see the family. I promised Lucie she could come with me on an adventure when she’s old enough and she’s decided sixteen is old enough.” She sighed, over-dramatically, rolling her eyes heavenward and laying a hand on her chest like an elderly woman in a holo-film falling victim to nostalgia and sentimentality. “Oh, were we ever that young?”

Sabine breathed a laugh.

She agreed: she thought sixteen was still very young, though she didn’t think it without feeling a twinge of hypocrisy.

At sixteen, she had been living on her own and taking care of herself for two years already (longer when she really thought about it, because her time in the academy, while coordinated and monitored by a parade of instructors and teachers, was not something she would describe as being cared for and raised—she was trained, yes, but not nurtured).

Omega’s life had had a different pattern. She wasn’t born into a family the way Sabine was, and although there were some who had had a soft spot for her, they didn’t quite take on parental roles. In a way, she was never even truly a child until she went on the run with her brothers, and then her childhood happened in scraps as she had to grow up fast in a life like that. Strangely, as chaotic and inconsistent as her childhood was, her adolescence was positively idyllic. Her family planted roots in one spot and she grew up the best way a creature could: wild and slow, surrounded by good people who loved her, shown how to live and how to love by example.

Between herself, Omega, Din, Ezra, and even Grogu, Sabine couldn’t help but marvel at the diversity amongst their upbringings, and yet, through them all, there were chords that played the same. They all knew what it was to be lost, they all knew what it was to be found; they knew what it was to be alone and they knew what it was to belong.

Musing on it was stirring a lot more emotion than she expected it to.

She had to be more tired than she thought.

She tied herself back to the moment, back to the little apartment with its ash-coloured wood and stone, the living room with its bookshelf and caf table and dark, multicoloured rug and the not-uncomfortable couches and armchairs.

Omega made the caf and brought it over, ribbon trail of steam rolling in her wake and disappearing faster than a fleeting whim.

Sabine accepted the mug held out to her, even though she all of a sudden didn’t want it so much. She took the breath to speak, to ask what adventure Omega was planning on going on with her niece, hoping that after some more conversation she might settle and be able to enjoy the caf like she wanted to, but she didn’t get even the start of a word out.

A shrill, insistent beeping split the moment.

Coming from two sources simultaneously, it had a siren effect that only doubled the sense of urgency.

In sync, she and Omega retrieved their comms: Omega from her jacket pocket, Sabine from the miscellaneous objects adorning the caf table.

It was just a short message from Din but it cut the calm right out of her heart.

Just three letters.

SOS

[kindheart525]

Snowcone Syrup needed to put herself out there. If she didn't grab ahold of what she wanted and scream it from the rooftops then her whole life was gonna pass her by while she squirmed in misery.

That’s why she was here now.

She couldn't take the torture anymore. She couldn't just not feel her feelings but that was never what Veuve wanted her to do. Nor what she wanted.

She stood in front of the private entrance to the crystal palace with a box, tied with the bow she wore every day since she was a little filly. It held everything together. Symbolizing the strength of their love, her loyalty, and the beauty she saw on Veuve from hooves to horn.

It took all the willpower Snow had to knock on the door. She was determined to make things right but also scared, scared that she’d screw it up again like the last several times. She wanted to do it differently this time. Do it better.

It didn’t take long for the door to open, answered by the very filly Snowcone was here to see. Veuve en Deuil’s eyes widened in surprise once she saw her, of course she wasn’t expecting her to be at her door. How could she after how Snow ended it?

“Snowcone. Hi.”

She smiled awkwardly, stepping aside a bit.

“It’s nice to see you…again. Do you want to come in?”

Snowcone hesitated at this invitation, she didn’t want to beat around the bush any longer. If she wanted to tell Veuve how she felt she had to say it now or forever regret not doing so.

“Yes but before I do, I really need to talk to you Vee…uve.”

She corrected herself, not wanting to rush in too quickly with affectionate nicknames.

“Is this about what happened earlier? It’s okay, I understand you’re going through a lot—“

“No. It’s not okay.”

Snow stopped her. Brushing it under the rug already didn’t work for either of them, they had to work through it. No matter how uncomfortable they both were.

“I was really shitty to you. I kept trying to avoid how I felt and project on others and all that but really, I gotta own up to it. I have a lot of feelings all the time…gosh, you have no idea. But I don’t want to push you away. Gaia, I would die before I did that.”

As she looked up into Veuve’s eyes she felt her words start to escape her, so she pushed the box forward.

“I made this…to show you how I feel.”

“Oh Snowcone, I’m honored you did this much, you didn’t have to.”

Veuve insisted, but shut up and opened the box at Snow’s urging nod.

The whole experience was like going down memory lane, first untying the bow that she Snow loved so much. Inside was an assortment of photos and little gothic trinkets that were right up Veuve’s alley. Gosh, Snow knew her so well. On top of it all was a sheet of paper covered in Snow’s hoofwriting.

“I wrote that. It…describes how I feel. About you.”

Snowcone commented almost shyly.

Veuve took that asan invitation to pick it up and read it.

*****

You are the bright honey that overflows from my cup like liquid sunshine, making each sip I take a taste of the heavens.  Pale skin like melting snow, an underbelly tickled by the gentle hues of spring.  Indigo eyes with the mysterious beauty of the ocean, reflecting the warm rays of the sun on all who look. Each movement comforting like gentle waves of lace.  Dandelion and Helleborus locks flowing with the breezies.  Every tear rolled down your cheek is a dewdrop fallen from the love yous and love you nots.  But when I’m with you, love languages are the only languages I can speak.

*****

“Oh my gosh Snowy…”

Veuve read the poem with tears in her eyes, absolutely overwhelmed by all the love that poured from the page. This was the Snowcone she new and loved, passionate and creative. The filly she loved and missed with her entire being.

“You really feel this way?”

“I mean every word.”

Snow’s own eyes were filled with tears as she choked out her affirmation, stepping closer to the filly she adored.

“I love you Vee. I want you in my life forever and ever and I never want to push you away again. I never want to go through that pain again, it hurts being without you.”

She stifled a sob, bowing her head humbly.

“I hope you forgive me, Vee.”

“Yes Snowy, of course I do.”

Vee lifted her head up until she was looking her in the eye, until they were connected by their shared gaze.

“I missed you Snowy. I know you’re going through a lot but I want to be there for you, I want to understand you the best I can. Thank you for letting me in.”

Both fillies let each other in that day, showing each other their full feelings without shame. There would be plenty of challenges ahead for them but they could handle it. They had the strength to forgive and grow each time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Circus Act

Snowcone’s poem was based on the poem “Muse, A Poem For My Girlfriend” by @gelidponies

Background by tamalesyatole

[licncourt]

Do you know some sort of like history or timeline in AR's feelings for Louis? Cause I know she originally projected onto him, then diminished his role and admitted she disliked him, but then she made Loustat endgame after all and I've seen some positive posts about them on her facebook lol.

Oh boy, I can try! It's a pretty simple answer but the implications and outcomes are...something.

Like you said, in IWTV Louis was AR's self-insert that helped her process the grief of losing her daughter, so that's a given. She published TVL a decade later when she was in a better space mentally and had begun to shift her focus and projection onto Lestat, and while we don't know exactly what she felt about Louis at that time, she did write a wonderful reunion for the two of them and Louis is portrayed pretty positively there.

I feel like things shift more in QotD. Maybe she doesn't actually dislike Louis yet (again, the ending), but she definitely isn't interested in his character much at all considering how little he's in the book. Just like the rest of the book series though, everything takes a hard left in the 90s with TotBT.

This is an interesting point on the timeline because while I as a reader agreed with (or at least understood) most of Louis' opinions and decisions in this book, he's treated pretty badly by the narrative itself. Anne Rice (via Lestat) is much harsher towards him in this book than in any other besides IWTV, pretty explicitly ripping into his personality traits and character flaws.

The scene towards the very end of the book where David and Lestat talk about how "weak" and wanton people who choose to become vampires are (versus those who are forced) is particularly infamous because of how obvious the dig at Louis is. David is also important here because TotBT is where AR starts pushing hard to replace Louis in the narrative and in Lestat's life, another serious, intelligent, wealthy, dark-haired prettyboy that she decided she liked more.

It's worth mentioning that after this book was published, The Vampire Companion was released, a sort of VC encyclopedia Anne Rice wrote with a co-author. This is the first time she publicly expressed her dislike for Louis and it REALLY shows in his entry. @sofipitch owns the book and has the specific passages on her blog, but among other things, Louis is described as weak, passive, and submissive, unaware of what's best for him and needing/wanting to be controlled.

She writes that he "made himself vulnerable to vampire attacks" with his behavior as a mortal (wow, I wonder what that sounds like) and that he brought Lestat's emotionally abusive behavior on himself by being so weak. It's a really awful section of the book that ties her opinions of Louis to real-world issues like victim blaming in cases of rape and abuse, "slut shaming" (terrible term but you know what I mean), and the mistreatment of people who are depressed and suicidal.

I mention this also because Louis' next major appearance is a few years later in Merrick, a book I've spoken about ad nauseum already. This really seems to be the peak of her hatred for Louis' character and she spends a significant chunk of the book tormenting him and having David disparage him in the narration. He's shamed for his mental illness and grief, sexually assaulted, and goaded into a suicide attempt all in a book that was never even meant to be about him.

It really seems like she just wanted to punish him for existing while flaunting her new favorite, David. It's very uncomfortable to read, not just because of how cruelly the issues Louis deals with are dealt with, but also because of the fact that Louis represents her past self. I'm no psychologist, but torturing and degrading the literary representation of your past self seems like a red flag. In a way, it makes me sad for her because it seems like she had must have had as little empathy for the person who created Louis as she did for the character himself.

After that, Louis doesn't appear in the next two books outside of a couple passing references, his longest total absence from the series and where TVC was supposed to end permanently. If the books had truly stopped in 2003, that's where we would've left Louis forever.

It does seem like she softened to him by the time Prince Lestat came out in 2014, maybe after some distance and with the urging of fans. She admitted during the writing of the PL trilogy that she preferred David in general and as a partner for Lestat, but understood that Louis was by far the fan favorite, so she had taken that into consideration. I have to imagine that the rise of social media and the influx of messages she received from fans of Louis/Loustat had something to do with that pivot in storyline overall.

Because of Louis' epilogue in PL and the fact that he ends up with Lestat at all, I feel like she must have at least stopped hating him as much as she did in the 90s, even if she never really liked him again (she repeated her dislike in response to fan emails around the same time). I'm just glad she didn't kill him off or give us Davidstat endgame though, so I'll take it.

Sidenote: AR injecting misogyny into VC at every possible opportunity combined with Louis' female coded characteristics may very well have played into this mess, so I'll link my posts about that right here and here

[bronanlynch]

this one has a muffin recipe which hopefully makes up for the extended discussion on gender in a disappointing YA novel. anyway. happy wednesday

listening (podcast): keeping up with Palisade, where the table friends are as usual entirely on their bullshit. love a story that asks the real questions like, what if you follow some guy into a public bathroom and then it turns out he's in charge of the fucked up evil intelligence organization that used to kind of be in charge of the entire planet.

I'm also going back and listening to the Great Gundam Project episodes on original Gundam, which they did at the very beginning since they're going in chronological order and it is so funny to go from later episodes where I'm like "wow these people are so smart and know so much more about Gundam than I do" to "wow these people are so smart and are doing some incredibly insightful analysis considering they don't know shit about Gundam"

also this was a Media Club Plus week. Jack made lots of fun observations about Killua and his relationship to violence and also Gon that will be very interesting to revisit in like a hundred episodes. god I love dramatic irony

listening (music): for once in my life I'm listening to new music, from a self-described "flaming queer power pop" band from New Jersey called Teenage Halloween (I would say they're more punk than that description implies to me, the lead vocals especially are very classic punk, by which I mean rough and hoarse and shouty in a good way). here's their bandcamp, I think my favorite tracks are Takeaway and Getting Bitter, but they're a fun band and they have a sound that I enjoy. and also for normal reasons I like when people sing about New Jersey and/or living in a shitty suburban town

reading: finally finished Leigh Bardugo's Rule of Wolves (last book in the Grishaverse series). some wild tonal dissonance at the end because it's supposed to be a hopeful ending where the future is going to be better and maybe Ravka as a country can change and be better, except the main characters spent the past two books inventing industrialized warfare and that is not something that can just be undone?? they have missiles now??? sorry but once you introduce missiles to your fantasy setting I no longer believe that the future will be kinder & less violent than the past. also, the gender. it's time to talk about gender again. Nina's love interest Hanne, who has repeatedly been uncomfortable presenting as feminine, kills a guy who sucks and steals his identity, and talks about feeling more like themself because now they're not seen as a woman. this is the part that I like, it's fun and interesting and I think it's cool when trans people do regicide (the guy was a prince). the parts I feel conflicted are the way Nina reacts with such disappointment that Hanne no longer looks how they used to (though she does come around to the idea), the fact that all of this comes from Nina's perspective (when Nina has spent the entire duology waxing poetic about what a beautiful woman Hanne is, when Hanne is explicitly uncomfortable with being seen as beautiful or a woman) with nothing from Hanne's point of view, the fact that this reveal happens at the very end leaving no space to see how this changes their relationship moving forward or to see Hanne exploring what their transition means to them, and the way it ties to something Bardugo said, back between the Six of Crows duology and this one, where she said that the next time she wrote Nina, her love interest would be a woman. and don't get me wrong, I love that Nina's bisexuality is very present on the page. however. Idk. that doesn't seem accurate and it feels clumsily handled like. sorry that's a transmasc butch who deserves a girlfriend who isn't constantly thinking about how pretty they were when they were forced to have long hair

however, in books that I'm enjoying much more, I'm reading The Death I Gave Him by Em X. Liu, a near-future sci-fi Hamlet retelling about trying to create a scientific cure for death in which Horatio is the AI of the unethical science lab and also (I think, based on what I've read so far) in love with the Hamlet figure. it fucking rules. I'm a known fan of Hamlet & Hamlet retellings, and also when the setting is alive & sentient & loves you, and also relationships between people and like, non-humanoid intelligences (it's kind of like the reverse of a possession romance, instead of the god/robot/etc inhabiting the human the human is the one doing the possession). also, I think the sense of paranoia & claustrophobia from the original Hamlet is done really well here, in a way that works well thematically and also feels. Idk. I'm trying to figure out a way to say this without psychoanalyzing myself on main but it's a very compassionate depiction of the Hamlet figure's mental state that's just. nice to read. anyway. structurally I love that it's framed as though it's someone's thesis about an incident that they've researched, so there are bits that are excerpts from phone logs and trial transcripts and things like that. I'm partway through but it's extremely good so far

watching: continuing to keep up with the TGCF donghua (for once I've seen the newest ep before posting this), which continues to be a good fun time, even if the cr*nchyroll subtitles are pretty awful (both in terms of typos and also the way they sub gege as Lian). but I do like this arc! it's fun! Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are in love!

watched a few more episodes of Hunter x Hunter to keep up with MC+ and I've gotta say, I enjoy Hisoka as a character a lot more than I did the first time I watched this. I am not immune to when a fucked up guy with a cool design murders people with playing cards. however, even though Kurapika didn't do much in the assassin/battle royale bit of the Hunter Exam, Kurapika is still my favorite

moving on to the normal amount of Gundam we watched, we finished Zeta! god. Zeta my fucking beloved. I think the ending pays off a lot of the stuff about Newtypes as a stand-in for human connection, by which I mean it fucking rules that the Zeta Gundam has ghosts in it and that Kamille can defeat Scirocco, who does not form equal partnerships with anyone or listen to their advice, by listening to the advice of his (dead) friends who live in his brain & his robot. also like, I still don't like Reccoa's plotline overall but her confrontations with Kamille & Char do a lot of good characterization work for both of them (Kamille refusing to believe that she's not just really deep undercover! Char uninterested in hearing her reasoning and attacking immediately but still unable to kill her and surprised by that!) and also I love her final fight with Emma. her and Emma killing each other is yuri, to me. on a design note, I think I tend to prefer the mobile suits in 0079, because under no circumstances do you have to hand it to the Principality of Zeon but they knew how to make a grunt suit with some fun shapes in a way that the Federation/Titans simply do not apparently. however! shout out to the Qubeley. what a neat-looking robot

and of course, immediately after finishing Zeta we started ZZ so. that also is a thing I watched. the tone whiplash from the ending of Zeta with a bunch of people dying and a kind of bittersweet victory to the beginning of ZZ was wild. Judau is so much more of a plucky YA protagonist, and there's so much more of a tone of, these kids are going to do some wacky shenanigans. like, Yazan goes from horrifying to a comedic figure. which is not to say it's bad! I am enjoying it! but sometimes it kind of feels like an entirely different creative team (which I know it's not, I know this is still very much still Tomino. but there's such a major vibeshift). my favorite thing about ZZ so far is all of the class stuff, it's nice to have that as a lens to view this setting (an extremely predictable thing for me, guy who loves stories about class conflict, to say). but I like having protagonists who are concerned about their own economic stability (though it does raise questions of like, is Bright getting paid?? by whom??? is he getting paychecks from the Federation still/again?? who is paying for Kamille's hospital bills??? Tomino please show me the Argama's budget spreadsheets). my other favorite thing is that Bright is still here, even though he is very tired and deserves a vacation. he has Such big single parent energy now, good luck to him. my other other favorite thing is that Roux Louka exists, she's a lot of fun so far

playing: still working my way through Ace Attorney 5. Aura is back and I love her! also I'm becoming invested in the concept of Clay/Apollo, partially because I am not immune to Apollo wearing Clay's jacket and partially because I love when you go to Aura's lab and Apollo is there talking to her, and he immediately realizes that Aura and Metis were in love even though Aura denies it, and her loss of Metis is paralleled with Apollo's loss of Clay. there's something compelling to me there as a story about queer grief, and mourning someone's loss even when you can't talk about exactly what they meant to you

making: we've made a couple of recipes from the Skyrim cookbook (cheese fondue, glazed carrots) (not at the same time to be clear. those were different meals) and they both turned out pretty tasty. however, the most exciting thing we made was the muffins from this post. they are, in fact, extremely good. we doubled the recipe because what would we do with an extra half a can of pumpkin

drinking: one of Lamplighter's pride beers from this summer was a sour ale with butterfly pea flower & lemon, and I'm trying to drink through the summer beers in our fridge to make room for all of the autumnal ciders. this one's tasty! again, love it when beers are citrusy & floral

writing: still working on a zine fic that I can't share yet, and also the extremely Palisade spoiler-y Integrity fic from a few weeks ago (to be fair I haven't gotten to the spoiler-y parts yet, instead I'm continuing to be possibly the only person in the fandom who cares about Orbit Shard). also, predictably, I've started writing Gundam fic. predictably, it's Emma/Reccoa and instead of getting to the kissing part Emma is introspecting about ideology