#barren is warrior's name there

[kovacs-of-courage]

Adventure-Swap Barren Snippet.

This was written for my friend's(brendathedoodler) adventure swap AU, go check it out!

In that AU, Warriors has Hyrule's adventures. I wanted to write something about Warriors before the events of Z1. How that might begin for him. -----

Barren prowled the catacombs under the northern castle; or what was left of it. In the wake of Ganon’s return, and the death of the king--Hyrule had been teetering on the brink of collapse.

He’d only left his home in the wilds weeks ago--equipped with little else but his sword, shield, and his wits to guide him through the many dangers of his fragmented kingdom.

“I can barely see in this place, how have you not fallen over yet?”

His fairy companion too, not to mention.

Barren didn’t answer, raising an index finger to his closed lips. 

Talking would only attract unwanted attention, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight-- not while Ganon’s army was still occupying the castle. Barren was well aware of the difference between headstrong courage, and suicidal recklessness. The lessons of his many, many mentors made that abundantly clear to him. Cautiousness had been baked into his very bones. Survival was paramount.

Careful as he was attempting to be--Barren did find it odd that he hadn’t encountered a single monster. You’d figure that an army of thousands would be patrolling every square inch of their enemy’s capitol; the catacombs especially. He’d heard the stories of their brutality, even seen some of it up close on rare occasions. 

These were the same monsters that found it fit to bludgeon fleeing children into bloodied stains, to hunt down and devour the sick and wounded over an open flame. To say they were ruthless would be the understatement of the century, they were cruelty for cruelty’s sake--taking frenzied glee in the suffering of others.

So that begged the question; why weren’t they swarming the catacombs?

Before Barren could begin pondering the question--a hollow rasp echoed across the halls, reverberating from crumbling stone and cracked archways.

“Is..is anyone there? Hello?”

Barren stood still. Silent. Questioning for a split-second whether it might be a trap.

“I’m...I’m here to help. Stay where you are, I’m coming over.” Barren said.

He winced at his own words. He sounded more stilted than assured, a product of his inexperience to be sure. In time, he hoped to portray to others the confidence he had in the field.

But for now, he was going to have to make due.

Barren reached into his bag, pulling out an old bronze lamp; dented and rusted from years of use. It was a gift from an old friend--though she said it’d belonged to his family, the heirloom finally returned to its rightful owners.

Once lit, he clipped the lamp to his belt; walking over to the source of the voice.

“You shouldn’t be here boy, it’s not safe.”

It was a knight.

And he was dying.

The soldier was an older man, thrice Barren’s age at the least. It was a wonder he was even in the field, though given his current condition--that wouldn’t be for much longer. The resolve behind his eyes, and the scars littering his weathered body told of a life in service of the crown.

No matter the cost.

The knight wasn’t going to leave these catacombs in anything more than a casket, Barren could tell. He lay a mangled mess of torn sinew and splintered bones. He lay rasping over an ever expanding pool of his own blood, darker in color then any Barren had seen before. 

“Can..can you do anything?” Barren asked, tilting his head towards proxy.

“I-I’m sorry Link, I can’t. Nothing short of a great fairy can save him now.” Proxy stuttered, hovering above her companion’s shoulder. It was heartbreaking for her to be as powerless as this. 

Barren shared her sentiment. 

He reached for his medical supplies anyway, hoping to ease some of the soldier’s pain.

The knight raised a hand, speaking clearly through his bashed teeth.

“Don’t bother son, it’d be a waste..” 

Barren knelt down, meeting the old soldier’s gaze.

“What can I do, then?”

The knight didn’t respond right away, letting the offer sit for a few terse seconds, each one feeling like an eternity passing by.

“Find my comrades, give them my crest--”

The knight lifted his metal gauntlet to his neck, bringing forth a golden circlet attached to a thin silver chain--a black bird painted across it’s face. 

He placed it in Barren’s hand.

“Tell them I gave my last full measure.” The knight said.

Barren nodded, pocketing the crest.

“And what if they didn’t make it?” Barren asked, colder then he would’ve liked.

“Then it’ll fall on you to protect the princess, son.” The knight retorted.

“I assume that makes you the royal guard?” Barren realized, his eye’s widening.

“Hah, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’d be correct, yes.” The knight chuckled, spitting coughs and blood between his defeated smile.

“What happened? Where is your unit headed?” Barren inquired.

“Ganon happened. We were lucky to get out with a third of our unit, nevermind the princess. One of his damn darknuts managed to nick me, and its underlings did the rest. If any of us are still alive, then we’re headed south for old hyrule castle.” The knight explained, pointing to the hallway on his left.

Barren processed the information, soaking in the reality of what he was asked to do, and the dismal odds of his survival.

“I’ll find your comrades, and the princess. You have my word.” Barren promised, steeled resolve plating his words.

He rose to his feet, tightening the straps on his shield.

The knight smiled.

For the first time in centuries; courage was burning bright in hyrule again.

[anti-rop]

truly do not understand modern Hollywood's obsession with equating a 'strong' female character with having no other option or role but to swing a sword and be a warrior. how can people earnestly look at characters like Galadriel, Arwen, Éowyn, Ioreth, Lúthien, etc., and argue there are no strong, 'feminist icons' and stories within Tolkien's writing—that his works are not 'female-character friendly'. truly living in one of the worst timelines.

x post | article

[bonefall]

since that clans have those salt patrols and stuff, do you think you’ll have them use salt as a prefix/suffix? (if say you decide to make a kit/apprentice live longer, being able to use salt as a suffix maybe?) that also makes me think of a well known cat chef getting an honor title with salt in it

Yes, I'm going to be making a spreadsheet of prefixes, with tags for related concepts. Salt is going to have beach, spice, and medicine tabs.

[official-darkforest]

been bouncing around an au in my head for a while. i dont have much solidified yet but here’s the three and their respective parentage

finchfeather (jayfeather) is the oldest of the three, he was born shortly after whitewing and birchfall became warriors (he was.. unplanned LOL)

finch and dove are siblings as jay’s wing and dove’s wing were siblings. it just makes more sense to me

since jay and dove have bird themed names, ivy gets a new one - pigeonfall to parallel dovewing (pigeon- from doves and pigeons being in the same family; -fall from her father since -wing is from their mother). jayfeather got changed to finchfeather since he’s no longer crow’s son (jays and crows are corvids)

holly and lion inherited their “manes” from leafpool’s side of the family

u can see the “order” of the three by the # of white dots on their faces lol

pigeon gets green eyes cuz pretty

finch can perceive light and shadows, but not much else. to him, starclan cats radiate very brightly its almost impossible for even him to miss them.

squirrelflight has fertility issues, yellowfang did lie about being completely barren, though. she and brambleclaw had been trying for kits for moons so he considered it a miracle by the time the three were finally born. it was considered a cryptic pregnancy as whitewing didnt know she was pregnant until her third trimester!

sandstorm, daisy, and ferncloud noticed leafpool’s pregnancy. the latter two kept quiet, and had to convince sandstorm not to mention it before leafpool was ready.

i dont havw any other notes rn but maybe i’ll post more of this au later lol

[thesummerestsolstice]

Beleriand is gone and Tol Himling remains. No one lives there, few dare to venture close. Even years later, the fortress feels like bitter grief and pained endurance.

The remaining Noldor– and there aren't many of them by the Second Age– start sailing there. It's not far from the shore; an easy enough journey, even for someone with little seafaring experience.

One day, someone– no one is sure who– takes one of the broken pieces of Himling's walls, carves Maedhros's name into it, and sets it as a tombstone. After that, more graves appear, slowly at first, then more quickly. Old battle-songs and tributes to the dead are carved and painted into the walls. Soon, the meadow around the old fortress is full of memorials, some made from the ruins, others lovingly crafted and brought from the mainland. For all the Noldor fought amongst themselves in the First Age, now their headstoens stand together. In the cemetery, the House of Finwe is united in death as it never was in life. Graves for Feanor and Fingolfin sit side-by-side in a sorrowful peace neither lived to see.

Himring stood on an icy mountaintop where the snow never melted, but Tol Himling does not. One spring the barren meadow blooms, red poppies and blue forget-me-nots. It flowers every year after, new hues and blossoms appearing annurally until the graves are surrounded by a colorful sea of flowers.

Not many Noldor choose to sail west– most that go back to Valinor go in death– but those that do leave tokens on Himling before they leave, broken weapons and battered armor. Maybe they do it to leave something with the dead who may never return from Mandos. Maybe they do it because like the dead, their fight in Middle-Earth has ended.

Men who sail by the island– always by, never to– are very sure that there are ghosts there. To them, the place seems strange and misted, and every figure there looks like a shade. They speak of a golden-haired warrior who spends hours talking to some of the graves, a king who dutifully cares for the tombstones, wiping away dust and moss, the strange dark-haired figure who comes every year to sow wildflower seeds. But those aren't the spirits of the Noldor dead. Only those who would remember them.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Orc! Husband who is a great warrior and leader, knows nothing but being used as a sword, a means to an end who's disillusioned and tired and accepts he's gonna die another pawn in another war, meeting a sweet human, a peasant from a local village who sees him as so much more. (The idea of some large war worn orc getting his scarred face caressed for the first time, being touched kindly for the first time having lived a lifetime of war)

i love this anon

warnings/tags- war mentions, i dont give the orc a name (i just call him orc/him) reader is gn (please dm me if their are any mistakes you see)

sorry this took so long for me to post

word count- 1667

The world was caught in a cycle of war. It was all you had ever known—villages burnt, homes lost, and people fleeing. The once fertile land surrounding your small village had been reduced to ash by decades of fighting. Your family had passed when you were young, victims of an earlier invasion. Now, you lived alone on the outskirts, tending to a humble garden, surviving day by day, hidden away from the larger conflicts that ravaged the region.

One day, word spread that another army was passing through. hims, they said. Great and terrible warriors, driven by bloodlust, used as weapons by those who wished to conquer the land. The mere mention of them sent shivers down your spine. You'd never seen an orc before, but the tales of their brutality haunted your nights.

But life had to go on. War was as much a part of your existence as the soil beneath your feet. You’d tended your small garden early in the morning, pulling weeds and harvesting what little grew in the rough soil, when you saw him.

He was massive—nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders and green, scarred skin that glistened under the midday sun. He moved like a predator, every step deliberate and filled with the weight of someone who knew the battlefield like the back of his hand. His face was hard, worn from years of battle. His tusks jutted out from his lower jaw, and his eyes, dark and tired, scanned the landscape without emotion. His armor was dented and scratched, his war axe hanging loosely by his side.

You froze in place, heart pounding in your chest. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but his presence was enough to send a bolt of fear through your spine. Should you run? Hide? But as you hesitated, he turned his gaze in your direction, his sharp eyes locking with yours.

He didn’t move.

You held your breath, waiting for him to charge, to raise his axe, to shout in fury as the stories had always described. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you. His posture was tense, but there was no hostility in his eyes. Just exhaustion, a deep weariness that went beyond the physical. 

Slowly, you stood, wiping your hands on your apron as you tried to gather your courage. “I-I’m not armed,” you stammered, not knowing what else to say. Your voice trembled, but you stood your ground, unable to look away from the giant in front of you.

He blinked slowly, as if processing your words. His brow furrowed, and for the first time, his lips parted to speak. His voice was gravelly, deep and tired. “I am… not here to fight.”

His words shocked you. Orcs were supposed to be mindless brutes, weren't they? Tools of war and destruction. But there was something in his voice—something that told you he was more than that. Something that hinted at a story far deeper than the legends you'd grown up with.

"I... I see," you replied, unsure of what to do with this information. "Why are you here, then?"

him seemed to consider this for a moment. His eyes drifted across the barren landscape, as if searching for an answer he didn’t have. Finally, he spoke again, his words slow and deliberate. “I was following orders. But the battle is done. And now, I am here.”

There was a sadness in his voice, a resignation that tugged at your heart. You hadn’t known kindness in a long time yourself, not since the war had taken everything from you. And here stood a creature—a warrior—who had clearly suffered more than most. It was a strange feeling, but you didn’t want to leave him there, lost in his own despair.

You took a tentative step forward. “Do you… do you need help?”

Heturned to face you fully now, eyes narrowing slightly. “Help?” he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him.

You nodded, swallowing your fear as best as you could. “Yes. I… I don’t know much about orcs, but… if you’re lost, or need food, I can offer you what little I have.”

He seemed taken aback. His dark eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could see the wariness in him begin to waver. “Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why would you help me?”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to explain it yourself. "Because... you seem like you’ve had enough pain. And I know what that’s like."

He stared at you, unblinking, as if trying to decipher your words. Then, without a word, he sheathed his axe, the sound of metal scraping metal filling the silence between you.

"I am Orc," he said simply, as though it was the only name he had ever known.

You offered him a small, hesitant smile. "I'm... I'm Y/N. Come, if you're hungry, I have some food. It's not much, but it's something."

And so it began. He followed you back to your small home, his massive presence intimidating, yet strangely protective. Over the next few days, you learned more about him—not through stories, but through his actions. He wasn’t the mindless killer you’d feared. He was quiet, thoughtful even, though his words were few. He helped you in the garden, chopping wood with ease, fixing things around the house that had been neglected for too long. He never spoke of the war or the battles he had fought, but the scars on his body told enough of the story.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you sat together by a small fire. The crackling of the flames was the only sound between you for a while, until you finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at you for days.

“.. why did you stay?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke. “I have known nothing but war. I was made for it. Used for it. There was always another battle, another fight. I thought that was all there was.”

You watched him carefully, noticing how his hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke.

“But when I met you…” His voice trailed off, as if he was unsure how to continue. “You did not look at me as a weapon. You did not fear me.”

Your heart ached for him. Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand gently on his arm. His skin was rough and scarred, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth of someone who had long been deprived of kindness. His entire body tensed under your touch, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked down at your hand, his brow furrowing in confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to touch him in such a way. He had known nothing but pain and violence—his body bore the marks of countless battles, each one a reminder of what he was made to do.

Gently, you let your fingers brush against his face, tracing the deep scars that lined his jaw and cheek. His breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw something break in his eyes. He wasn’t just a warrior. He was someone who had been used and discarded, left to fight battles that weren’t his own.

"You’re more than just a weapon," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "You deserve more than this life of war."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if it was the first time someone had ever reached out to him with kindness. The tension in his body melted away, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.

“I… don’t know how to be anything else,” he admitted, his voice strained with vulnerability.

"Then let me show you," you said, your thumb gently brushing across his scarred cheek. "Let me show you that there's more to life than fighting."

In that moment, something shifted between you. The wall he had built around himself began to crumble, and him, the warrior who had known nothing but war, allowed himself to hope. Hope for something more, something better.

And in that hope, you both found solace.

---

As the days passed, he stayed. What had once been a strange and cautious arrangement became a companionship neither of you had expected. He helped you tend the garden, his strength turning the earth with ease. You taught him how to appreciate the small things—the sound of the wind in the trees, the feeling of warm sunlight on his skin, the simple joy of sharing a meal with someone who cared.

And slowly, he began to open up. He told you stories of his battles, not with pride, but with a sense of regret, of loss. He had been a tool, a weapon wielded by others, never given the chance to choose his own path.

But now, with you, he had found something different. Something worth fighting for—not with a sword, but with his heart.

You fell in love, slowly but surely. It was in the quiet moments, the shared glances, the way he protected you without ever needing to raise his weapon. And one night, as the stars twinkled overhead, you whispered the words that had been growing in your heart.

“I love you.”

He stared at you, his dark eyes filled with an emotion so raw, so powerful, that it nearly took your breath away. “I… love you too, Y/N.”

For the first time in his life, he let himself be vulnerable. He let himself feel something other than the cold steel of a weapon in his hand, something other than the rage of battle that had driven him for so long. He let himself feel love.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present (Harry Styles au- Mafia!Harry x reader)

Chapter Seven

Synopsis:- y/n gets back glimpses of the past and tries to piece them together with the help of her once best friend, Oliver, who's somehow sure that she's going to find a way out of the mess she's in. Meanwhile, Harry fights with his own emotions to make a decision. He has to choose one. The love of his life or the gang.

Word count: 7.2K

Warnings: Blood, violence, smoking, alcohol, gang related talk, guns, fighting, killing. Smut. Spitting, oral(f receiving), fingering, praise, dirty talk.

A/N:- Here it is finally, the last part to Traitor-The Present! If you're new and wish to check out this story, you can read the whole series right here. Please like and re-blog to support me. Happy reading:)

______________________________________________

y/n wakes up with her heart racing out of her chest. Her dream had finally shown her a little more. It was just another glimpse, but now she knew Harry wasn’t lying. She really was there with him that night and she was trying to kill him. She had the same question Harry had, why?

The only person who knew the answer to that was herself. She felt so angry, she wanted to pull out her hair and scream at her brain for letting her fall into this mess.

"We're here."

Oliver had driven her to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. There no other buildings, people or even trees, around it. All that she could see was stretches of barren land surrounding the warehouse. Oliver opens the door, motioning for her to get out. 

"W-Where are we?", she asks him.

"Your place to stay for the night. Harry wants to keep you here until he figures out what to do with you.", Oliver says, keeping his hand on her arm as he ushers her to walk. She realized how exhausted she was. It was like she could crumble to the floor any minute.

"How nice of him.", she mutters, and Oliver gives her a look, opening the door of the warehouse and rushing her in, before closing the door behind him.

"A few men will stand guard outside, to make sure you don't escape, but no one's going to come inside except me.", Oliver takes a small key out of his pocket. "I'm going to remove your cuffs. Harry's order was to keep you in cuffs, and not give you an ounce of water or food, but I'm not so evil."

She sighs in relief as the handcuffs click and they're removed. She rubbed her bruised wrists and looked around at the little space. It was so dark. Not even a single light bulb. She figured it was a place where they held people hostage. There were a few sheets in a corner and a pillow.

"There's a toilet there.", Oliver points out, and she crinkles her nose. Everything was so small.

"Why couldn't he just kill me already?", she mumbles, and opens the tap, washing her face with the cold water.

Oliver prefers to ignore her and looks outside the window, before pulling down the shades. "So? Do you have a plan?"

"Unless it involves you getting me out of here, no.", she says, tying her hair up into a bun, and then laying the sheets on the floor. She sits over the sheets although they didn't do much to stop the cold from spreading through her body.

"Why do you care, anyway?", she snaps at Oliver.

"I told you why, already.", Oliver sighs, crouching down to meet her eyes. "I will take a bullet for you, Reagen. Even if you don't know who you are."

The name didn't sound so foreign anymore.

"I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you.", Oliver says, as she wraps her arms around her knees and looks at him. "I can't get you out of here. Harry will know in an instant, he has eyes everywhere. He'll just have both of us killed. But you're a fucking warrior, Reagen."

A warrior? She didn't feel like one. "Make a plan, you have time. Be smart, don't get killed."

She opens and closes her mouth, then someone knocks on the door. Oliver looks through the keyhole before opening it. "No one saw me getting the food, perimeter's going to be covered soon. They're on the way from Marco's now."

"Good job, Sam. Keep guard.", Oliver takes the parcel from the other girl's hands. "Yes boss."

He shuts the door and hands y/n the parcel and a bottle of water. "Food and water."

"Won't you get in trouble if Harry gets to know?", she asks, but opens it. She was starving.

"Nah, he won't know."

He cracks a small smile as she gulps down the bottle of water. The food was some sort of flavored rice with meat. It was delicious.

She wanted to tell him about what she remembered from the dream, but she still had some trust issues. So she thought to keep it to herself, for now.

Oliver took the empty container and bottle with him. "I won't be coming inside now. If it's urgent, knock on the door three times, alright?"

"Okay.", she nods. "Oliver?"

He turns back, and she gives him a small smile. "I can see why we were best friends. Thank you."

"Treat you with respect is the least I can do for everything you've done for me, Reagen.", Oliver says, and goes out, locking the door.

y/n wipes her tears, sitting there alone in the dark. She had to think like Reagen, even though she didn't have the memories back. Oliver was right, she had to be smart and get out of this mess. She had no will to live but she wasn't going to die in the hands of these horrible people.

_____________________________________

Harry was angry.

All he could see was red, wherever he looked. He had been through enough crap and he couldn't take anymore. His whole childhood was a nightmare. After he had killed his father and put his childhood behind him, he should have just lead a normal lifestyle of a doctor. But no, he met the gang, and he loved doing their side jobs. They were the only people who recognized his various talents and coached him with more.

Then came Reagen. Harry still remembers the memory of meeting her.

Harry was going through some files of Dante's, able to access them because he had hacked into their system. He had no idea who Dante was, or what he did to their gang, all he was told, was to hack into some important files. Harry couldn't even figure out if those were the right ones, he was new to all of this. 

"Is it done, Harry?", Luke Alexander asks him as he walks over to where Harry was sitting beside two other guys, who were also typing away on their computers.

"Yes, um, is this the one?", Harry asks, as Luke leans to see. Harry tells him about the details in the files, and Luke grins, patting his shoulder. "Nice job. Reagen will be delighted, that's some good information there."

"Thanks..uh what exactly did Dante do?", Harry asks Luke, and the older man sighs, running his hand over his salt and pepper beard. "A lot of horrible things. You don't want to know. Can you transfer all these files to this drive?"

Luke gives him a pen drive and Harry nods. "Sure."

"Luke! There's a problem.", he hears someone shout from the door way. Luke patted Harry on the back before he left. Harry was a newbie to the gang, so he hadn't met Reagen yet. Luke was whom he communicated with. He joined the gang as a doctor, so that's what he did. He took care of members who came back from missions injured. When he got bored, he made hacking chips, sorted through files, and did the technical work for the gang since he was good at that sort of thing.

But Harry had a lot of pent up anger, and he wanted to get his anger out by fighting, or punching something other than the gym bag. He thought he could go on missions if he joined the gang, but they don't take just everyone. Only people who have experience. 

Soon, he hears people shouting and gearing up to go on a mission. Luke was shouting orders. Harry finished copying the files, kept the pendrive safe, grabbed his medical kit and joined the others.

"What's going on?", he asks one of the guys.

"Reagen called for backup. They think she might be in trouble."

Harry nods, and hopes no one sees him going along, but Oliver saw him, who was throwing guns into their truck. "Where are you going? We have Abbot with us.", he says. Abbot was another doctor in the gang, he was the one going with them on missions because of his experience. He can fight as well. 

"I can help.", Harry tells him. Oliver narrows his eyes at him, thinking. "I really want to. I'll stay safe and help anyone who gets hurt. Please."

"Fine, your own death wish. Get in."

Harry let a small smile escape before he got in the truck with the others. He hears loud explosions and gun shots as they reach the location. Everyone runs out holding their weapons, to different directions into the old building. Harry followed Abbot's lead. They helped their people who got wounded, and got them out of trouble.

Abbot and Harry were helping a guy who got shot in his abdomen, and was losing blood quickly. Harry suspected it might have pierced an internal organ. 

"More lap pads.", Abbot mumbles, gloved hands covered in blood, as he holds pressure. Just as Harry turned to grab some more lap pads, he saw a guy holding a baseball bat, right behind Abbot. 

"Abbot watch out!", Harry yelled, and one of Abbot's hand moved to his gun and fired a shot at the guy before he swung the bat. "Fucking prick.", Abbot curses, turning back to his friend, bleeding out. They both hear a scream coming from down the hall. 

"I'll go check that out. You should take him to the truck, quick.", Harry tells Abbot. 

"Stay safe.", Abbot tells him, and Harry nods, getting his bloody gloves off before walking towards the scream. Harry threaded carefully, trying to figure out from which direction he heard the scream from.

"On your knees, hands in the air!"

Harry freezes as he hears it from behind him. He does as told, as the man has a gun pointed at him. "I might make your death less painful if you tell me why that bitch was here.", the man seethes, pressing the gun to Harry's forehead.

"I don't know anything.", Harry said, staying still, his heart beating fast. 

"Well then I just have to-"

Harry closes his eyes and flinches as hears the gun shot, but the bullet didn't go through him. Harry opens his eyes slowly, and sees a girl looking down at the now dead guy in disgust.

"Looks ugly with or without a bullet through his fucking forehead." She looks up at Harry. "You okay?"

Harry had never seen someone so strikingly beautiful. Long hair falling down her shoulders, beautiful eyelashes hiding her striking eyes. She was wearing a wine red dress that hugged her curves, exposing her collarbones and smooth legs. Red heels covered her feet. 

"You're wondering why I'm dressed like this.", the girl says, eyes going around the room to check for other threats, her arms held out, still pointing the gun. That wasn't Harry's first thought, but now that she mentioned it, he nods. 

"Well my idea was to seduce that ugly lame excuse of a man while I try to get some files we need." She lowered the gun, eyeing Harry now. He was curious to know about what went wrong, he could see how any man would fall for the woman's charm. Now she stood in front of him with messy hair, a busted lip and bruised knees, but he still thought she was the most attractive woman he's seen in his life. 

"You're injured.", is the first thing he says. She chooses to ignore his remark. "You would be dead, just like him with a fucking bullet through your head if I didn't get here when I did. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I um, I'm the doctor with the gang.."

"I know, you're the newbie right? Doctor by profession, hacker by hobby.", she says, sighing as they hear a gunshot from a meter away. She would usually run towards it, but something drew her to the doctor. She wanted to know more about him. He had an air of mystery lingering around him.

"I can do a lot more than hacking and saving people.", Harry mumbles.

"Is that why you're here on a mission? We don't send newbies out unless it's an emergency, which this wasn't. I almost had it under control. I told Luke just to send a few men.", she mutters to herself, wincing as she looks down at her ankles in the heels. "Bloody hell."

"Reagen Jones.", Harry understands who she is finally, putting everything together. 

"One and only.", she gave him a crooked little smile as he finally walks away from the dead body. "Now come on, Doctor, let's get you to safety. I can't risk getting my people hurt."

"It's okay when you're hurt?", Harry asks, following her as she walks out of the room, looking left and right bringing her gun up again. "I've had worse, doc.", she whispered and her head snapped to the left as she heard footsteps but it was only Oliver.

"He fled. We checked the whole place, no traces of him, or-" He gives Harry an annoyed look. "You know what.", he tells Reagen. She sighed, shaking her head. "I should have been more careful."

"Don't blame yourself, it was dangerous. You did good.", Oliver said, squeezing her shoulder. "Go to the car, I'm gonna look over once again. This guy getting in your way?" 

He looked at Harry like he was an annoying child. Reagen let out a small laugh, and Harry wished he could hear more of it. "He's fine. Be careful, Olie."

Oliver nodded, walking past them up the stairs to the next floor, shouting orders to their men. "Why did you join the gang, doc?", Reagen asks Harry as they walk out of the ruined building. Harry thought he would be fazed after seeing men groaning in pain on the floor, bleeding and some of them already dead, but it didn't affect him as much. 

"My father tortured my mom when I was little and he'd beat me up. He was an alcoholic, good for nothing, never a father to me. He abused my mom, and one day when I wasn't there he-"

Harry stops talking as his fingers curl into his palm, eyes blazing in anger. Reagen turns back to look at him, and he releases a slow breath. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it.", she says, nodding towards the car. A man was already opening the door for her. "Ride with me."

Harry got in the backseat with her, watching as she wrapped herself in a jacket, closing her eyes for a moment as she let her head rest. Harry thought to remain quiet, even though he had questions. What if he wouldn't see or get to talk to Reagen up close like this again?

"You tried your best to protect your mother, doc. You made sure your dad got what he deserved. I'm sure your mom's still looking down at you from above.", Reagen turned to look at him. Harry wanted to believe her. He should have killed that asshole before he got a chance to do that to his mother.

"I'll talk to Luke about putting you on missions, it'll help with releasing some of that anger.", she says, and his eyes light up. "You will?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Killing your father was out of pure torment, but in some situations like today, we might be forced to take lives. Are you up for that?"

"Yes.", he answers immediately. "I thought killing him would feel better, but I still stay up at night without being able to sleep. I need to get it all out. I want to learn to defend myself, I couldn't when my father hit me. Will you teach me?"

Reagen didn't mingle with newbies, neither did she interact with anyone other than close people in the gang. They made sure her orders were carried out. But there was something about this boy she couldn't shake away. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Harry.", Harry answers. "Harry Styles."

"Harry?"

Romania enters the room to talk to him. Harry was sitting on the chair behind his desk, cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other hand. Romania had just been back from Marco's place, and she looked alright, except for a bruise on her arm. She was pressing a cloth to hold pressure to it.

"We think we got a lead on Tony. Hans went through Marco's files. He's planning to meet Omar next week.", Romania tells him. Harry was not interested. Yes, Tony was their number one enemy and he was the one person he wanted to tear apart with his own hands, but right now, he could only think about Reagen, or y/n, or whatever she calls herself.

Harry played their stupid memory game hoping that she would get her memories back eventually, or at least make her drop the act if that's what she was doing. But Harry was clear about that now. It wasn't an act. Even the intimate moments they shared didn't bring her memories back. He felt so hurt.

"Um, Harry?"

He looks up at Romania. "What happened?", he asks, nodding towards the blood seeping into the cloth she was pressing to it.

"Oh, fucker got a cut on me before I shot him down, could you take a look at it?"

"Sit."

Harry gets up to grab his medical kit. Romania sits on the edge of his desk, studying her friend. "Are you thinking about Reagen?"

Harry nods, washing his hands before snapping on some gloves. "I get it, you were close to her. But, you agreed to let her go if this also failed.", Romania reminds him, as Harry grabs a pair of scissors, cutting through her sleeve so he could see the injury. Harry only wanted to cut open the cloth that covered her arm, but she used her good arm to shrug off the rest of the material, leaving her upper half in just a bra. Harry focuses on the injury, much to Romania’s dismay.

"She's too dangerous! What if Tony gets to her?"

"I'm aware, Ro.", Harry mutters, pressing on the broken skin making Romania flinch. "Don't tell me you had a change of heart and you're not going to kill her.", she says.

Harry grabs a bottle of antiseptic. "I'm still deciding."

Romania rolls her eyes, hissing as he cleans her wound with the antiseptic. "She's a vicious monster, that's what she is. First, she brought you under her charm, then she planned to kill you, take our money and destroy our empire. I don't know why you trusted her in the first place."

Harry didn’t say anything, he reached for a needle and some surgical thread to close the cut with some stitches. "It was all part of some big plan. As much as I'd love to know as well, she's not going to remember, Harry. At least let me have my way with her. I'll have her in the basement for one day and she'll start singing like a bird-ah!"

Harry sows her skin together, looking up to give her a glare. "You will not touch her. I can do that too, but it's not fair to torture something out of a person who doesn't remember anything about it in the first place."

"She's playing you, Harry.", Romania sighs. "If you don't kill her, you're going to let her win. If her ties are with Tony, then we're pretty much done for. She is banking on you. She knows you can't kill her. She'll get away, Harry. You've assigned Oliver to her! Don't you remember how close they were? He'll let her escape!"

"I trust Oliver.", Harry finishes the stitches. He grabs a bandage to lay over it. "You're done.", he says, taking his gloves off.

"Thank you.", Romania mumbles and reaches for him. She moved her hands up Harry’s neck, weaving one hand into his Harry. "Harry, I'm telling you this because I care about you. I know your emotions are messed up because of your last month together again, kissing her, fucking her-"

"-Romania.", Harry warns.

"-You wish you could go back to that.", Romania continues, stroking his bottom lip with her thumb. "The truth is, you don't need her. There are so many better women who will be loyal to you. Who'll die for you, who will do anything for you.” 

She got so close, her breasts were brushing against Harry’s chest and almost popping out of her bra. But, he didn’t feel anything. The only thing he could think of was how good Reagen could make him feel.

“Oh fuck, Harry..”, she moans as she lets her head hit back against the pillow, her hands in his hair as he laps his tongue over her clit.

She tasted so sweet, so juicy. So gratifying was her flavor that he wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her closer to his face, burying his mouth in her delicious folds. The sting of his scalp as she tugged on his hair, letting out beautiful sounds as he pleasured her, only made him more excited. 

“You like that, baby?”, he looks up at her with a grin, her juices dripping down from his lips. 

“F-Feels so good, Harry, please, please..”, she begs, her hands pushing his head back down as her breathing gets heavier with her release being close. He flicked his tongue across her and inserted two eager fingers into her slick center. Her moan rose to a pleasure filled shriek, and he felt her walls close tight around his fingers. 

“Let go, darling, come on, coat my fingers and my mouth, I want every bit of it, give it to me..”, he hums against her skin and watches her unfold with awe. She looked divine. Murmurs of his name leaving her lips, eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

She lay sprawled with a content smile on her lips and he pressed little kisses to her skin, starting from her stomach and finally reaching her lips. “Where’d you learn that? It was like, out of this world, good, you know?”

“Wait till I’m inside you, love.”, he whispered, stroking some of her hair back from her forehead, still hovering over her. She grins, moving her hand to stroke his rock hard dick, making him groan. “Oh yeah? Show me then.”

She gasped as he slid into her easily moistened sex, letting out a loud moan. “You feel that, darling? Feel how you fit around my cock?”

She wasn’t able to answer as he grunted, pulling his hips back only to plunge them forward, fucking her with hard, deliberate thrusts. She opened her legs wider and relished the feeling of his shaft ramming so deeply. 

“Tell me how good it feels, baby.”, he pants, moving a hand to squeeze around her right breast. 

“S-So good, s-so fucking good.” His thrusts get faster and she grabs his shoulders, her mind going blank with pleasure. “Who do you belong to?”, he asks.

She might be the one that makes grown men quaking in their boots in the outside world, but when she’s with Harry? She just wants him to take control. To mark her up and to make her cry out of pleasure. He loved the way her body would react to his touch. He takes pride in knowing that he’s one of the very few people she trusts. 

Harry moved his hand on her breast to her jaw, his fingers pressing her mouth open. “Answer me.”

“Y-You. I’m all yours, Harry.”, she managed to say and opened her mouth further, sticking out her tongue. “Want me to spit in your mouth, baby? Such a dirty girl.”

He leaned forward before collecting his spit and aiming it inside her mouth, landing it on her tongue. She moans, swallowing it. “Good girl.”, he praises, bringing his lips over hers for a kiss. She kissed him hungrily. His tongue entered her mouth as his cock penetrated her. 

“I-I’m close..”, she whimpers, biting down on his lip. 

“Me too, sweetheart, c-can’t hold on much longer. Y-You feel so fucking perfect.”

They hold each other through their highs, and continue to do so as they come down from it. “Harry?”, she whispers, kissing his cheek.

“Mm sunshine?” He looks up at her, giving her a tired, lazy grin. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Romania’s face coming inches closer to his face and his lips made him jerk back to the reality that he wished was just a really bad nightmare. Five years and the memories he had with her were still so painful to remember, etched into his brain like he wouldn’t ever forget any detail.

“She’s done so much to you, Harry. Let the whore rot in hell.”, Romania seethed.

Harry tangles his hand in her hair, leaning down making her think he was going to kiss her, but he yanks her head back by the grip on her hair, making her hiss in pain. “Shut the fuck up, you jealous bitch.”

She grins despite the pain, one snap of his wrist and she would be dead. 

“Get out before I kill you.", Harry mutters, letting her go. The only reason why he hadn’t done so already was because her father was important, and she did her job decently. 

“Yes sir.”, she hums and hops off the chair. “You have to do something about her soon though.”

Harry picks up his whiskey glass again, emptying it down his throat before taking a swing from his cigarette. Even though Romania annoyed the crap out of him, she was right. Harry had to put Reagen behind him, or he would never move on. He had given her enough of his time. It was time to end it all.

"I'll do what I need to do.”

________________________________________

y/n couldn't sleep. She racked her brain trying to remember things about her past life, that might be the only thing that could save her. She didn't know how long she's going to be here, or how long Harry wants to keep her here. The only plan she could come up with was making a run for it, but she knew it wouldn't get her far. Someone would chase her down, or they could just fire a bullet at her.

Her thoughts shifted to Harry. She was supposed to be mad at him, supposed to forget him, but she couldn't. Everything around her was lies, but she couldn't believe that the time she spent with Harry in these four weeks was a lie. It wasn't, right? He did deceive her, and he was playing her when she thought she was playing him, but whatever happened between them was real. Their feelings were real. That beautiful ring he had picked out, that was for her. Why couldn't she remember their memories together?

y/n wipes away her silent tears as she stares up at the ceiling in the dark. Pitch dark. Eventually, her tired eyes took a break.

y/n wakes up to Oliver shaking her awake. "So? You have a plan?"

The usually composed Oliver appeared a bit distraught. She was going to bring her hands up to rub her eyes, when he handcuffs them behind her back. "Hey!", she protests.

"Shh, there are a lot of people outside.", Oliver mutters. "And I'm supposed to have you in handcuffs, sorry. Bad news, Harry decided to kill you, he's on his way now."

"Oh great.", she says, not surprised. "Tell him to just hurry it up."

Oliver glares at her. "You still don't remember anything?"

She shakes her head.

Oliver's eyes scan her face.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Oliver. You've been good to me, thank you.", she gave him a small smile. Oliver shakes his head. "I still believe in you."

Just then, they hear knocks on the door. Oliver gets it, and Romania comes in, her heels clicking, head held high. "There she is."

She crouches down, and y/n grunts in disgust, trying to pull away when Romania strokes her hair. "Hey darling, how are you"

"Get away, bitch.", she muttered, and Romania giggles. "How sweet. The once almighty Reagen is now at our mercy. Are you sure you want that to be your last words?"

"Romania, what do you want?", Oliver folds his arms across his chest.

"Oh nothing, just came to say goodbye to her. If Harry has any difficulty pulling the trigger, I'll do it for him.", she says, running her manicured nails across y/n's cheek. "I don't understand what Harry sees in you."

"You're never going to get him.", y/n answers back, and Romania's eyes darken in anger, her hand moving to wrap around y/n's neck, choking her. "You can watch from your grave, Reagen. Harry will see clearly once the filth is removed. You will die today, your chances are all over."

"That's enough, Pelt.", Oliver snaps. Romania lets her go and she coughs, trying to breathe. Romania stands up. "Looks like Harry's here!"

The white cedan was pulling up outside. Romania walked out to greet him. y/n watches as Harry steps out, he was wearing a black shirt, with black pants and boots. The top few buttons were undone, so she could see half of his butterfly tattoo, and other ones. The silver cross chain hung from his neck, rings decorating his hands.

His eyes fall on her as he reaches the door. "Give me a minute with her.", his deep voice rumbles to Romania and Oliver. They both stepped out, and Harry comes in, closing the door.

"Harry.", y/n says softly, flinching as she tried to sit up against the wall. "Sleep well?"

Harry crouches down just like Romania had, so he can meet her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, do I even know you anymore?", y/n whispers. Harry's eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to fix her hair after Romania's assault. "You know me better than anyone else, y/n." He chuckles to himself. "Guess I've got used to calling you y/n."

"Nice acting by the way, couldn't tell yesterday. Made me a total fool."

Harry sighs. "Everything I did was for you-"

"-No, it was for you.", she cuts him off.

"Wouldn't you do the same thing if you were in my place?", Harry asks. "I lived holding on to the thought of having you back with me for five years, Reagen. I loved you that much."

He looked so handsome. His gorgeous eyes, his pink lips and his brown curls. She wanted to run a hand through it. "J-Just get it done with Harry, whatever."

Harry takes her face, his thumbs wiping her tears away, his own eyes watering. "Please, sunshine. Don't make me do this. Please tell me you remember something."

y/n hated to break his heart, but there was nothing she could do. "I-I'm sorry, Harry.", she croaked, and he pressed her face to his chest. She took in his comforting, masculine scent. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her. Then everything would feel alright. Everything they've been through flashes through her mind as he presses his lips to her forehead.

He pulls her away, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. " I promised you a long time ago that we would find your mom. I know you don't remember, but just know that I will find her."

Her mom? She thought she didn't have a family. Reagen didn't have a family, right? Then her painting comes into her mind. The painting Harry was absorbed in. The woman she painted, whom she thought would be her mother. She's real?

Harry didn't allow her time to ask more questions. He presses his lips on to hers, kissing her one last time. This was a different kind of a kiss, not one that leads to something, but a hard, painful one. It felt like he was putting all his emotions into that kiss, letting it all flow into her.

She was wondering about what to make for dinner when she heard the door. She looked through the peephole first, seeing Harry and smiled, opening the door.

"Hey there.", she smiles, her heart skipping a beat as his stressed, grumpy face split into a smile. "Hi. I hope it's not too late, wanted to show you something."

"Of course not, come in."

She let Harry inside and locked the door. "I was just gonna start dinner. You're not going before tasting my signature pasta."

Harry follows her into the kitchen, not being able to trap his smile. "I'd love to try some."

She enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed hers. She's been spending a lot of time with Harry every day, ever since he joined her during her training. She's used to talking to people only about gang work, but Harry? She talked to him about everything.

They shared a lot of likes and dislikes, he was funny, sweet and charming. He was also a big asset for the gang.

"So? What'd you make?", she asks him, moving around the kitchen to get the ingredients while he leans on the slab, looking at her.

He pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to show her a chip.

"Your new creation, doc?"

He nods. "Press this button here before throwing it and everything within a 2 mile radius of where it lands will be destroyed."

She doesn't question the working, knowing by now that it's no joke. She raises her eyebrows. "Impressive. I'm sure it'll be useful, keep it safely."

Harry nods, putting it back into his pocket like it was harmless. "You okay, Harry?", she asks. Harry usually got into destruction mode when he was anxious, frustrated and angry. He only told these things to her.

He sighs, nodding slowly. "Just one of those days, I guess."

She squeezed his arm. "It's okay, by the end of the night, you're gonna be feeling better."

"I'm already feeling better. Being around you..I don't know what it is.", he admits.

She smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah? Tell me more, I'm liking the sound of this."

Harry chuckles, amused by her. "Put me to work boss, wanna help you cook."

"You wanna cut the peppers?"

"Sure."

They spent the entire time chatting as they cook together. Then Harry wanted to show off his pro chef skills, wanting to flip the mushrooms in the pan. Of course some of it went flying out and she scolded him while he laughed, apologizing with a soft kiss to her temple, making her smile.

She then brought a spoon to his lips, wanting him to taste the sauce. She watched his face as lips wrapped around the spoon, letting her feed it to him.

"Mm, that's really good." Harry smacks his lips together and she grins. "It is?"

He nods, giving her a side hug as he offers to continue stirring the sauce. "How are you so good at everything you do?"

She blushes, leaning to his side. "I try." She looks up at him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads." He pulls her closer. "Thanks, sunshine."

"Sunshine?", she giggles at the nickname.

He nods, smiling back at her. "Trust me, you can be terrifying if you want to be, but I love this side of you. The happy, care free side of you. You're healing me, you're helping me cope with everything I've been through and the first thought I have when I wake up in the morning is about you. So yes, you're my sunshine."

Her heart melted as she turned him around so he was facing her and she wraps her arms around his neck. Harry dropped his head to her forehead, keeping the spatula away to move his hands to her hips.

“Can I kiss you?”, she asks, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip.

Harry smirks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Only if you want to.”

“And you don’t?”

He grins, closing the space between their lips as he moves a hand to the back of her neck. She felt like her soul had returned to water, like every part of her that came from a dead star became alive. He tasted so sweet, his hand pressing against her skin, his breath fanning over her face. 

“Oh I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”, he whispers against her lips before kissing her again.

That was their first kiss.

Harry's lips pull away from hers, just as the memory fades away. "I love you, and I'll always love you.", he whispered.

"I love you too, Harry.", she spoke without a tremor now. Almost like the kiss had given her some strength, her fear was melting away. Harry got up without another word, and started walking away.

"Harry!", she calls.

"I'm sorry..I-I can't.", he heard her mumble, before he kicked the door open instead of just unlocking it. Harry walks to Sania and says something to her that splits her face into a grin. "Yes boss, I got it."

"Harry, come on! I asked you first!", Romania whines.

He chose to ignore her, and got in his car again. The car drives away. Great, now she's back with the lunatics, and Oliver.

"Get up and come out, it's easier for us to clean the mess outside.", Sania was coming to her, and grabs her up by her shirt, making her grunt. "Shouldn't get the warehouse dirty!"

Her mom. Her head was aching, as something was trying to come through. Somehow, it was connected to her mom. That night, betraying Harry, killing him, she didn't want to do it.

"Perfect! Is everyone ready to watch the death of the great Reagen? Remember that this is what happens to Traitors!", Romania's voice irritates her while she scans the place. There were around eight men along with Sania and Romania.

Sania points the gun to her forehead. Before she could pull the trigger, y/n jumped up into the air, and kicked her straight in the chest with how much ever strength she could muster. She grinned, that felt good.

"Grab her!", Romania says, taking out her own gun, and all the men rush to her. y/n didn't think, she only fought. It was like muscle memory. She was stronger than she thought. Even with her hands cuffed, she was moving through the men, kicking, and swiftly moving around them, dodging their knives and blades.

Then someone grabbed her around the middle, and she growled, struggling against their grip. He was strong.

"I have her! Romania, shoot!"

It was Oliver. But she felt one of his hands fiddling with the handcuffs, and so she stopped struggling in his grip and with a click they were off. Romania came to her with the gun, Oliver let her go, and she pounced on her like a tiger, sending her down to the ground. Her gun fell out of her hands, and she grabbed it quickly, aiming it at her heart, and she pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The shot was fired. Romania gasps, shuddering as she looks at her chest, soaking blood into her clothes. "You deserved a slow painful death, this will be quick, so be thankful.", she spoke, and she didn't even know where that came from. y/n didn't talk like that. Must be Reagen, she thought. Was she such a badass?

“And remember, Harry was always mine.”, she adds as the life fades away from Romania’s face.

One of the men came at her with a blade, and she ducks down, punching his stomach and grabbing the knife out of his hand as he falls forward. She slashed him with it, and he fell with a thud. Men after men, she took down with the gun in one hand and the knife in the other but she was unscathed. She was fighting like a monster. She took out all her rage and anger out on them.

Next, she was up with Sania. The one whose betrayal hurt more than others. The one she thought was her friend. All the color was draining from Sania’s face and she joined her hands together in apology. "P-Please Reagen, I made a mistake. Please don't-"

She stuck the blade into her stomach in rage. "I thought you were my friend!”

She thought she might feel something as she fell dead in front of her, but she didn’t. She was numb. After all, Sania was going to kill her. She deserved to die.

y/n was rushing on adrenaline, and she looked around at all the fallen bodies, like who's next?

There was a last man standing. Oliver. He put his hands up as she pointed the gun at him, but he was smiling. "So you did have a plan." "Shut up."

He shrugs. Oliver was good. He had helped her. She could trust him. So she lowered the gun. "Are you going to come with me? I have to get out of here."

"I'll be your driver, like old times.", Oliver nods, pointing to a truck. "We'll have to switch cars later, but for now, let's go."

They both get into the car, and Oliver drives away. "So, do you remember everything now?"

"No. Bits.", she sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead. "What do you know about my mother?"

_______________________________________________

Harry was looking outside the window, stuck in a memory lane. It contained so many little fragments of his life with Reagen. The moments he spent with her. Every single moment that he wished he could go back to.

And now, he had just given the order for her to be killed.

Harry's phone rings, it was Luke. Luke was an important player in their little game to get Reagen to remember. They all knew Reagen only had one weakness.

Family.

She would do anything for her family. She has gone to bounds and put her life in danger a million times to find her mother. That's why Luke had to play as her sick uncle.

"Hello.", Harry says into the phone.

"Harry. There's a problem.", Luke sounded breathless on the other side.

"What?"

"Romania and Sania are dead, so are some of our men. I don't know where Oliver is and I can't reach him. Angelo called me, said that Reagen attacked them. She's escaped, Harry. Looks like our old Reagen's back."

Harry's face breaks into a smile as he takes the new information in. Now that, was starting to sound like his old partner. The fearless, powerful, brave, Reagen, who looks beautiful while burning her enemies to the ground. The love of his life.

Harry didn't know if she was now his enemy, or his partner in crime, but he could figure it out. The thought of all of it brought a rush of cold air into his body, of excitement and anticipation. She was like his drug, his ecstasy.

His sunshine.

"What do you want to do?", Luke asks him.

Harry brings the lighter to the cigarette between his lips. He took a long puff from it, and released the smoke, before smiling wide.

"We wait. Reagen likes making the first move."

___________________________________________

Taglist- @livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar

(Drop a message if you want me to add your name to my taglist!)

A/N:- Let me know how you guys liked the last part! Left you at a cliffhanger;) I want to thank each one of you for choosing to read my story, it really means a lot to me. Thank you to everyone who liked my story and re-blogged it, I appreciate it so much.

Traitor-The Present has come to an end, now you understand why I named it like that. This is the story of the present. You still haven't read the story of their past.

So, do we want a sequel?

[romcomeon]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

✒ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋: life and fate are scary; and it takes immense sacrifice for one to be legendary.

✒ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: reader as calypso, solomon as odysseus, barbatos as athena, luke as telemachus, mammon as hermes, + a few special guests!

✒ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: solomon x gn! reader, epic the musical au, odyssey au, greek myths reimagined, unreciprocated love, signs of manipulation, angst, angst, angst, mentions of grief and death, character death [lightning strike], solomon has a breakdown at the end, "penelope" is gender neutral

✒ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒: wc: 7k+ | read on AO3 .ᐟ

✒ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍�� 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒: @mammonsrockstargf ﾉ @satangcrush ﾉ @eraofkalki ﾉ @sadpancakeface ﾉ @torchvic

He whose fate was swallowed by the high seas was no less of a love-driven fool.

For years he never returned, yet for centuries, his legacy strives within legends. Epic poems crafted by the most renowned of writers, curated to accurately depict his outstanding feats whilst making them a tad more magical. All these stories were sung in praise by orators as crowds gathered around—eyes, ears, and minds working wonders. 

They themselves create their own interpretation of fantasized play for their greatest hero. The crowd’s silent roars, begging for a glimpse of a life once treasured. 

A valley without its savior. A court without a martyr. An army without a leader. 

Ballads and tragedies dedicate themselves to the fallen. With scholars utilizing this artistic medium as a bloodless graveyard for the ghosts of those who never returned. Their souls rest in peace among the wrathful flames of the underworld, dancing to the chants of the oracles. When the songs are as beautiful as the late Michael’s melodies reeking to the echoes of a meadow suffering drought to the god’s ear, perhaps, the scholars prophesied, Olympus would be merciful.

Of course, that would be if the world were as harmonious as the plays of the great Mephistopheles, with his cult's undying joy of wine and lust. Gaia was born from the depths of Chaos; Chaos had never been one for mercy.

By Satan’s decree and Barbatos’ valor, ruthlessness prevails in war. War was a testament to humanity’s own morals and beliefs. To relieve the growing surge of bloodlust when conflicts arise, bathing Troy in deep, luminous crimson. Screams of the deceased haunt these barren lands, filling the ruins of a grotesque landscape. Resembling the numb trauma soldiers possess murdering women and children, the hubris of the rulers sought to persuade them to do more.

Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

Amidst hamartia, these idols were worshiped by their men. Allowing their flaws to be redeemed, gifting them with celestial grace to guide them away from danger. The scholars call this peripeteia, the reversal of one’s fate. With bad turning good or divine turning corrupt, the choice was given to Chaos’ more prominent writers: the mortals. 

Peripeteia never guaranteed a positive turn, even as most stories seem to suggest. The loud guttural roar bounced off stone walls, spreading across the vast lands. From the skies to beneath the sea, his name repeats itself.

“Praise him, oh great Solomon of Ithaca.” 

Whispers of that name make the masses perk their heads up and gauge the source. The majority shake their heads in a low huff, mourning the disappearance of Greece’s greatest warrior and his crew of men. Tales depict him as one who matches Achilles in glory, Alexander in rule, and the gods in intellect.

Ask a cowardly soul about their view of the king, and they’d bashfully avert their gaze. Sealing their mouths shut lest they’d be able to speak for another day. The braver minority ridiculed the king’s rule, even as to boast about the castle remnants. With no hero, there was no order. Hundreds of suitors flock to the palace, offering sexuality for power. To them, this legend was no less of a dead man.

A kingdom without a king. A queen without a lover. A prince without a father. 

Being the God of Wisdom, Barbatos made sure his greatest warrior survived the most gruesome of trials that rivaled Hercules’ challenges. Molding the king to fit his ideals; triumph basking in newfound glory with every ferocious beast his hands slay. Well trained to become a warrior of the mind; cunning and wit, quick to produce a plan for his own benefit. 

The making of a warrior comes with many pitfalls. Intelligence carries a heavy burden of excessive knowledge, and with owning knowledge comes humanity’s impuissance—kindness. For knowledge is a gift of victors, but why supply ruthless killers with a force opposing their ideals? That was considered torture. A strong, well-respected legend was merciless. Never was it that there’d be justice, that was part of the reason, yes, though being just was clemency.

That marked the beginning of Solomon’s peripeteia. His virtue to spare one of  Leviathan’s cyclops turned the narrative against him.

It’s what turned his own god against him.

Albeit, those were years ago, and the said old god knew that. Barbatos lets out a sigh, trailing his gloved hands along the cold tread of marble stairs. He took off the old rusted helmet, dark and vibrant green locks swaying along to the warm breeze. The headpiece was set aside, carefully gracing the dark turquoise cloth adorned with embroidery of owl feathers and slippery snakes.

He never pictured that in all these years he’d be reminiscing of those fond moments with that lily-livered soul. Each faint ‘tap’ ticks for every second, recalling a memory as if it only happened yesterday. The time before the great fall, watching the familiar tufts of white hair, black robe with an ombre of white and night-sky blue, and stars; stars that marked a better time. 

He stood tall at the forecastle deck of his ship, raising the sword up high in his hand. Gray eyes fall upon the cyclops’ wounded figure, his face ridden with specks of blood. For he was no man nor mythical, his form casting a large shadow looming over the terrain. No man, but the reigning king of Ithaca. Leading with peace, working to save his comrades while the titan feeds. Hundreds of men’s deaths shan’t go in vain.

Remember him for if the beast chooses not to spare another weary soul, so be it. Perish. Solomon raised his chin up, pointing his sword to whoever sees. “I am your darkest moment,” he says.

“I am the infamous Solomon.” 

Stupid. Foolish. Mortals were always foolish. Barbatos shakes his head in disapproval upon the memory. Perhaps, maybe, things would’ve been much different had he himself…

What could he have done? He was a god, a divine force of nature, either a friend or foe to a benevolent protagonist. Yet perhaps if he had done something. Perhaps if he hadn’t simply lashed out at Solomon’s blatant naivety of showing mercy, then he’d be fine. They’d be fine. Barbatos already knew that mortals were susceptible to demons lurking in their minds, waiting to coerce an unintelligent soul’s light to go dark. Maybe, if he had just been a bit wiser, they’d be fine.

"Your friend?”

"Hm?" Barbatos lifts his gaze up, hearing the curious sound of a bright young boy, There he stood balancing on the stone balustrade. The boy, well, man, fixed his balance before walking towards the god. He swept the fabric beneath him before sitting beside the other, slowly inching closer.

"I do not know who your friend is, or the mistakes, and..." he trailed off, averting his golden blue eyes to the side whilst his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his chiton. He cleared his throat, possibly to not be any more awkward. "Well, my time with you has been splendid!"

Barbatos glanced at him, cocking his head. "How come?"

Stars glint within the boy’s eyes. Clenching one of his fists as if to grab an imaginary sword, before eventually exclaiming filled with excitement. "'Cause I got in a fight and I didn't die!"

He catches himself for a moment, blushing bashfully before scratching the back of his neck. "I've never felt strong before,” he admitted. Sure it was surprising, but the young prince wasn’t necessarily like his father. Though it’d made sense, had the young lad last seen the king when he was an infant. 

Barbatos could remember earlier events. Antinous and the other suitors, flocking the palace and picking fights with an unarmed little wolf. Barbatos knew that he can be stronger with the right guidance, so he did what he could; go into the warrior’s mind to quicken his thoughts, and make him effortlessly lunge attacks towards the bullies.

The prince had the motivation, the dream, and the intellect. Much like when Solomon was younger, he too had a good heart.

Then again, Barbatos knew this was different. This was no longer the same man who he grew apart with all those years prior. Rather of a hair as white as the brightest clouds, he was greeted with a soft, gentle blonde. And his eyes, not a harsh, stone cold gray, but a bright blue with golden ombre. That detail made Barbatos perk a smile, as in his thoughts, both of them looked like parts and recombinations of a certain godly messenger.

Those similarities turn to not be as glaring when he sees the fresh sparks of pure adoration on the prince’s face. Barbatos watches as the other composes himself, careful to choose his words but not holding back from ever portraying the swell of giddiness of his demeanor.

What shocked the god was instead was the words that escaped him. He spoke gently, invitingly even, but still nervous. He seems to not be so sure if these were acceptable to say, but he did.  “You're my friend, I couldn't ask for more," he said. “Maybe if life wasn't spent as planned. Though, I think it's time that you lend a hand— and I don't think he'll mind.”

He reaches out, raising his hand. “If not his friend, then mine.”

Barbatos stared at the boy’s palm, confused. For as many long years as he had lived, he had never seen this generous act of… celebration? Nevertheless, understand the traditions and gestures mortals made with other mortals. Although, he understood that the divine weren’t necessarily mingling with these mortals in the first place. 

Nevertheless, it was a new start. And the bridge between gods and mortals have slowly become invisible in the time of war.

So Barbatos also raised his hand, slapping his palm against the boy’s—if that’s how you do it. He thinks he did it correctly, seeing the prince’s smile widen. "You're a good kid, Luke," Barbatos sighs, smiling more in ten minutes than he ever had in ten years.

Luke only nodded his head. "Thanks!" 

A billow of clouds seize themselves over the mortal realm. Hidden within the trenches of the sea of indefinite wonder lies the peak of mount Olympus. At the foot of the temple, a black owl swiftly glides through the air. Once it reaches the foot of the temple, it shapeshifts back into Barbatos’ figure, dusting off any dirt that got on his clothes.

“So… Barbi,” a voice lurks within these halls. It didn’t take long for Barbatos to recognize that diction: zany and all reminds me of tricksters. “Still missing yer mortal?”

“Not now, Mammon.” the god of Wisdom sighed. “I’m busy.”

Mammon, the messenger of the gods, groaned. “This ‘bout the ‘moni guy again?” he complains, crossing his arms as his winged sandals lift him up in the air, allowing him to lie down on almost nothing. “C’mon, it’s been years.”

The god almost circles around Barbatos, with how his gold and silvers clang with his every movement. “Haven’t moved on, hm?” Mammon flipped himself over, resting his face on his palms while kicking his feet in the air. “Say it, Barbatos, you miss the guy as much as the last one.”

Barbatos only walked away. “Keep yourself out of this. This is simply urgent,” he said.

Mammon scowled, standing upright while clearing his throat. “Well I supposed the time he went hookin’ up with Thirteen wasn’t as urgent—”

“Thirteen?”

Barbatos stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the messenger. “What about Thirteen?”

“Ah,” golden boy realized his mistake. He gave a faint whistle, tugging a few strands of dusty beige behind winged ears, averting his gaze so as to not directly anger the literal god of wisdom and war. Thirteen, daughter of Helios. Protector of nymphs, and known for turning men into swine. 

Mammon cleared his throat. “So ya didn’t know.”

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed, the shadows in the temple deepening around him. Suddenly his spear was pointed at Mammon, inches away from scarring the other’s throat. “What happened?” he pressed, his voice a low growl.

Mammon shrieked, hands in the air. “‘was that for!?”

“Say something,” Barbatos smiled, patience growing thinner.

Mammon groaned, shrugging. He leaned casually against a column, twirling a golden coin between his fingers. “It’s best if ya see it for y’self,” he said, sapphire eyes subtly hinting at mischief. “Sol’ gone be damned to do a billion more fuck ups than fraternalizing the old man.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced restlessly.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, retreating back his spear. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern in his tone.

“‘s speakin’ the truth ‘ere.” Mammon stopped, casting a piercing gaze back at Barbatos. It was rare to see the troublesome messenger of the gods be so serious. Though moments like this don’t last long, before a smirk breaks itself on his face. “Don’t thank me,” Mammon waves off, fanning his hand. 

“He might as well may die.”  

The sirens’ songs scream through ocean waves—no longer in an alluring tone that stops seafarers in their way, but an eerie melody whom irks many sailors to change their trajectory. “Spare us, oh spare us please.” 

Wailing cries die out with the thunderous waves reaching alarming heights, a yard longer with every second the sea god’s fury boils. The storms guard Sparta from any unwanted pests, for a simple step was met with a bolstering beam of light as the gods’ roar echoes through the mortal’s ears. Although  what tickled his ears, or the contrary, was how quiet it got. Immensely calm;  the sounds of despair long gone with every wave hitting the shore. In a matter of life and death, it was odd that it suddenly got so peaceful.

Specks of sand reach his eyelids. Solomon begrudgingly opens his eyes, greeted by the harsh golden rays of the sun. Lifting himself up off the shore, he lets out a low groan as his hand dusts off the rest of the sand. Long strands of hair fall on his face, his fingers scratching the bit of fuzz on his chin. The last time he recalled, he only had bits of stubble that he planned to shave off with the remaining beeswax they still had on the great ship.

The ship. Curse godblessed cattle.

He stays sitting there, eyes cautiously observing the surroundings. Unlike in the past years of his voyage where it was filled with dull, brooding shades of life and the underworld, this place almost hurts the eyes. Instead it is filled with light, soft yet vibrant hues of lush trees and serene waters: even the sand, finer than Spartan shores, colored in a beautiful light peach brown. Cupping a handful, the sand only smoothly glides through his fingertips; not a particle on his palm.

The sea greets him with little seafoam meeting the outline of his body, but not once wetting the worn out fabrics of his clothes. And at that moment, he realized, this was no ordinary island. 

“Where am I?” Solomon whispers out, feeling the well of dread picking up from the deepest swells of his stomach. This place looked lively; and by his induction, too lively. No land on Gaia would be this swell when there was that god’s ongoing rampage.

As Solomon was about to go and try to scavenge the shore for more clues on this mystery island, a loud, sing-song voice booms in the air. Your voice, waving your dominant hand while the other holds the woven basket filled with sweet fruits. You had a feeling he’d wake up sometime soon, though you underestimated the speed of time. “Good morning sleepyhead!” you cheered, walking towards him in rhythmic skips and hops on the sand.

You slowed down as you got closer, seeing the other flinch and take a step back, with his arm at his front and his brows furrowing. On the contrary, you softly smiled, humming. You extend your hands toward him, though not touching his skin quite yet. “You’ve been resting for a while,” you said, almost with a small bit of laughter. “I swore you were dead.”

Solomon clicked his tongue. “Who are—”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” you asked, your hand now resting on his scarred check. Carefully running your finger to the trace of his jaw while you gush about how adorable it was, hearing his gentle murmurs even when most of his words were incoherent. Pristine snow-colored hair, marvelous earthy gray eyes, delicate and commanding diction. 

Though you do wonder of a word that you could understand. Or well, not a word to, but a name. A name you heard through every gasp while his body twitched on the sand. They seem to grow more desperate with each repetition, a poor soul calling for someone in an endless void. Naturally, this had you curious, questioning him while your hand began to trail down his neck. “You keep mentioning their name quite lot. Who’re they?”

You didn’t expect him to grab your wrist, clenching his fists around it. You winced at the pain, though you observe how his actions may be harsh, yet his eyes, expression, looked happier. He wasn’t looking at you, no, far from it; he looked zoned out, catching imaginary glimpses, a loving smirk ghosts his face.

Solomon spoke gently, fondly even. Similar to his restless whispers of the night. “They’re my spouse.”

Suddenly that smile you had faltered, replaced by a confused expression. Your lips formed a small “oh,” your hand retreating back to the basket’s handle.  

You weren’t exactly terrified. Very much on the relative opposite; disappointed. It’s common in the legends for great to be utterly devoted to their lovers. A waste, your eyes falling back and inspecting his figure head to toe. The man looked ragged. Hurt. Malnourished. Dirty. Your thumb wipes itself on your index finger, remembering the rough, but smooth sensation of his imperfect flesh.

“Well they aren’t here now, no?” you tilt your head.

Solomon looked appalled, his eyes widening in offense. Was it something that you said? You weren’t lying— his spouse wasn’t here. You’re far from his homeland; whisked away to the safest, luxurious cove that you kept hidden away. That’s what there was with you, you’re rather secretive. You keep what’s yours hidden from peering eyes, where no mortal won’t get the privilege of seeing.

It took you a second to note your slip of the tongue. Noting that honesty may come off as rude. “Ah, forgive me,” you said. You bashfully averted your gaze, small hues of pink flushed on your cheeks. Being lonely on this land has made you too excited to see someone who even survived getting here. You worried that once his pulse came to a halt, you had to send his corpse away from the creatures to wholeheartedly devour. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone.”

You were honestly starting to love this change of pace. It’s no fun if he leaves so soon. Perhaps the fates could care less if you allow yourself to adore him—even with his conflicting feelings

So you shake your head, giving him the basket as you take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Anyways, come my love!” You chime, small stars sparkling in your irises. ”The island awaits us!”

His face grimaces, pulling back his hand yet your grip was just too strong. Solomon spouted bitterly, raising a brow in offense. “Your love?”

You paid no attention to his words, instead touring him of this wonderful landscape. Open arms, twirling around taking in the bright greens and luscious blues of wild flowers and old trees. So giddy, even come to admire this lonesome place even more. “We have everything we could ever ask for!” you jolly along, taking a brief glance at Solomon.

The other still looked to be so perplexed. His hands gripping the basket’s handles, his feet dragging themselves as if they were leashed to your arms. His eyes seem to wander, but not once purposely in your direction.

Still, he must still be processing being in such a wonderful place, isn’t he? You giggle. You stroll around, slowing down as to not yet lose your now forever lover. A small crab scuttles near your feet, pinching at the air with its tiny claws.

It’s a vivid shade of red, almost glowing in the sunlight. You crouched down, opening your hand as you waited for the little one to climb on it. Sadly, it didn’t seem to reciprocate your friendly actions. Instead it waddled away, strutting as quickly as it could with its little crab feet. You pouted as you watched, inching closer to instead grab it by the shell, before placing it on your shoulder. 

“Much better,” you laugh. Now that it’s there you twirled around, eager to prove to Solomon how wonderful heaven feels. How wonderful it’d be if he sees the joy soon. “Oh, we thank Queen Rose,” you giggled again. Ogygia was just as bountiful as the maiden you used to serve’s magical prowess.

You noticed that Solomon had  placed the basket on top of a moss-covered rock, feeling his hand along the bark in a calculated expression, mumbling something.

You spoke aloud in a melodic symphony. “The place is beautiful,” you coaxed, stepping closer with your hands behind your back. Closer and closer, you watch him stiffen up and he faces you, right hand quick to grab the handle of his sword.

“It is.”

There was no denying that he was supporting your sentiment. For the first time. 

You thought about how to get more from him, with each slow footstep you took forward. It couldn’t be helped that you felt cheeky, seeing the brave, powerful warrior back up against the tree; defensive, but oh so helpless. Tattered robes with rusted pieces of armor, worn out sandals and puffed up bruises. Stunning, you thought.

“Perhaps,” you cheekily say, the back of your hand running along his chest. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.” 

Solomon swats your wrist away. “I’m not your man.” 

‘Not yet,’ you thought. Again, you ignore all possible signs of rejection, clinging towards him. 

“I’m what you want. What you need, dear,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the outline of his armor. “It’s just you and me, my love in paradise.” You step closer, your breath warm against his skin.

“Now until the end of time, from here and out, you’re mine.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “All mine.”

Solomon pushes you away, causing you you tumble back. As you were about to recompose yourself, you see a dull, rusted blade pointed at your neck

“I could kill you where you stand,” Solomon spouted bitterly, lifting your chin with the tip of his sword. “I’m no pet. I’m a married man.” 

Oh. He’s feisty, and can wield a weapon well. You left out a soft chuckle, holding the blade with two fingers as you moved it aside. “Oh handsome, you may try, ” you tease, even as you trace the sharper end of the sword, “pricking” your finger at its tip.

“But last I check, gods can’t die.” You kiss your own fingertip, one eye open to gauge at his reaction.

Solomon furrowed his brows, lowering his sword. “God…?”

You smile, resting on one of the larger rocks. You spoke not a word, but your cheeky smile and prominent glow at the ends of yours hair settled your case. You weren’t just some creepy owner of a secluded island that doesn't seem to appear in any of the olden maps. No. Of course you had to be a god.

This was bad. Very very bad. Solomon wished not to mingle with the gods. 

Solomon wished that you weren't a god. 

“But fear not, I bring no pain!”  you reassure. “We’re stuck in paradise. Where no one can come and go, as my island stays unknown—”

“This is no paradise.”

You raised a brow. Had you heard it correctly? It was a plethora of beautiful flora and fauna. “What are you talking about?”

Solomon only shook his head, giving a coy, but per say partly polite smile. “I won’t be drawn to ‘love in paradise’. Get me out this instant.”

“Oh! You really are such a fool.” You pout. Your eyes scan over him, lifting your hand to your chin. Humming, you spot a small, beautiful hyacinth blooming beneath the rock. You crouched to pick it, examining the wondrous petals.

“We could fix that starting with this bit of hair,” you said. As Solomon was about to interject, you had placed the flower up at his ear, making sure to lightly touch his skin. “Aww, poor you. I’m here now.” 

“Not ‘till the end of time.” Solomon takes a step back. “There is NO way—”

“But you’re mine,” you take a step closer once more. The man felt trapped, as every step he moved away only got you to inch closer. For gods, he expected a bit of decency. As far as he was concerned, mortals were more like puppets, only keen to serve every whim. Gods weren’t particularly opposed to mortal relationships, so why not?

Had he a choice? 

You give him a sudden, tight hug. “All mine.” 

“They’ve kept you out of your control,” Barbatos muttered, watching Solomon all the way from Olympus. 

The god pinches his temples, processing what he just saw.

Not only was Solomon truly making a barrage of avoidable mistakes, but now he's stranded in an island with a homewrecker and no crew.

"Time can take a heavy toll," the god sighed once more. He's quickly to splash along the waters, hopeful to catch small glimpses of progress. What kind? anything that can safely get him back.

'Seven years...'

It was the break of night, calm bright festive colors all reduced to the dark, lonesome blues and grays. You woke up to the cold gust of wind hitting your skin, feeling the warmth retreat back. You flutter your eyes open, only to be met with emptiness; the only indication that he was there was the subtle dent on the white silk.

You sighed, running your hand along your hair as you set up, blanket on your lap, staring at the cold bedside. You loathe the routine of getting up and fetching your lover, muttering silent prayers that he hadn’t whisked himself away and droned in hellscape. The only sign of warmth was only the moonlight peeking through the window of the wooden hut, and even that sent a chilling sensation down your spine. It was a matter of time before his thoughts would begin to unravel, and for his nightly cries to spiral.

You turned to your side, legs on the ground as you stood up from the kline.

“Solomon?” you yawned out, stretching your arms in the air before grabbing another silken sheet to cover yourself. It was during night where there were the harshest of colds, after all. Deafening silence, only exposed to the loud dining of crickets and other critters that lurk in these darkness. 

At day time, you would catch Solomon often sulking along the shoreline. His head hung low as he sat on the sand, arms crossed over his knees, pulling them closer to his body. In rare instances, he’d trace his fingers along the grains of sand, marking it with countless words, names, and symbols. 

One that stood out to you one time was his repeated scribbling of a certain phrase. You swore to have heard of it before, but watching as the perfect bed of sand and seashells instead was carved with constant repetition, seeing him grip whatever his hand got a hold on tightly as he goes to recall memories of a past he once lost.

Of how it was to be kind. “Greet the world with open arms. Relax, my friend.” 

It felt psychotic. You had to lull him out of his wicked trance before he went to hurt himself physically. Wiping off the dirt that stuck to his face, trimming his long hair to a more manageable length, and having to watch so he doesn't starve to death. He was a lot, going for hours without uttering a word or making eye-contact. Every time you nudge his arms and join you, whether it be in an act of passion or whimsy, the sparks in his eyes only continue to fade. Void of any speck of hope. 

“Solomon?” 

You call out once more. Walking out the safe confines of the hut, you went into the now quieter, eerier, more maniacal-driven call of the night. Every night, you’d wake up to sniffling whispers and faint sobs coming from the other side. You’d attempt a soft hum, hopefully soothing him to a calmer state of mind, caressing his sides and watch him twitch his body away from your touch. On more restless nights, he’d swat your wrist away before you’re able to touch him, huddled in a fecal position and shivering with the hour growing colder. 

It’s at night where you feel helpless. Every attempt proven futile, every act of service ignored or unsupported. Every word working to console him only worsens his cries. Long periods of solitude have rendered Solomon uncomfortable in the company of others. Within your shared hut he laments, and there was nothing you could do.

You find yourself at the foot of a steep cliff, all from following smudged footprints on the grass. You squint your eyes, making out a figure on top of the cliff, only illuminated by the bright moonlight as this figure stares down into the mellow waters. Slowly, as to not hopefully startle the figure, you inch closer, carefully tracing your eyes along his form.

Subtle white glow basking in the moonlight, the freshly woven chiton you made for him reflecting the rays through golden crewels of birds, waves and stars. When you made that, the symbols were supposed to represent hope and longing, a fortunate outcome if he gave you more time. Though when he adorns the garment, signs of hope turn into withering longing. Only engraved memories of the past that forever haunts him.

He stood as still as an oakwood tree, mildly resisting the harsh waft of air. As you inch closer you reach out to him once more. So that please, he’d turn around and see you eye-to-eye.

You desperately called out for him, worrying exuding through syllables when you took a momentary pause to utter his name. It was familiar, but foreign. “Solomon?” you pleaded, fingers clenching your palm when you still see him stand there. Still. A man who can’t be moved or accept the present; always stranded in the labyrinth of the past.

“I hear them,” he uttered. Catching his breath with every word, stifling a sob with every annunciation. “All I hear are screams.” 

Solomon takes a step forward. Tiny pebbles drop themselves towards the water. Ripples that marked tiny specks of heaven sunken beneath the surface. You flinch, rushing towards him yet still shy of a few steps. Small comets that guide the sky fall down and crash as a meteor, falling into seas where ripples turn into tides when they reach the shore.

“‘Moni, get away from the ledge.”

“Quiet,” Solomon snarked. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.” 

The scholars would call this anagnorisis. How a tragic hero discovers the cruel reality of his circumstance. How despite any attempt for kindness—for mercy—all is worthless in his peripeteia. Loss was something you couldn’t understand. Being alien for a majority of your life had you numb to the thought of loss just yet.

Yet.

Perhaps you were instead afraid of experiencing that loss.

“Every comrade I long knew,” you hear Solomon say. Drowning in anagnorisis. Panting. He lifts his hand up to grab tuffs of snow locks, tugging on the strands. “ Every friend. I saw them die, and… all I hear are—”

“It will be fine, dear.”

Solomon turns his to the side, as if catching even a small glimpse. You held your ground, staying firm. Comforting him with gentle melodies, singing a small ballad to soothe his nerves once more.

“ Come back inside, dear,” you said. You hesitate, inching closer but make sure to keep your pace quiet. Your voice cracks, feeling the burning drops of tears trailing down your cheek. “Love of my life, please.”

“Come back to paradise.” “Just let me close my eyes.” 

You hear him resisting the melody, dueting your ballad with hoarse dissonance. Still, you continued, all until you were able to palace your hand on his shoulder. Squeezing it to give a blink of reassurance, pulling yourself closer to coddle him in your embrace. Though you don’t plan to hurt him. Never did, and never shall. You lean near his ears, whispering, “I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart.”

“If you could just see…” “All I hear are screams.” 

“I love our time here,” you pause, gulping. “I love your company, It’s just..” 

“Life would be so much worse if you had died.” “JUST LET ME CLOSE MY EYES!” 

Solomon snaps, pushing your hand away as he strides forwards, turning around and finally facing you. Finally seeing you. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? There you were, gray eyes with bits and the tiniest stars dying out in lonesome nebulae. Tears stream down the corners of his eyes as he takes erratic, shaky breaths. His hand still grabbing tufts of his own hair, running itself along it and pulling at the string begging for an ounce of control.

He noticed you, and you can vividly see the absolute madness swirling in his eyes.

“‘Moni,” you call out, grabbing both his wrists and gently grabbing him off the end of the cliff. He follows you, eyes now trailing downward, brows furrowed. His lips quivering, his lungs gasping, his hands warm from cold sweat; from all the stress of these memories.

“Please stay away from harm,” you lull him further, wrapping his arms around your waist. They’re dead, but you’re here. He wasn’t alone, you had a splendid time together. Flowers, petals, birds and bees—this was all you thought a man could ever want. There he stood, the only time ever acknowledging you since his first arrival was one of terror. One urging you to leave him. You run your thumb gently on his cheek, wiping those streams of regret.

“Stay in my open arms,” you cooed. You carefully caress his hair, your hand gliding through each silken strand. You were here, and you welcomed him to a palace where he’d otherwise may die.

You hear Solomon’s breath hitch, staring at you in shock. Irises turn into pinpricks, flinching as he grows appalled by your words. Suddenly, all in his view twisted off into blurs and blobs of a series of different hues and arrays of various colors. Shades of blue, yellow, browns and pinks littered his vision, and your form melted away into nothing but just a color of shapes.

“Moni?” Solomon could hear a voice. A voice not like yours: it wasn’t melodic, in a sing-song tone that’s as soft as the flutter of butterflies. This was more kind, more earthy, more human. And lastly, more familiar. Your voices swallowed by the whispers of a distant past, silken velvety words in a calming diction. It wasn’t yours. It was no longer you who clouded his mind.

The image of your gentle smile was gone; turned to instead to be more genuine. One of excitement. Suddenly, Solomon saw  the day at night. Sun kissed skin and curly, dark brown hair, with the figure’s bright cerulean eyes becoming clearer with the second. The hand was no longer on his cheek and the base of his neck, but tightly grabbing both his shoulders while lightly shaking him in glee.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!” the figure cheered, taking a step back and he did just as he said: he opened his arms wide open. As if welcoming Solomon in a tight embrace.

Solomon gasped, reaching his hands out. A small, hopeful smile ghosts his face. “Simeon?”

Simeon chuckled, moving his hands around before slowly, blobs and blues start to resurface along the base of his arms. Colors of light, periwinkle blue contrasted with specks of black and wave strands. 

The king’s smile fades, squinting his eyes to focus more on the mysterious figure that his friend was holding. 

These blobs and sharp shapes of diamonds and triangles instead morphed into the innocent figure of a young baby boy peacefully asleep in his blanket. Solomon’s eyes widened, even shaking his head while closing his eyes. To do a double take as to make sure the child he saw wasn’t who he thought he was.

The child from the wooden crib back at Troy. The child whom the gods had ordered him to… to…

Simeon hummed, rocking the baby in his arms. Solomon’s ears perked up from the soft, childish giggles exuding from the blanket. Simeon chuckled, letting the young prince play with his finger. “He’s wonderful,” the lad crooned, chuckling before slowly going back to a playful tune. “To think a man like Hector was able to have a child. Tell me, Moni, why didn’t we get to keep him?”

He raises a brow as he pouts to confront Solomon. Though it doesn’t last long, a simple sneer quickly puts him back in his playful act. Simeon gave Solomon one final look, nodding his head. He said: “Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart.”

After that, Simeon’s figure soon faded away, carrying the down sleeping child. ‘Right,’ Solomon thought. He’s dead. He’s forever damned in the underworld; taking care of that Trojan. Although the man couldn’t help it. The image of a boy who once resembled his son before he left for war was too much for the king to bear.

And Simeon was too kind to be a father that he couldn’t be, unlike someone who would match Solomon’s lack of mercy.

“Captain?” 

There it was another voice. From Simeon’s warmth it shifted to coldness. Bitter. Solomon took a brief glance—not that you were able to perceive any coherent shape—and was only met with blurred circles and squares of gray and muted browns. And unlike Simeon, he didn’t need clarity to focus on who it was, nor was he really willing to face the obscured face. Hair and body perfectly matching a memory, yet face scribbled away as to not recall his mate’s dismay.

Solomon held his stance, tilting his head up whilst staring back at the figure. “Raphael,” he said.

Akin to the lack of facial features, Raphael never focused on his captain. Instead, as a mouth starts to clearly come into view, he seems to be talking to someone far in the distance. He’s quick to grab the handle of his sword, his grip tightening. And Raphael repeats it once more, “Captain?” 

“I have to see them.”

Solomon turned around again, as he heard a more uncanny resemblance. Instead of the ghost of the past haunting him, it was instead a clear image of himself. The only difference would be how ragged and scarred he used to look before being under Ogygia’s care. This wasn’t a blurry spectacle spawning itself to hurt it, this was just torture.

Not bearing to look at himself, he goes back to staring at Raphael. His mate’s eyes came into a clear view, and he wasn't mad. No. Instead he looked to be that he respects Solomon’s decision, but that wasn’t enough to ignore the stifling of his nose watching. “But we’ll die,” Raphael tried to reason out.

Raphael tried even as he knew that what Solomon said was final. Even with the regret lingering on right after, he was a man of his word. Even with his back facing his double, he could imagine himself hesitantly raising his hand, pointing towards his crew. Hearing the phrase he told the thunder bringer. 

“I know.” “I can’t.” 

Solomon watches Raphael’s shoulders relax. He sighs, clicking his tongue before bowing his head, only giving a cold, bitter gaze in dark, lapis irises. “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Raphael shots his gaze to the real Solomon. The flashing lights of lightning reflect at the of his shoulders and hair, illuminating a bright white light from behind. 

The roaring sounds of thunder fill the air, as the flashing grew more erratic. “Wait, no! Raphael!” Solomon exclaimed. He tries to take a step forward, but knees betray him, instead falling down to the ground. “You can’t do this to me!”

The lightning’s flickering worsens, and with ragged deep breaths, he looks up. Raphael looks down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “How much longer till we all fall down?” he asked one last time, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“RAPHAEL!” 

The sky rips open. A jagged bolt of lightning arcs down, striking Raphael with a blinding flash. Time seems to stretch as Solomon watches. Horrified. The air crackles with energy, and the sound is deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. The light envelops his mate’s body, and for a heartbeat, he was only a mere silhouette against the storm. All suspended in the surging flames of chaos. 

And all Solomon can see is the silhouette of Raphael collapsing. “No…” Solomon cries, scrambling to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he races toward the fallen figure. “No. No. No. No..”

Each step feels heavy, every step conspires to hold him back. “Raphael!” he shouts again, desperation clawing at his throat. Once he reached where the lightning struck, it was over. Raphael’s body was no more. 

Solomon falls to his knees, grasping at coarse sand. His other hand reaches out to scramble along finely combed locks, ruffling it up in a tangled mess. “Please don’t make me do this,” Solomon wept. “Don’t make me do this.”

The voices of sirens fill the air, trapping him in an endless echo of screams, terror and revenge. Melodies of “waiting..” bounces through imaginary walls, each note striking his ears to bleed. He covers them lowers, lowering his head down to deafen the silence.

“Waiting…” Make it stop. 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Make it stop. 

“And it’s no longer you.” Make it all stop. 

The loudest of the voices resemble yours. A loud, brash symphony that’s louder than any of his other demons. Your figure walks towards him, pulling his hands away from his and placing them on your cheek, whispering to him to open his eyes.

Your figure meshed with the colors of someone else from a distant past. As if your forms blended into one, where one can no longer be separated from the other. Washed out imagery of the bed made of trees that lies in their shared bedroom could be seen behind you, as leaves carefully drift down in a steady pace.

You smile, making him open his eyes. In a sing-song voice, you cooed. “Let me take the suffering from you.” 

Solomon was quick to hug you back, sobbing into the fabric. You playfully scoffed, caressing your hands along his hair, murmuring sweet nothings. For judgment was blurry in watery eyes. 

You also weren’t real. Not this mashed, stitched together doll that only took to keep half of your figure.

And Solomon realized that too soon, when you come tumbling down as nothing but sand along the shore. Grains clinging on to his clothes, specks reaching his eyes as they grow even more red. He can’t bear to understand. He fought to save lives, but not killing ended up leading all his men to perish. 

Had he avoided it all if he hadn’t shown mercy.

And how foolish he looked begging for it. The gods were right; he was a Greek who reeked of false righteousness. The worst kind of good for he cannot be great.

The cauldron had overflowed, as the voices grew louder once again. Taunting him as their endless comedy, in his peripeteia, suffering in anagnorisis. In a final, desperate moment, Solomon went back to the safe confines of closing his eyes. To shut himself off from the truth. To move on, and hopefully get back on track to returning to Ithaca.

His queen. His child. That was who he fought for.

Hands clenching his chest, Solomon screamed.

“BARBATOS!” 

.

.

.

Call him a fool. He’ll never allow himself to indulge in hubris once more.

a/n: this was honestly too much for the heart. so uhh, i hope you enjoy! also if anyone is able to spot all of the references then you'll be getting a small little bonus

thank you all for your support for this event, and for your patience as this was published a day late. Never fret, we still have more stories to come! and i hope you're there to follow me along through this journey.

and also, don't forget to greet the world with open arms! <3

event materlist | main masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

[spookypete-94]

Nightmare's Wasteland

Chapter 1- Devil's Playground

Been on a Handmaid's Tale kick as of late. Made me wonder how Simon would be in this situation. I have always loved this series and the power behind it. The books are amazing (Margaret Atwood, wonderful, wonderful, author) and so is the tv series on Hulu. It is just the concept being used, will not involve places, names and/or characters of The Handmaid's Tale.

Small series. Reader is a female character in a dystopian world where the ability to conceive is limited to a small percentage of people. Reader is of that percentage and is assigned to Simon to provide a child to a declining population. She learns how live with him and survive, while he learns about her life prior before being delivered to hell. Def a darker read, MDNI.

CW and heads up- Reader is female in this, also has tattoos. Leave it to the imagination, only one described for now. Also language (we know how i love language)

If Simon Riley could be described as anything from a word in history, Warlord would be listed at the very top. Warrior. Solider. In reality, it’s all the same. Pick whatever word in that branch of that tree, and he fits it.

To be able to be such a thing, he had to turn off all things that made him human. No love, no happiness, no peace. It left him in a world without a wife, no children, family gone- left him a long time ago at the cost of his area of expertise.

When the world started to end, and he was too damaged to try to defend and protect it anymore, he was assigned a life. A home. He was given a civilian life… followed by excuses of this was his “reward”. Laughable to him really, this was far from what he wanted. Instead, he was given a different duty and told to provide children for the next generation. Children of strong genetics. Hope to be provided of his strength and wit…Honestly, he’d rather be out on the frontlines again. His duty would be better served there, being a ghost, THE Ghost, was what he did best. Specter in the line of work, no one ever saw him coming. Start to unravel and show how broken you are though, and they send you back to try to be part of the what’s “normal” life now.

Here he sat, in large empty house. A staff provided for all things to run it. Only exception it was barren of all the things that made it a home. Photographs, knickknacks, but more importantly a wife and children. It had been pressed on him to find a wife, but as he explained to his overhead he just wasn’t interested. Apparently, they could turn a blind eye to that, but he still was required to add to the population. He was a fertile, and it was his duty after all. The answer to a wife, was a temporary live in. One he was only expected to lay with during ovulation.

The idea filled him with dread, but not a soul got to have a say in this world of what was going to happen. The government was too strong for its own good now and he was too deep in it. All from being its war dog, and now given his bone and told to go home.

Simon’s inner turmoil was rudely interrupted as one of the house staff knocked on his office door. “Mr. Riley? They are all here, waiting downstairs in the foyer.”

A heavy sigh left him before he called back out, “Will be down in a few.”

Swallowing the rest of his bourbon, he set the glass down on his desk twirling it a few times by the rim with his large finger.

Now or never.

Encroaching downstairs, he saw a gathering of about four people. All dressed in black, one with a hood pulled all the way up hiding their face.

That would be you.

If you could be described as anything, it would be: Not made for this world. Your heart was soft, but the desire to live your own life once again thrived inside. A weed that couldn't quite be pulled out. The ache hurt that soft heart of yours. Children had always been a thought on your mind but deemed not good enough to be a wife from past choices of your old life, you were pushed into the service of bearing them for others. “Good enough to be bred, not good enough to be wed.” As you had been told. To be in the service, it was required of you to learn what was lady like. Quiet, barely there. Don’t fight back and don’t speak your mind. Make yourself small, don’t get in the way. Don’t agree? Great. Here is your issued beating and punishment. Take it on the cheek and turn it for the next one.

Those who could not bear children, were put into hard labor. Running a house, in home cook, cleaning maid, you name it. If you wouldn’t comply to meet the new standards, you were shipped off to work in the mines or sent to death. Funny a world so eagerly wanting to make life was so quick to snuff it out.

Never once you would think your life would be like this. All those freedoms taken and stripped from you. What you would give to have your old life back. Be able to sleep in. Go outside and to the stores when you wished. A fucking latte? What you would give for any of that now. All of that taken for granted...

Passing through the requirements made you fit for duty. Issued your new place of residency, to meet your new Master and Lady. Only this place didn’t have a Lady. The Master so much of a brute of a man to never take one, was rumor you had heard. It scared you. A man that clearly couldn't even be gentle enough to have a wife. Maybe that was why they picked this place for you first, to make you fearful of the new world. More submission.

Standing in the entryway, heavy boots could be heard on the bare wood. You wanted to look up at your new Master but deemed it best to keep your head down and eyes on the floor. Make yourself small. Lady Like. Pressing your hands tightly together in your front, fingers laced together in a way to try to compose yourself. In the old world you might have twiddled your thumbs together, but in this new one not even that would be acceptable.

“Mr. Riley,” your Governess spoke with fake pleasantry, “We apologize for rising you from your office. We are early after all.”

On time. He was late. This was her way of trying to stroke his ego, all while of pointing out the time to him. Only made her look dumb.

Not even a reply, just a grunt. His boots finally appearing at the bottom of the steps. The place you had been looking but now diverting your eyes further down. You noticed his boots were perfect and polished, the black shining from the light in the room. It looked like military attire.

“Today is a happy day, this is your new Chamber Maid.”

The term made your face hot, red. Your life you had before… and now reduced to a “Chamber Maid”?

What the fuck.

Your black hood being wrenched down so your new Master could look down upon you startled you.

Carefully, you glanced up. Your heart had hit the bottom of your stomach seeing a man with dirty blonde colored hair shaved down in military fashion. Matched the idea of his boots. His nose crooked from being broken by at least once… or a few times. A scar that ran across his mouth to the bottom of his nose on his cheek. Brown eyes burned down into your wide orbs while he all but sneered down at you. Here, you were certain the devil was standing before you. Handsome and scary all at once.

“Introduce yourself, don’t be rude,” Your Governess nudged into you roughly with her elbow.

New manners that had just been taught, returned to you. A small curtsey before him, careful with your legs as your head ducked down and standing back up fully. It was executed beautifully. Quietly, you gave your name. Instead of him giving you his, he grunted once more. You knew his name already, why waste his time with all this fake bullshit was his thought.

“Your room is upstairs; the staff will show you around.” His voice a deep threatening rumble.

This was all you got? Your living quarters? Your heart fractured. Not even worth being shown around by the man that was supposed to impregnate you. You could drop to your knees and cry right here if able. Lady like. You must not show any emotion, any thought behind your beautiful eyes. Just a breedable doll is all you were now.

A hand wrapping around your arm and tugging you along made your attention divert. The staff. An older woman, “My name’s Kate. Come with me.”  Mr. Riley had already started his way upstairs, your Governess and other hierarchy leaving. This felt so strange to you enough as it is, but to have an abrupt goodbye made you feel like an adopted animal.

“Is there really no wife?” you whispered to her. Is he really a brute? Was the question you wanted to ask.

“No, no wife, but Mr. Riley is really not hard to live with,” she whispered back.

He might not be, but you felt your circumstances would be different.

A quick show around the large house ended with your room. It wasn’t bad in size. A full-sized bed shoved up against the wall with a window and rocking chair provided. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was there for an eventual baby, one that you would rock to sleep.

Starting with trying to settle in, you unpacked your clothes. Or rather uniforms. Because you had “sinned” in your past life, your uniform is a long black dress with long sleeves. Because you had tattoos scattered across places, you were to cover them. The only time your uniform was to be off was when you were alone. Even when you were to lay with your Master, the dress would remain on, both of you to be fully clothed. Still with your clothes, you felt naked at the idea. Stripped of any dignity.

Settled in, you had found Kate once more and helped her with her house duties and making supper. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop or some shit like that.

“You’re to sit at the table with him.” Kate whispered, nodding to the direction of the dining room. "Requested you himself."

Nervous, you smoothed out your dress, pressing away any crumbs from making supper. Looking back up at her, she nodded in a silent reply of asking her If you looked appropriate.

Quietly, you made our way into the dining room a large table that could have sat an army before you, Mr. Riley already sitting at the end of it. Even though the table was so large, a chair was all the way at the other end. Unsure of what exactly to do, you stood in front of the door with your hands interlocked together again.

“Well go on, sit,” Mr. Riley said gesturing to the end of the table.

“Yes, Mr. Riley,” you said meekly quickly walking to the end of the table to sit down.

One by one, the house staff filed in carrying the food and placing it on the table, making you both a plate as they did. The plate placed before you was steaming, filled across the circumference. Been a long time since you had a home cooked meal.

“Heard you had a helping hand with the meal tonight.” He said cutting into his piece of fried chicken.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Not expected of you.”

Your tongue wanted to fire back, wanted to cut him from the knees down. Would rather that then what is expected of me. But instead, you were quiet, choosing to eat instead.

It stayed silent like that through the rest of dinner besides clanking of dishes and silverware. Mr. Riley getting up and going to his office after he had cleared his plate, leaving you alone to finish yours. Made you wonder if he lived in that room.

Deciding to get up you helped Kate with clearing the rest of the kitchen and cleaning up from dinner. Most of it taken care of you told Kate to step out and take a break willing to finish the dishes. Having a task at hand to focus on now was helpful. The feeling of walking into the twilight zone curbed with getting food off dishes.

The calm you had felt left seeing a large man move into the kitchen. The only large man here. Looking over your shoulder you watched him get into the fridge pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Told you we have help for that.”

“I told her to go take a break.”

“ Y’ sure you should give orders like that? Do you have the authority to do so?”

Shit. You had insulted him in his own home on the first fucking day. What a good start.

“I didn’t mean it like that-" but you were abruptly pushed forward further against the sink by him. Your breath was caught. You wanted to turn around but couldn’t. Expecting a strike, you flinched inward, but instead three large fingers grab carefully at your collar tugging it down, his thumb sweeping against the back of your neck.

“Skull and cross bones, huh?” He asked.

He was referring to the tattoo on the back of your neck. Some how he had caught it, even with the ugly collar on your dress.

“Was my very first one.”

“And that’s what you picked?” Was he bantering with you?

“I picked it out at a rock concert.”

“That the type of girl you are then? The one that gives breaks and gets skull tattoos?”

You were unable to find an answer. It seemed rhetorical anyway.

“Asked you question.”

Fuck.

“Appears to be that way, yeah.”

Cheeky.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb across it once more before giving you a light shove against the sink from his hand that held your hip. No longer where you terrified. It all almost seemed playful in nature.

“Tomorrow, Kate does the dishes. I can’t have her slacking.”

“Yes, Mr. Riley.”

Standing there feeling dumb, you closed your eyes at feeling his rough hand on your neck over and over again. Mind eye picturing what he looked while he was behind you. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too hard to get along with after all.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Nightmare's Wasteland Masterlist

Next

[rex3o]

The Eternal Enigma

A/N: The Eternal Enigma is deeply inspired by the movie of La Belle et la Bête which I watched recently so I put two and two together and yh here we go. Also this story does NOT follow the jujutsu kaisen plot. But I hope u lot enjoy it as much as I do as I post more out lol.

Summary: In a cursed kingdom ruled by the fearsome Ryomen Sukuna, a former general turned demon king, Y/n—a noblewoman whose family fell victim to Sukuna’s wrath—is delivered to his ominous fortress. Expecting to be treated harshly, Y/n is instead met with Sukuna’s cold indifference and an outrageous demand: she must fall in love with him. When Y/n protests, Sukuna’s fury erupts, and he declares her forbidden from leaving his domain. As Sukuna storms out, Y/n is left to navigate the treacherous path of her new, dark reality.

Ryomen Sukuna X Reader

>> chp 2 / chp3

In the waning light of dusk, the land lay cloaked in a somber silence, broken only by the mournful whispers of the wind through twisted, barren trees. Once a flourishing realm of beauty and grace, the landscape now bore the scars of darkness—a kingdom lost to the curse of an ancient power.

At the heart of this cursed domain stood a fortress of eerie majesty, its blackened spires reaching toward the heavens like the gnarled fingers of a dark deity. This was the domain of the Eternal Enigma—a being whose name was whispered in fear and awe: Ryomen Sukuna. His fortress, a towering edifice of obsidian and bone, loomed over the land, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the light itself.

The tale of Sukuna’s darkness began long before his rise to power. Born into a world already steeped in suffering, Sukuna resided in the womb of his starving mother alongside his twin. As the days of deprivation wore on, the infant Sukuna, driven by a primal instinct for survival, consumed his sibling. Even then, his existence was marked by a monstrous hunger.

As he grew, Sukuna’s insatiable drive for dominance and power led him to become a general of unmatched bravery. His prowess on the battlefield earned him great acclaim, yet it was his ambition that ultimately led him astray. Driven by a desire for eternal glory, Sukuna made a fateful pact with forces beyond mortal comprehension. In his quest for immortality, he sacrificed not only his humanity but the very soul of his kingdom, sealing his fate in a curse that bound him to a grotesque and eternal imprisonment.

Now, his form was a grotesque mockery of the noble warrior he once was: the size of a grizzly beast, with four monstrous clawed arms and four eyes glowing red with a cold, malevolent light that reflected the torment of his eternal punishment.

The people of the land spoke of him in hushed tones, recounting tales of his cruelty and the legion of cursed spirits and demons he commanded. The once-vibrant courts of the kingdom had become hollow echoes of their former splendor, their power and beauty overshadowed by the darkness that reigned supreme. Those who dared to speak of Sukuna’s name faced his wrath, for the curse that bound him extended to all who crossed his path.

On a fateful night, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, a young woman was delivered to the fortress gates. Y/n, a noblewoman of grace and beauty, arrived with a heart full of trepidation and hope. Her family, once powerful and respected, had been destroyed in a failed attempt to defy Sukuna’s dominion. Now, she was a mere pawn in a game she scarcely understood—a gift offered to the overlord in a desperate bid to placate his anger and prevent further bloodshed.

The carriage rocked as it trundled along the forest path, its wheels grinding against the overgrown roots of ancient trees. Y/n sat in silence, her pale hands folded neatly in her lap, her heart heavy with the weight of her fate. Beyond the veil covering her face, she looked upon the thick mist outside, Sukuna's fortress looming—a twisted silhouette against the blood-red sky. Her thoughts were abruptly cut short.

"They say no one returns from there," whispered the old servant who sat beside her, his voice quivering. "Once you enter the Demon King's domain, you are lost."

Y/n stared ahead, her face expressionless, though her heart pounded with fear. She had heard the rumors—stories of a man turned into a beast, cursed by the gods to rule over cursed spirits and demons. Sukuna's cruelty was legendary, but no one could explain why he had demanded her as a tribute.

The gates of the fortress creaked open, and a cold wind swept through the air as the carriage crossed into Sukuna’s domain. The once-proud noblewoman took a deep breath, knowing that her life would never be the same again.

As the carriage came to a halt, and she stepped out into the foreboding realm. The cold air bit at her skin, and the eerie silence of the fortress seemed to swallow her every step. The gates behind her loomed after her, ancient and imposing, their iron bars etched with dark symbols that whispered of forgotten sorcery.

Y/n’s eyes met those of the gatekeeper, who regarded her with a mixture of pity and apprehension. “Welcome, my lady,” he intoned, his voice trembling with the weight of unspoken fears. “May the gods have mercy on you.”

The doors creaked open, and a footman greeted Y/n as she stepped into the darkness beyond, her old servant closely following behind. Her heart pounded with a blend of fear and curiosity. She had heard the tales of the cursed king—of the monstrous being who ruled with an iron fist and a heart of darkness. But what lay beyond the shadows of his fortress remained a mystery, one she was now bound to unravel.

The footman led her through the foreboding halls of the fortress, her senses overwhelmed by the oppressive gloom that pervaded every corner. The walls seemed to whisper secrets long forgotten, and the flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows that danced like specters in the dark. The halls were deathly quiet, with servants passing in complete silence as they moved through their tasks.

In the dim glow of a grand chamber, Sukuna awaited her. His form, though majestic in its own right, was a stark contrast to the splendor of the once-great fortress. He sat on his dark and imposing throne, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. His presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying, a paradox of beauty and horror.

As the footman and Y/n approached, her heart raced with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The Eternal Enigma, the cursed king, awaited her presence, and with it, the unfolding of a tale that would intertwine their fates in ways neither could have imagined.

As Y/n entered the grand chamber, her eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure seated on the dark throne. Sukuna’s presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying. The throne room was dimly lit by flickering torches that cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the scene even more surreal.

Sukuna looked down upon Y/n with an indifferent gaze, his four red eyes glowing like smoldering embers. Despite his fearsome appearance, he seemed almost disinterested in her arrival. He gestured lazily for her to come closer, his monstrous form shifting slightly as he leaned back against his throne.

Y/n approached cautiously, her heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. She had braced herself for harsh treatment or some form of ritualistic cruelty, but Sukuna’s demeanor was unexpectedly nonchalant. He could hear her heart racing and noticed her trembling form, almost chuckling at her fear. Yet, for Y/n, the lack of immediate threats or displays of malevolence only heightened her unease.

"Well, you’re here," Sukuna said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that filled the chamber. “You remember me, yes? Your family was obedient, but your useless father had to mess things up. Such a pity he’s dead.” Sukuna smirked, his gaze disdainful as he looked down at her. To him, her father was a mere annoyance, a fly in his grand plans. “To shorten this meeting, brat—you’re staying here, in my palace.” His attention wandered, as if Y/n were a trivial matter.

Y/n blinked, trying to process his words. “You insult my dead father and then order me to stay? As a prisoner, you mean?”

Sukuna replied with a sneer, “And what will you do about it? You’re as useless as him. Whatever you do can’t surpass me, so I suggest you listen and comply.” He grinned evilly. “Prisoner? If that’s how you want to see yourself, fine. But for me, you are to be my future wife.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “You sick, cruel man… You can’t expect me to fall in love with you. You have loyal consorts who would force their daughters to kneel and beg to marry you. What you ask of me is insane!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. The casual indifference that had marked his demeanor vanished, replaced by a storm of anger. His massive form tensed, and with a violent motion, he flipped his throne, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar. The force of his rage shook the entire chamber, and the walls trembled under the impact.

“You dare to defy me?” Sukuna bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. He stormed over to her, his build overshadowing her as he gripped her face with his hand. His face, marked with deep black ink-like scars, was a terrifying visage of fury. His four demonic eyes burned into her face as he spoke, “You are forbidden from leaving my domain! You will stay here until you fulfill your obligation!” He shoved her away, causing her to fall onto the floor. Her face was scratched by the sharp ends of his nails, blood trickling down her skin.

The entire fortress reverberated with Sukuna’s fury as he stormed out of the grand chamber, his footsteps causing the ground to rumble. The echoes of his anger reverberated through the halls, shaking the very foundations of the once-majestic fortress.

Y/n lays there, stunned by the sheer force of Sukuna’s wrath. The reality of her situation crashed down on her like a wave. She had been thrust into a world of darkness and cruelty, with a cursed king who demanded the impossible.

As the echoes of Sukuna’s fury faded, Y/n was left in the cold silence of the chamber, her mind racing with fear, confusion, and a burgeoning sense of helplessness. The task before her seemed daunting and absurd, but she knew she had no choice but to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead.

A/N: YOOOO hope u liked it lol I'll make another part soon shorly after this.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Ash Walker: Part 1

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Now that we’re all here it’s time I tell you what the job is.”

Hemlock kicked the holographic table and it buzzed into life, the projection lighting up the room in a soft blue glow. Six pairs of eyes turned to look at the projection as Hemlock pointed to the slowly turning image of a world.

“This is Thescara III-“ he began before being immediately cut off.

“Frak this shit.” One of the onlookers declared. “I’m not sitting one foot on that cursed world. You drop me off on the nearest barren moon.”

“What’s wrong with Thescara III?” another onlooker asked.

Septh looked at Hemlock and scoffed. “No wonder you wanted a new crew of fresh pups, for no seasoned salvager would join up with you.”

“You going to answer my question old man, or are you just keep ignoring me?”

Septh looked at the Fling then back at Hemlock with a hard stare. Hemlock paused and took a look around the room at his new crew. There was the Theosian called Tug standing in the back. He wore his ceremonial metal armor that was crafted to his flesh upon birth and was the muscle of the group.

The Guppin Fling was sitting in front of Tug with all four of his legs crossed. They were the youngest of the group and were it not for his hacking skills he’d not be here at all. Hemlock saw a lot of himself in the Guppin but was worried his enthusiasm would make him careless.

Opposite them were the triplets Nok, Uma, and Rue. None of them were particularly good with any skillset, but Hemlock needed the extra hands for lugging things and they came cheap. In truth he still didn't know which was which so he’d just shout a name and tell them to do something.

Last was Septh; the only one he’d used for multiple jobs. He was an old hand at the salvage game and was understandably not happy about being kept in the dark until the last moment.

“Thescara III was originally a human world until their war with the Jen. Rather than engage the humans on the surface where they knew the humans had the advantage they dropped a couple thousand low yield nuclear bombs across the entire surface reducing it to perpetual nuclear winter.”

“Cowards.”

Hemlock turned to see Tug adjusting himself against the wall and send a small tremor through the decking before spitting a gob of something black on to the floor and continued talking.

“True warriors face their foes face to face; not through the lens of a computer monitor.”

“If you knew what humans can do with a sharpened stick you might think twice.”

The triplets snickered at this but went silent when Tug shot them a sidelong glance.

“None of this matters, save for the fact there is over seven million credits locked away in the capital branch bank of Universal Credit that is just sitting there waiting to be nabbed.”

The mention of loot drew everyone’s attention. That many credits were enough to buy decent chunk of a moon, or live a life of luxury on a paradise world for seven lifetimes.

 “It’s just been sitting there; this entire time?” one of the triplets asked. “How do we know the credits are still there?”

Gods they even sound the same, Hemlock thought.

“’The planet has been an ecological nightmare ever since the bombs went off. You can only stay on the surface for a short period of time before the radiation levels kill you. Couple that with the vault’s combination randomly rotating itself every hour it’s made it impossible to crack it before the radiation bakes you.”

“If that’s true then what chance do we have?” Septh interrupted.

In response Hemlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold disc.

“Because we aren’t going to need to crack the vault with this little ticket here.” Hemlock smiled. “As this little dingy is a corporate level security key, which can open any UC vault automatically.”

The triplets and Fling whistled in amazement, and with good reason. Those types of security keys were only given to executive level personnel and the loss of one would trigger an immediate reaction force to retrieve it.

“Do I want to know how you got that?” Septh asked.

Hemlock shrugged. “I’m borrowing it from a certain partner who will remain nameless for now.”

He pointed back to the hologram and grinned. “Now, time to plan our payday.” ---------------------------

Parting through the dense cloud coverage, Hemlock kept a constant eye on the retro rockets to match the ever changing wind patterns. He had flown through hurricanes and gale force winds that could cleave metal like paper, yet Thescara III was proving to be an entirely different beast.

Not only was the planet covered in a near perpetual cloud cover that dispensed ash but the sheer amount of nuclear bombs that had been dropped had also changed the planet’s equilibrium. Wind direction changed in intensity and direction by the minute, air pockets were abound like it was a minefield, and that wasn’t even getting into the random lightning strikes that could short out the entire ship if one struck home.

“I told you this planet was-“ Septh began before another air pocket the ship and the ship dropped suddenly.

Hemlock grinned at his good fortune and once more adjusted a series of dials. It took a few moments to pass through the last bit of turbulence and finally get below the cloud cover.

“Welcome to Thescara III everyone.” Hemlock said as the planet’s surface finally came into view.

As far as his eyes could see the entire planet was covered in layer upon layer of grey ash. Spires of city skyscrapers loomed up out of the ground like the skeleton fingers of gods, their shadows casting long across the ruins of a dead city.

After a few moments of circling Hemlock found the ideal landing site and brought the ship down. From the city records he was able to obtain the opening was once a large park at the heart of the capital city and only a few city blocks away from their target.

With a loud thud the support legs touched down on the surface and the engines began slowly powering down. Hemlock was already unbuckling harness and making for the cargo hold. Septh was in lock step behind him as the pair entered the hold to find the rest of the crew already suiting up.

Tug still had his armor on but had donned an atmospheric helmet. Hemlock could see the faint green glow of targeting feeds displaying on the inside of the helmet as the warrior performed basic systems checks. The triplets were gathering around hauler making final checks. They wore standard atmospheric suits with different colors for distinction as they circled the hauler. It was an anti-grav model with several large cases stacked on the back which the crew would fill with credits.

Hemlock was crazy enough to take this risk but not stupid enough to think he or his crew could haul seven million credits back without transport so the triplets were to be glued to the thing the entire time.

Fling was the last of the group off to the side that Hemlock found. He was struggling to attach the gloves of his suit when he approached and helped him.

“So if we have a key to the vault,” Fling began as he nodded thanks to Hemlock for the glove assist, “why exactly do you need me?”

“If the key fails you’re the contingency.” Hemlock said plainly. “I always hedge my bets, and I always have a plan B.”

Fling smirked. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted for being plan A.”

Hemlock didn’t reply as he finished checking the rest of Fling’s suit and stepping back as Septh approached. He casually flung a spare helmet to Hemlock who caught it midair and donned it with ease.

“Listen up everyone,” he began as he spoke over the shared com network, “we have three hours to get in and out before the next radiation wave sweeps through here.”

Slapping the release button on the side of the hull sirens began blaring and the boarding ramp slowly cracked open and lowered down to the surface. A fresh blizzard of ash slowly began sweeping into the hold as the crew hopped onboard the hauler.

“Keep in coms range, keep an eye on your radiation meters, and for frak’s sake do not go wandering off.” Hemlock broke off checking on his crew to look down the boarding ramp as it fully opened. “This is not a world you want to be alone on.”

With his instructions delivered he slapped the top of the hauler’s cab and the triplets drove the vehicle forward. No sooner had the hauler reached the bottom of the ramp did Hemlock realize something was wrong.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Hemlock turned to see Fling looking off to the left of the boarding ramp and followed his gaze. His eyes went wide as he saw the outline of a Nebula B class freighter parked right next to his ship.

From the cockpit he had assumed it was another mound of ash, but now looking up at it from the ground he could see the underside of the ship clear as day. It’s boarding ramp was likewise lowered but now was coated in several layers of ash.

“Competition?” Tug asked as he hefted his power rifle. Septh shook his head in response as his eyes went over the freighter.

“This thing’s been here a while now.” He answered. Tug looked at him then back at the silent freighter. “How can you tell?” he asked.

“Nebula B’s are notorious for their engines never fully shutting down and always making a low rumbling sound.” Septh said as he put a hand to his ear. “For it to be silent it must have burned through its fuel reserves, and those can last about two-three years.”

“That’s not the half of it.”

Hemlock turned to see Tug nodding in the opposite direction to see a row of other spaceships lining alongside theirs like a giant parking lot.

“What the hell is this…” One of the triplets said from the hauler cabin. “Where are all their crews? Why’d they leave their ships out like this?”

“It’s-“ Septh began but Hemlock cut him off.

“Shut it.” Hemlock barked. He pointed down the road lined with ash covered vehicles. “We’ve got three hours and we don’t have time to waste!”

The crew looked amongst themselves before the hauler lurched forward again.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

This prompt is your free ticket to write GanonDad stuff! I'll take anything as long as Ganon's being a good dad :3

Ganondorf had never seen the sea.

Some called the desert a sea, or said that it used to be one. All Ganondorf could see in the desert was death.

He'd heard tales of it when he visited Castle Town. People described it as endless, in varying shades of blue that could swallow one whole. It had sounded fantastical and exaggerated, powerful and enticing and so foreign he could hardly put a picture to it. It hadn't mattered all that much back then, once he'd realized the sea didn't have water that was actually drinkable - what use was it to him, then?

He'd learned of its depths when he met Nabooru. There was a teenager who went by that name in his barren wasteland, spunky and capable but defiant. But when he was brought to this new land through Din's blessing, he'd met someone of the same name who was far different. She was the Gerudo's chief.

She was more than just a chief, though, she was a queen. She didn't just lead a small group of thieves picking at scraps in the desert, she ruled over an entire civilization.

Ganondorf had challenged her, of course. He was the rightful ruler of the Gerudo, after all.

He'd lost.

Despite his anger, despite his attempt to overthrow her, Nabooru spared him, letting him stay in the outskirts of her capital city, Lagema.

Ganondorf felt frustration and jealousy boil his blood. He'd had the power of a goddess at the point of being executed by the sages, yet when he needed it now, Din stole it away from him. Instead, he was left to suffer the indignity of seeing a Gerudo prospering under someone else's rule.

It was almost as if Din did this just to show him he couldn't succeed. And he would not let that stand.

But the longer he lingered here, the more he saw of these people, the more he saw her...

The woman was bathed in power. She wore it like the fine silk head scarf she sometimes showcased for celebrations. Red, dripping in precious gems, jingling with every step from decorative jewelry all over her arms, her belly and hips, her ears, her wrists, and her ankles, strong in stance, muscles sculpted by the goddess Farore herself...

And her eyes. Bluer than the sky, infinite in their depths, drawing him in every time he looked at them, daring him to try her, calm and quiet and dangerous. They held the vastness and power that people spoke of in relation to the ocean, all encapsulated in such beauty.

He’d finally seen the sea. And it was breathtaking.

Ganondorf had never felt this way before. He didn't know what it was. He just wanted to get closer to her again. To fight her, to prove himself, to win.

It was maddening. It was invigorating.

It was far worse when those oceans actually looked at him, when they focused on him. He could hardly articulate himself sometimes when they started to speak, and he despised that. He stepped up more, became bolder, and as time passed, this woman became more than just a challenge; she became an adventure, and, eventually, a partner.

When their children had been born, he'd never suspected he'd find her ocean eyes in their little boy.

It was fascinating, beautiful to watch how their children reflected them. Hemisi bore her mother's facial structure paired her father's amber eyes and leaf shaped ears. Merovar was the spitting image of his father, but with his mother's eyes, captivating in their blue. They didn't reflect the silent power that his mother bore, though - they were ravenous, hunting for whatever his ambitious heart could reach, just like his father. Despite this, though, Hemisi was the one with true fire, rambunctious and temperamental and the superior warrior.

His twins were his world. He’d never been so utterly overrun by so many emotions, so dedicated to others. He’d build and destroy kingdoms for them.

Many moons after their birth, Ganondorf found his son on the balcony of their palace, staring out at the night sky. The streets of Lagema were still vaguely splashed with color from the festival, though the harsh winds and sands were slowly washing it away, bringing a drab tan back to the world as they prepared for the moment of truth.

The world was silent in anticipation. Hemisi was fast asleep, having let her father carry her to bed after he'd told her and Orik a story. Nabooru was gathering forces in the other settlements. Orik was resting, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

Merovar glanced at Ganondorf with his ocean eyes, blue coloring near black in the darkness, face uncharacteristically worried.

"What is it?" the Gerudo king asked quietly.

Merovar sighed, looking away. "The assault. It's going to change everything."

"For the better," Ganondorf pointed out. "Don't tell me you're having reservations like Hemisi."

Hemisi had argued time and again that they didn't need the Triforce, that an ancient sacred relic didn't matter because they had what they needed. Nabooru looked at it more as a potential threat if relations between the Gerudo and Hyrule broke down.

Ganondorf saw an opportunity. He'd desired this power most of his life. Once he'd learned of its existence here, he'd renewed his search for it. Merovar had seemed on board.

"I... don't know," his son finally said, looking at his hands resting on the balcony railing. "Such power is... I want it. But we're going to start a war."

"Not necessarily," Ganondorf assured him with a rumble of satisfied amusement in his chest. "They won't stand a chance against us once we have it. It'll be a skirmish at best."

"And then?" Merovar asked, glancing back at him for guidance. "Will we really rule over it all?"

Ganondorf rested his hand on his boy's shoulder. "Yes, we will. All of Hyrule will be ours."

Finally. The winds of Hyrule would belong to him and his family.

His children. He'd share this prosperity with them. He'd protect them with it. His entire life, Ganondorf had been looked to for safety and guidance - it had been an expectation a s a burden. But now, he finally felt... happy to give it.

He moved his hand to sweep up and down his son's back briefly, a promise of love and a reassurance. Merovar relaxed under the touch, smiling a little, excitement glittering in his blue eyes like stars in the night sky.

But it hadn't gone that way. The Triforce had fractured, the world had gone awry, and war had broken out.

And one by one, his family had fallen apart.

Nabooru had turned against him. They'd fought, and she'd died. Ganondorf repeated over and over that she had started it, that she had attacked him. His hands didn't tremble as much anymore thinking about it. Instead, all he felt was rage.

The rage grew when Merovar fell in battle. When Hemisi was captured and subsequently betrayed him. His grief was inconsolable, dying heart replaced with a furnace of pure hatred. He didn't even see the fear in his little girl's eyes anymore when he fought her, Link, and the queen that final day.

Yet time and torture had a way of cooling such hatred. Solitude brought contemplation. But resentment, fear, hurt remained.

And on a battlefield millennia later, Ganondorf froze at the sight of blue cutting through a sea of armor.

A blue scarf. Just like Link. A fierce cry of rage. Just like Hemisi.

And those ocean eyes. Just like Merovar, like Nabooru.

That day, Ganondorf saw the sea once more.

[maple-the-awesome]

Friend or Foe || Part 3/3

Part 1 || Part 2

Pairings: Warrior, Sky, Twilight x GN Reader

Overview: Link visits an alternate world without its hero and, more importantly, a version of you without your Link. Unfortunately, it seems even the smallest of details can lead to disastrous results. In spirt of Halloween, I've decided to do a little evil prompt because none of the Links have enough emotional damage yet😈

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Every soldier has something they fight for - something they'd risk it all to protect. For Warrior, that motivation has always come from you. Admittedly, your relationship was a bit sour and competitive at the start since you were both trying to be Hyrule's best soldier, although overtime, spiteful taunting turned into warm banter, and warm banter became affectionate flirting. Do you even know his compliments are genuine? Do you know how weak at the knees you make him or how smitten he truly is? Not to be dramatic, but Warrior would die for you. How would you react if he told you that openly - no hint of teasing or insincerity to be found in his voice? The question has long weighed heavy on his mind, yet he supposes he'll have to wait longer for an answer because there's no way he'll get it straight from this version of you...

Goddesses, Warrior’s tired. It’s been a rough few days of walking to absolutely nowhere through a barren wasteland which has left his feet sore, his back aching, and his eyes barely able to stay open, yet he still volunteered to patrol the area around camp before turning in for the night because despite how worn out his body is, he can’t truthfully say he isn’t used to it. 

As a soldier, he’s traveled similar distances while cutting his way through whole armies, so he isn’t about to really complain about a quick walk around an empty forest even if it is pretty creepy and foggy. Besides, as you’ve always hypothesized, the more tired you are, the more rewarding sleep will be, and you aren’t wrong about that; when being this exhausted, Warrior shouldn’t have any problem passing out the second he collapses onto his bedroll.

Thinking about you during his journey is typical, especially during quiet moments like this. He wonders what you’re up to right now, placing internal bets with himself on whether you’re worried about or have barely noticed his absences. Somehow he convinces himself of the latter, after all you always claim you’re too busy to babysit him, although the former is still a nice thought even if a bit heartbreaking to imagine you becoming weak with concern over his whereabouts. Maybe you just miss having someone around to playfully critique. Maybe it feels too quiet with no one to annoy you throughout the workday. Whatever the reason, Warrior won’t allow himself to think it’s because you miss the man you love; that’s a dangerous thing to hope for.

His lonely pondering must be put on hold when he hears a sound from behind, turning just in time to see the glimmer of a blade being swung towards his head. In an instant, Warrior drops down, dodging the weapon then stopping it with his own which had been drawn swiftly. 

There were a lot of possibilities for his attacker’s identity. It could have been a bokoblin or moblin, perhaps even the same dark lizard the Chain has been hunting for this whole time, yet the very last answer Warrior would’ve imagined - something that took his breath away upon realizing - was for it to be you staring down at him with your lips pulled into a snarl.

He speaks your name in stuttered surprise, eyes as wide as dinner plates as they scan your face just to be sure despite how extremely unlikely it would be for him to ever mistake you. He could identify your beauty anywhere and he knows what it’s like to be at the other end of your blade, the difference being the lack of mischief or hidden admiration in your eyes. Instead, there’s only hate and malice after a bout of shock from your victim somehow knowing your name.

Not letting it be of concern, you bring your sword back and swing again, yet Warrior recovers from each attempt on his life, having sparred with you enough times to understand your strategies, although that isn’t to say you don’t still give him a run for his money.

“You resistance fighters just never give up, do you?! Always trying to play the hero as if you could possibly stand a chance against the Demon King! Look around you! What are you even fighting for at this point?!”

Warrior does look around. He looks around at all the dead trees and dry grass. He looks at the dark sky and the many scars that litter your face. You look as if you’ve been through something similar as the Champion, your entire body torn after many harrowing battles. This isn’t how he left you. He left you back in his Hyrule, a hand over your mouth as you tried to hide your laughter after some dumb joke he made. You were happy then, but this version of you - who he now realizes is not his own - looks miserable and tired, as if all hope has been drained from their body.

“I’m not a resistance fighter - (Y/n), it’s me. It’s Link.”

“The hero Link…?” You ask and, for a moment, Warrior has hope that you’ll halt your attacks. Surely even in this world, you must know who he is because if there’s someone who looks and acts exactly like you, there must be an equal counterpart for him, yet instead of helping him, you scowl before swiping your legs under his, knocking him to the ground with a heavy ‘thud’...He forgot that common move of yours…

You point your sword inches away from his face, for once your expression showing not anger, but rather sorrow as you gaze down at him, “Well, if that’s true then you came too late. Ganon’s already won meaning there is no longer a Hyrule to save. You weren’t here when we needed you most.”

Everyone in the Chain has your name memorized and it's not because they know you personally (you've actually never had the pleasure to meet), rather it's because of how often Sky gushes about the love of his life waiting for him back on Skyloft. Think of any pleasant word in the dictionary and that boy has probably used it at least a dozen times to describe you, be it to his brothers-in-arms or a poor shop clerk who was unfortunate enough to make a sale to him. There isn't a single negative thing Sky could associate with someone he believes to be as perfect as you. Even now, he's struggling to remove his rose-colored glasses to see the truth before him...

This is by far the worst problem the Chain has run into during their journey. Practically the second they walked through the last portal into a disastrous world of demolished forests and smoky skies, they were surrounded by a large army of moblins led by a familiar face Sky can’t say he ever missed. 

Ghirahim, despite being from a different version of Hyrule, is just as annoying and weird as Sky remembers. His minions had no difficulty grabbing a handful of heroes each where their shouts and kicking did nothing to prevent them from being taken to a dark castle on the edge of Faron, or at least what used to be it. Once there, they were promptly taken down to the dungeons, forced to listen to Ghirahim’s egocentric rambling during the whole descent until a new voice interrupted:

“What’s this?”

Sky cries out your name without any hesitation, the sight of you making him forget all about the current circumstances. He’s so happy to simply see you again that he doesn’t question right away how or why you’d even be here. Hell, it doesn’t even process that this wouldn’t be his version of you.

“Do I…know you?” The confused yet disgusted look you send him is what brings him back to reality, crushing his soul as you glance from him to Ghirahim in question, “Where did they come from?”

“Does it really matter? They’re just little rats who were found sticking their noses where they shouldn’t have,” He waves a dismissive hand before snapping his fingers which prompts the moblins to roughly toss each hero into a jail cell then slam the doors behind them.

You cross your arms, not pleased with Ghirahim’s poor explanation, “I’d say it does matter. There shouldn’t be loose Hylians running about. It’s important to know where they came from so that -”

“- So, that you run away and join your own kind?”

You shift uncomfortably at the accusation, “...No, I’m only worried how Demise will feel about this. There’s a reason he killed all unloyal Hylians, you know? What if one of these boys ends up being the prophesied hero, hmm? ‘can’t imagine Demise will be happy to know you took a chance letting his enemy go unnoticed because it ‘didn’t matter’.”

Ghirahim snarls, mumbling curses under his breath before ordering you to just make sure to keep watch over the prisoners while he talks to Demise. With a flip of his hair, he walks off, leaving you to pinch your nose in irritation.

The other heroes are quick to shout protests, yet Sky’s silent as he crawls his way back over to the door just to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. It really is you - at least it looks like you as you make your rounds ensuring each cell is properly locked. All the while you look bored out of your mind. It’s only when you make your way to him that you pause to scoff, “What are you looking at? ‘got a concussion or something?”

“...You know, I have a version of you back in my own Hyrule,” Sky’s voice is soft as he meets your eyes not with hate like the others, but rather sympathy and sorrow, “They’re a knight on Skyloft and they’re the kindest, most generous person I know.”

You make a face at his strange comment, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about -”

“- My point is, I know that like them - like my feather - you must be a good person deep down. I don’t believe you want to be evil, you’ve just made the choices you had to in order to survive during bad circumstances. You’re afraid, and that’s okay. Seeing how this Hyrule turned out, I don’t blame you, but if you help us, (Y/n) I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll protect you - you can come with us and we can find somewhere safe for you to -!”

“- There is nowhere safe! There isn’t a corner of this land Demise doesn’t control! You’re looking for light that doesn’t exist, so just give it a rest!” Sky’s cut off when you slam your fist against the wall next to his cell, yet contrary to your act of anger, there’s a great pain in your eyes as you look down at him, maybe even a few tears that are barely visible through the darkness, “...The faster you do, the safer you’ll be…”

You are from a whole different life than Twilight. Born into riches and raised by high nobility, you had no reason to take any more interest in a simple farm boy beyond his heroic title...but you did and always have. How did he manage you? Well, Twilight's been asking that question for years. Your parents feel conflicted, your friends often scowl, yet you still pull him away by the hand and kiss him slow in hidden corners during parties, confessing aloud how much you'd like to get away from all this stress of high standards and live in Ordon with him which is a dangerous thought that only makes him wonder how much longer he'll drag his feet. Could you truly be as happy as you say or should he leave well enough alone, after all you have everything. Why throw it all away for nothing? Until this point, Twilight hasn't been sure of that answer…

Time has warned the group before that they should be careful when it comes to approaching locals, concerning that too many strange questions about a shapeshifting lizard and mysterious portals might rub them the wrong way. Heeding his word, the boys have cautiously navigated their interrogations so as to not raise any unnecessary fears amongst those just trying to go about their days. Sure, they’ve still received some raised eyebrows or even glares here and there, but no reaction has ever been as extreme as this one.

“Who do you think you are, disrupting the peace of our tranquil town through baseless claims of monsters and beasts lurking beyond on our doorstep?! Why, we haven’t seen so much as a keese in decades, yet now you have caused innocent families to enter a frenzy worrying about Ganondorf’s return!”

If he wasn’t already so accustomed to the nonsense nobles can spew, Twilight would’ve rolled his eyes at this man’s dismissive speech. Judging on his own personal military and the gold that decorates every wall of his home, he’s clearly in very high standing here - a self-declared king of sorts, one would think based on his fancy robes and ringed fingers. It makes sense for him to be concerned about strangers spreading news of possible danger. Hylia forbid any townsfolk panic and leave for who else would there be to exploit in their absences?

“Strip them of their weapons,” The nobleman orders and there is nothing the handcuffed heroes can truly do as his guards obey, taking their swords, shields, and anything else that could be deemed useful for rebellion all while Time once again tries to appeal to the man’s reason.

“Father, what’s all of this about?” Negotiations (if they could be called that) are put on hold as another joins the party. While none of the other boys bat an eyelash, Twilight’s shocked to recognize the voice, nearly giving himself whiplash just to get a good look at you as you wander into the room with a rather bored look upon your face.

“Nothing to worry about, my dearest star. I will have this little situation taken care of shortly,” The nobleman’s voice changes dramatically when addressing you, suddenly laced with honey as a smile graces his face; a far contrast from the slim he directed towards the Chain earlier. Twilight doesn’t even feel bad that he hadn’t recognized him earlier. Even back in your shared Hyrule, he never paid much attention to your parents seeing as he was only returning the favor by doing so.

Although this you isn’t his own, Twilight still finds himself trying to catch your eye, hoping to appeal to your generosity because surely it’s a universal trait of yours. If anyone could call off your father’s hounds, it would be you, yet it seems Twilight is being too hopeful with that thought.

“Well hurry it up! My friends will be here soon and I don’t want to have to explain to them why my father has a bunch of filthy travelers sitting in our parlor!”

Twilight’s distracted from the horror he was about to feel upon hearing such harsh words leave your mouth when a guard begins emptying his pockets next.

“Hey -!” 

“- What do you have there? Show me.” 

The guard ignores Twilight’s protests in favor of bringing his findings up to his master, holding his hands out as if offering them on a silver platter, “A ring, shire -” 

“- Let me see!” You decide greedily, plucking the ring from the guard’s hand before he can hardly finish his sentence.

“Is it to your liking, my star? Consider it yours then.”

Twilight was about to object to your father’s offer which isn’t his to give, yet you beat him to it, turning the ring over in your palm a few times just to confirm your disgust, “...Nah. It’s hardly worth anything. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such a mediocre pebble.”

“Then give it back!” Twilight can’t help himself from shouting, the venom in his voice gaining him the surprised attention of everyone in the room.

“How dare you speak to my child in such a way you -?!”

“- Why?” You cut your father off, an amused smirk tugging at your lips as you make your way towards the cuffed man. Kneeling down, you match his height with the ring pinched between your fingers for him to see, your next words scoffed in his face, “Oooh, I get it: you’re planning on proposing to someone, aren’t you? What an unfortunate soul they must be for this to equal their supposed worth to you. Let me go ahead and save you the time: the answer’s ‘no’. No one in their right mind is ever gonna marry someone like you with a ring like this.”

Dropping the ring in front of him, you then walk away as he bows his head, yet you’d be shocked to know his reaction isn’t one of shame. 

Twilight has often doubted if you’d be happy with him, somehow convincing himself you’d be better off in the life you already have instead, yet seeing this version of you and their corrupted, twisted greed, those insecurities melt away because the you Twilight knows and loves isn’t this selfish. The you he loves begs your father to open his doors for innocent travelers and beams cheerfully at gifts. The you he loves would never judge any ring, in fact he’s now convinced you wouldn’t even notice one to begin with. You’d be too busy saying ‘yes’ to him, jewelry being a forethought in your mind compared to the promise of spending the rest of your life with your beloved farmhand.

[hier--soir]

under the night | one

summary: joel miller is a grump, but he likes to think old dogs can be taught new tricks pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, nightmares, discussions of sex, slow-ish burn, age gap [20ish years], grumpy!joel, potential jealousy word count: 7.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: first time i've posted any of my own stuff in ages, but i've been loving writing for joel so thought i'd share!

Wyoming was a state you had never visited before the outbreak, so it was strange that 22 years on, it had become your home. It was Summer when you and Cal arrived in Jackson, and six months on, you could feel Winter’s grip steadily descending upon the town. The area seemed to be cloudy year-round, but the way the air had begun to chill as of late was something you’d not quite experienced before. Cold as it was, living there was quiet, and peaceful.

The settlement was led by a strong woman named Maria, and her husband Tommy, who had welcomed you and Cal with a wary kindness. Offered you safety, and a place to live, in exchange for hard work and your dedication to supporting the community. After so many years travelling the barren, infected country alone, the pair of you were awkward, and fumbled your way through meeting so many new people.

Jackson wasn’t the first place you’d tried to settle down in. Over the span of a decade, you’d crossed the country what felt like twice over, relying solely on each other, but never quite feeling like anywhere was home except for when you were alone together. This place proved you wrong though – the people proved you wrong. They were self-sufficient here, a working community, where everyone was equal, and the leaders were kind, and trustworthy; two characteristics that you and Cal hadn’t encountered in other people in a long time.

The home Maria and Tommy provided you was modest, and a fixer-upper if you had ever seen one. God, the day they’d arrived, you’d let out an exhausted laugh when Tommy pulled on the knob of the front door, and it cracked off its hinges.

“Nothing a good screw won’t fix,” Cal had chuckled, wanting to appear optimistic in front of Tommy.

Regardless of the state of the place, you and Cal made it your home in quick work. Cal made friends quickly, the way he always had. He was tall and gangly; all long limbs and sandy blonde hair, and he had a crooked toothed smile that endeared people to him almost instantly. You, on the other hand, were blunt, your body lean and strong as a result of years of physical exertion, and you were always the more stubborn of the two. You were a perfect dichotomy beside each other; sweet and salty. Stony, and withdrawn, you had always used your closest friend as a crutch during rare social interactions. You were familiar with all of the violence, and pain that came with the world, and as you grew up, had become so delightfully unsure when it came to being shown warmth.

Maria took you under her wing, introducing you to the people at the stables you would be working alongside, and encouraging you to find solace in the group of warriors that made up the women of Jackson. For the most part, people were kind and welcoming. With time, they didn’t pause and stare when you walked along the street, unsure of the newcomers.

People shared stories about others who had come through Jackson before you and Cal, and about the histories of those who still lived there. Sometimes, as you sat on the porch of the house, you’d watch people walk by, share a polite wave, and try to pin the stories to the faces you were seeing.

“I met Tommy’s brother today,” Cal started one evening. “Bit of a prick.”

Your eyebrow raised slightly, amused that someone could piss off one of the more jovial people you’d ever known. “What’s wrong with him, was he wearing double denim?”

Cal lifted his bowl of soup to his mouth and slurped down the last few drops. Wiping his mouth messily, he shook his head. “I don’t know about that guy. Remember Tommy told us about him?” You did remember Tommy vaguely mentioning that his brother had arrived on the settlement a year or so before you and Cal arrived.

“He keeps to himself for the most part,” Tommy had jested, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he thought of his brother. “But he’s a goodin, does good work for this town.”

“Whatever,” Cal changed his tune. “I shouldn’t let it bother me, he was just rude is all. Called me newbie twice, even though he knows my name. Seems to like being a big dog around here.”

You hummed to show you were still listening, tearing off a piece of bread and stuffing it in your mouth. “Seems only fair that if Tommy is kind, his brother would’ve turned out an ass. Isn’t that how we work?” He snorted out a laugh, and that was the last you spoke of it.

It wasn’t for another week or so until you met the man yourself. It’d been a long day spent at the stables, basking in the beating sun while working alongside a few others. The horses were huge creatures, and it took you a while to get used to their nature. It’d been so long since an animal hadn’t been a threat to you, but a few weeks on, and you’d found yourself ending the workdays by taking a ride around on your favourite mare Dot.

You and Cal’s home was on the opposite side of town, and on your walk through you passed faces that had become familiar. You small talked and smiled until your jaw ached, and by the time you bumped into him, you’d already reached your pleasantry quota for the day.

He had a bag of vegetables hung over his shoulder in a linen sack, and was making quiet conversation with his brother, when you walked by.

Tommy called out your name, waving you over to them. Your feet and shoulders ached, but you slapped a half smile on your face as you sidled up to the pair. “I’d been hoping to catch you, Maria’s wondering when you’re free for dinner this week.”

“Oh, whenever she wants me,” you nodded, chest warming in an odd way at the invitation. Your gaze flitted curiously to the tall man standing beside Tommy. You’d seem him around before, many times actually, but never realised he was the infamous brother.

Oftentimes, you’d noticed him because, 7 times out of 10, the same young girl would be plodding along beside him, chattering away incessantly. You had assumed they were a father and daughter on those occasions, but now understanding this was Joel, you knew better. Cal had explained it to you when he found out, about how Tommy’s brother had a kid living with him, but it wasn’t his. The idea of it didn’t seem too strange to you, considering most of the people living in Jackson were found families, not blood. 

He was tall, taller than Tommy, with a more wrinkled and tanned face. Dark hair with streaks of grey, and a short beard. Obviously. the older brother. Thicker than Tommy too, the invasive thought flashed through your mind, as your eyes glanced over his arms.

Ignorant to your curious eyeballing, Joel jerked his head in your direction, and asked, “The other newbie?” He had a distinctly husky Texan drawl, and his voice was deep, as if he spoke from the very depths of his stomach.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, and introduced the two of you with a smile. “She’s doing some great work for us round the stables, the horses have taken a good liking to her already.”

You shared a polite nod and held out your hand for greeting. Joel barely met your eyes, before gripping your hand once. One firm shake, before dropping it like it stung him. You thought you noticed him even wipe his hand off on his jeans. Rude motherfucker.

He didn’t say anymore, and seemed to just wait for you to go so he could continue his conversation from before you showed up.

“Well,” you said. “I’ll get out of your hair boys. Be good.” A short laugh fell from Tommy’s mouth, and you thought you caught a surprised expression on Joel’s face as you turned and continued walking in the direction of home.

You crossed paths a few more times that Summer, but always briefly. He constantly had somewhere to be, or a job he was on his way to completing – never without an excuse to cut a conversation with you short. You didn’t particularly mind his disinterest in small talk. In fact, you found it somewhat refreshing after a few interactions with him. Finally, one other person in this town who wasn’t friendly, or willing to fake interest in you just because you were new in town.

One day you and Cal went on a ride along with Tommy as he patrolled the area surrounding the settlement. Nothing serious, just him showing you both around the area, telling you about what abnormalities he kept an eye out for when he went out of the safety of the gates.

The trio had been out for an hour or so before a rustle in the woods a hundred metres back caught their attention. Your hackles rose, and you reached for the gun strapped to your hip instinctively, prepared to see an infected emerge from the brush. But Joel Miller rode up to your group quickly, a deep scowl settling on his face when he spotted his brother’s company.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked his brother.

“Maria wants you back home,” he said gruffly. “Said it’s getting late; said if you’re not back in time for dinner she’ll lock your ass out.” His gaze twitched quickly over to you and Cal, who were watching him curiously. “Why are the newbies with you?”

Joel wasn’t afraid to talk about you two as if you weren’t there, didn’t care how it came across, and you understood this was probably why some people in Jackson weren’t very fond of him.

“Just showing them the area, they oughta know what we get up to out here every day,” Tommy said amiably. “The real question is, why are you doin’ my wife’s bidding?”

He huffed in response, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Maria’s the boss,” is all he said, before gripping the reins and encouraging his horse to take off in the direction he came from. When it was just the three of you again, you felt your shoulders sag, and let out a low whistle, as if to say, jeez, lighten up.

Not a week later, Cal told you, “His face has the same thing yours has, you know.” You were sharing lunch outside the stables, when Joel had shown up to take one of the horses for a patrol.

“What the fuck does that mean?” you’d asked incredulously. He held his hands up in defence, coughing lightly around his mouthful of food.

“No, no, don’t bed mad,” he paused, laughing more. “But… c’mon, I couldn’t help but notice…”

“Notice what? Why the fuck can’t you finish your sentence.” You were impatient, and the sun was beating down on you, and Joel was only 10 metres away, saddling up.

“You both have this set of wrinkles in between your eyebrows,” he finally admitted, smirking. “I’d say it’s because you’ve both been frowning for the past twenty years straight, if I had to guess.” You relaxed the frown on your face instantly, making Cal laugh harder. A warmth rose in your face as you realised you’d attracted Joel’s attention, and he was glancing at you from across the grass.

“I don’t frown all the time,” you muttered under your breath, giving Joel a courteous nod goodbye as he rode out on the horse.

“Of course you don’t, sunshine, my mistake,” Cal had agreed sarcastically, waving a hand at Joel in farewell.

After that, whenever you saw him, your lips twitched as you noticed the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead, and you reminded yourself to relax your own. Not enough room in Jackson for two permanent frowns, you thought to yourself, and his takes the cake. ‘Grumpy’ was a good descriptor for him. On the rare occasion you saw him smile or laugh, it was when the girl was around.

You had noticed the way she’d tell him a joke and a begrudging smile would grace his face, only for him to cough, or reach up and place a hand over his mouth, to avoid anyone else taking notice. Of course, you would notice the girl grinning with glee at making her companion laugh. It was sweet. The fondness between them was palpable, and you had to fight the curiosity inside you that wondered what had brought them together.

When, at long last, you finally met Ellie, it all made sense. The girl was insufferably chatty with some precocious snark to boot, and she had an impressive attention to detail; a 5’4” spitfire with a mess of mousy brain hair. She was no bullshit, and you trusted her instantly.

“I was wondering when I’d meet the newbie I’d been hearing about,” Ellie had smirked, holding out a sweaty hand in greeting.   

“Sorry it took so long, everyone wants a piece of the me these days,” you feigned a sigh, smiling when the young girl laughed.

“Do you like it here?” she asked inquisitively, and you nodded. “I’ve seen you a few times, but you always seemed busy, or were with that other guy.” “Jackson is great, me and Cal are happy to be here,” you confided. “I’ve seen you round a lot too, with your-“ you cut yourself off before the word ‘father’ came out. “With Joel.”

“Oh, you know Joel!”

“No, not really,” you clarified quickly. “He pops up here and there… what a laugh that guy is.” For a moment you were worried the joke wouldn’t land, but when a squeaky laugh pealed out of Ellie’s mouth you relaxed, and laughed with her.

“You’re telling me!” the girl barked, shaking her head.

Through those first six months in Jackson, life slowly started to make sense again for you. For the first time since the outbreak happened all of those years ago, you found yourself with a proper home, and a community of people around you who you had come to know and respect.

But even with newfound light in your life, the darkness inside of you wasn’t going away quickly. Even a friendly place like Jackson couldn’t stop the nightmares that plagued you. After spending over a decade traversing the United States with Cal, seeing death and decay and infection firsthand, you had to train yourself to focus on the good.

When you passed by a group of kids on the street, you urged yourself not to see the faces of Cal’s late brothers, whom you grew up with. Had to fight the memories of the settlement not unlike Jackson that you spent years in, only to watch it burn to the ground. Not everything ends badly, you would whisper to yourself. People can be trusted.

As insistent as you were with opening yourself up to the light, the nightmares still came fast and hard. It was the same one, most nights. The same memory. In time, Cal had begun to sleep through you crying out for help in your sleep, after learning years ago that being woken up by him sometimes scared you just as much as the dream itself. Sometimes, solitude after an awful night was the only remedy.

You woke slick with sweat, your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Heart racing, you stumbled out of bed and gulped down some water in the kitchen. Through the light fog outside, a warm orange glow lit the street, as the sun rose slowly over the town. Thank god, you thought. Early, but not too early to rise without worrying Cal. You dressed slowly, limbs heavy with fatigue, and walked numbly toward the stables. Winter had crept into Jackson like a thief, and the morning’s icy cold breath licked at your hands and face, stealing all the warmth you had to offer.

A few of the horses startled awake when you arrived, and you soothed them quietly, your voice hoarse from crying only an hour prior.

“It’s just me,” you murmured, kissing Dot’s speckled nose.

A morning ride seemed a good way to wake up all of your senses, so you set to saddling up. But only a short while after your arrival at the stables, a sound outside made you start. A flash of the nightmare shot through your brain, and your heart stuttered. Footsteps, padding softly through the grass outside, could clearly be heard. Dot’s ears pricked up, and her large head swung toward the stable doors to watch. Although you had been sure you heard someone approaching, when he stepped into view, you still let out a yell of surprise. 

“Woah,” Joel held his hands out in alarm, eyes wide. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” His arms lowered as he recognised you, warily noting your defensive stance, positioned half behind Dot with tensed fists.

You didn’t say anything immediately, breathing heavily out of your mouth, and still trying to calm your racing heart. You watched each other from across the space, and he took a few slow steps inside. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologised genuinely, in a tone gentler than you’d ever heard him use.

You ignored his apology. “What’re you doing out here so early? The sun’s hardly up.”

An eyeroll. “I could ask you the same question.”

You contemplated lying, but exhaustion wore on you heavily, and you found yourself unable to think of a fib worthy of his time. “Bad dreams,” you settled on, not caring how childish it made you sound.

He nodded slowly, looking unsurprised by your admission. After a measured pause, he offered, “I get those too, sometimes.”

Your heart, which had only just slowed down, found itself beating out of time again, although you weren’t sure why. This was the longest conversation you and Joel had ever had, and by far the most private one – if you didn’t count the horses listening in. When you didn’t answer him quickly, his hand raised to scratch awkwardly against his beard. Not for the first time, you were hit with an unwelcome thought about how handsome he was.

“You look cold,” he changed the subject quickly, and with a down turned mouth. He was wearing a thick brown jacket, which made the thin jumper you were wearing look like a sheet of paper in comparison.

“Cal’s been borrowing my good jacket these days, since it’s gotten cold.”

Joel watched you speak, and it seemed like he didn’t how to respond. His hands settled on his hips, and he mumbled something under his breath that you missed. When you prompted him to repeat it, he just said, “You spend a lot of time with Dot.” You were happy to finally shift the topic of conversation away from yourself, and agreed. 

“Yeah well, Percy over there isn’t too fond of me,” you gestured behind you to a tall grey horse, who you had discovered months earlier would huff loudly and rear his head up whenever you stepped near him. In that respect, Percy reminded you somewhat of Joel when the two of you first met.

“Percy’s old, he’ll warm up to you with time,” he advised.

“I thought the saying goes that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

A small huff of air escaped his mouth, and if you weren’t so sleepy, you would’ve sworn it was the start of a laugh. Quietly, he said, “I’d like to think that’s not true.”

It was the next morning, after you’d awoken from another nightmare, and stepped outside to head to the stables again, that you saw it. A gift, or maybe a token of understanding.

A large black jacket, folded neatly on your doormat.

Winter kicked in like a punch in the gut, but you decided you liked the festivities that the cold weather inspired in Jackson. Suddenly every morning your windows had a delicate layer of frost over them, hiding the view of the street, making every day a new surprise, waiting for you to discover when you finally stepped outside. It didn’t rain often, but you could sense how the clouds seemed to sag, and knew that snow wouldn’t be far around the corner. You wore Joel’s jacket most days, and appreciated how the cold made your face tinge red, so that when he spotted you in it, he wouldn’t notice you were blushing.

To celebrate the changing of the season, Maria had organised a bonfire night to bring the town together. She enticed you to come along with promises of mulled wine and live music, but the truth was that you had already promised Cal you’d go along.

“She is going to be theeeere,” Cal had sung dreamily from the kitchen, a week before. You had been lounging on the chair in your living space, drowsy from an impromptu afternoon nap, and it took you a moment to understand who he was talking about.

“Luisa?”

“Luisa,” he confirmed wistfully, sipping a cup of tea as he stepped into the room. “She invited us, and you have to come along, you know. I can’t go without my wingman.”

“If she invited you, you probably don’t need a wingman,” you laughed, but agreed to go nonetheless. It was sweet watching Cal talk about Luisa over the past few weeks, and watching his crush develop more every day that they spent time together. Not for a long time had either of you been romantically involved with someone, and it made your heart sing for him. Of course, you would go. For Cal, you’d probably go anywhere. 

Jackson was a hub of excitement when the day finally rolled around. During your shift at the stables, the women you worked with chatted keenly about wanting to dance to live music, and it caused a bubble of excitement to form in your own chest. It had been so long since you’d seen a musical instrument, let alone seen someone play one with any skill. On your walk home, people were toting around decorations, headed towards a big open dirt field, where you knew a set up effort had already begun. You passed Joel’s place halfway through town and smiled upon spotting him on his porch, rugged up and chatting away with Tommy and Ellie.

Since that morning in the barn, you and Joel had settled into a sort of comfortable ease with one another. There was less rigidity when you spoke; less apprehension when it came to sharing things about yourselves, and your days. Being around him became a source of calm, rather than tension. You never sought him out for conversation, but you found yourself quietly elated when he appeared on one of your aimless walks, or passed by the stables unexpectedly and chatted to you while you worked.

The more you came to learn about him in those quiet moments, the more you appreciated him. You felt that you had formed a kind of mutual understanding between you; that you wanted the same things. A shared desire to enjoy this quiet life that neither of you felt you deserved, but were both lucky enough to have fall into your laps.  It was true that you hadn’t made friends there the way Cal had – people gravitated towards his energy naturally. But with Joel, you felt understood.

“Well don’t you lot look cosy,” you called from the street, and were met with a round of friendly waves. “What’s on the menu?” you pointed at the mugs they all gripped, eyeing the hot steam that rose out of them.

“Just a second.” Joel disappeared inside for a few minutes, before returning with a cup of coffee for you. You leaned against the banister and sipped at the hot liquid greedily, nodding in appreciation.

“How are you doing?” Tommy asked you genuinely. You liked the sweet crow’s feet that appeared next to his eyes when he smiled. You chatted absently about work and patrols, and how one of the families in town were expecting a new baby in a few months, before finally the topic of the bonfire came up.

“Oh, you’re coming right?” Ellie pondered eagerly, sitting up in her chair.

“Only if you’ll be there, kid.” Her face lit up at this, grinning smugly at Joel and Tommy. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, but held your gaze steadfast on Ellie. It felt like your skin burned a little when he was looking at you – you could always sense his stare.

“And Cal too?” Ellie asked. She always asked you about Cal, and you’d just come to understand that she liked to be in the loop about most things. She held that teenage curiosity to know about everyone, and all their comings and goings.

“Yes,” you smirked conspiratorially. “He mentioned wanting to see Luisa.” The younger girl raised her eyebrows suggestively, garnering a chuckle from even Tommy.

“Can you believe,” Ellie suddenly chuckled out, sticking out a hand and placing it on Joel’s shoulder. “That Joel thought you and Cal were married or something?”

As you and Tommy laughed, you thought you noticed Joel gently kick his boot against Ellie’s shin, as if to say, shut the hell up kid. He didn’t quite meet your eye when you looked at him, and appeared somewhat embarrassed as he turned to glare at Ellie.

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first to think that,” you conceded. “With the amount of years we’ve known each other, we might as well be married at this point.”

Joel looked at you properly then, his curiosity getting the better of him. Tommy asked the question that seemed to be on his lips.

“Remind me how many years you’ve been together? I can’t remember what you told me all those months ago.”

“We’ve known each other for something like two or three decades.”

Ellie let out a low whistle, eyes wide just thinking about that many years. She was so young, and you felt a quick pang in your heart to remember it.

You drained the last of your coffee, and placed the mug softly into Joel’s outstretched hand before stepping off the porch. “Speaking of the old ball and chain, I’d better get home to make sure he hasn’t burned the place down in my absence.”

“See you tonight,” Joel shared a half smile, and you nodded, before turning and heading in the direction of home. As you walked, you listened to their conversation start back up again.  “Oh kiddo, I almost forgot. Tommy told me this joke yesterday that reminded me of you. You’re gonna love this…” And then you were too far gone to hear the rest.

After giving Cal advice on which shirt to wear, the pair of you made your way toward the field where the party was being held. He was adamant you had to arrive casually late, so that he didn’t seem too eager. You went along with his ideas amiably, happy to please him. And although you didn’t tell Cal, you could admit to yourself that you weren’t going just for his benefit anymore – there were other people looking forward to seeing you. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would get to spend any time talking to Joel, and your heart squeezed in a way you chose to ignore.

The sun had set hours ago, and the party was in full swing when you arrived at the gathering. Flames blazed high into the air from two huge bonfires, crackling loudly and lighting the wide-open space with a warm orange glow. Small twinkling lights had been strung up through the surrounding trees, providing more light. A small group of musicians stood off to the side, playing soft folk music that flowed beautifully into your ears.

Busy marvelling at your beautiful surroundings, you were shocked back to reality by Cal thrusting a warm mug into your hands.

“Liquid courage,” he winked, taking a swig. You stared at the deep red steaming liquid in your own cup, and sipped it tentatively. Soft notes of cinnamon and star anise hit your tongue, mixing with the tart red wine, and you hummed happily. “Oh, there she is!”

Cal bid you a quick farewell and wandered across the field to sit beside Luisa on a thick log. You watched as the pair embraced, but averted your eyes quickly when Luisa leaned in and pressed a kiss against Cal’s cheek. He would tell you these things in his own time, and deserved his privacy. Allowing your eyes to flicker over the rest of the crowd. It seemed everyone in Jackson was there. Families talking and laughing, couples and friends swaying together near the band. A feeling of intense loneliness hit you in a sudden wave, but as quick as it came it was gone, as you spotted Joel sitting alone, staring into the fire.

Before you could convince yourself not to, you found your legs meandering in his direction, as if out of your own control. You half hoped someone would stop you for a conversation along the way, but everyone was distracted, and you seemed to blend into the crowd without drawing much attention. Ellie could be seen watching the band play with some other people around her age and hadn’t noticed your arrival. In less than a minute, your black boots were stopping a metre behind where Joel sat.

He wasn’t aware of your presence yet, leaving you with a moment to take him in. Although you couldn’t see his face yet, you admired his broad strong back, and thought absently that either all his clothes were too tight, or he must’ve been built like a brick house underneath them.

Unsure of yourself, and feeling awkward in your own skin, you hesitated for a moment too long. A quiet crack sounded as you adjusted your footing, and crunched onto a wayward twig, making Joel’s head tick ever so slightly to the side.

“Hey there,” you rushed, not wanting to spook him, and he turned fully to see you. He looked handsome, wearing his normal brown jacket, and holding his own mug of ruby red liquid courage. The corner of his mouth quirked up and those earthy brown eyes took her in quickly, flicking from her head to her feet, and back up again in an instant.

“You gonna sit down or just stand there all night?” You were torn abruptly from your reverie when he spoke, and you hoped that the darkness hid your blush. Stepping over the log he was on, you sat down beside him heavily, holding out your free hand to feel the warmth of the bonfire. You were close. Not enough to touch, but enough that the sleeves of you jackets brushed ever so slightly when one of you moved your arm.

“You havin’ a good time?” you enquired quietly, realising that from this vantage point, you could actually see Cal and Luisa, on the other side of the fire.

“Better now, I’ll admit.” You turned her head to look at him, surprised by his forthrightness, and he held your gaze evenly, still doing that half smile that put you at ease. “The people in this town are so friendly, but you run out of things to talk about after knowing them all for a year and a half.”

“Well lucky for us,” you suggested. “I’ve only been here 7 months. We haven’t exhausted all avenues of conversation yet, have we Joel?”

From behind the rim of his mug he chuckled quietly, his eyes shining with the fire’s reflection. “I’d say we haven’t, no.” Considering his height and broad stature, he always held himself in a naturally authoritative manor. But sitting there beside him, you enjoyed seeing him look so relaxed, lounging comfortably, with a few drinks in his system. It was a version of him that you hadn’t met before, and you liked it.

“How is he?” Joel asked, nodding in Cal’s direction. You looked over to see him and Luisa chatting together, their foreheads knocking together as they leaned into one another. You smiled.

“He’s good. Fitting in like no one’s business,” you snorted, shaking your head in a sort of wonderment. “Doesn’t surprise me though. People always liked Cal, everywhere we went.”

“And they didn’t like you?” His tone was disbelieving. A prickling heat tickled across your face, and you knew he was staring.

“Not that they didn’t like me, I’m just…” you trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. “More of an acquired taste, I suppose.”

“An acquired taste.” He repeated gruffly, and made a scoffing noise from deep in his throat.

“Ah, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Well, even then, I suppose the saying goes... about acquired tastes getting better with age… or something like that.” You looked at him out of the corner of your eye and relished in seeing his large frame shaking with silent laughter.

“We can agree to disagree on this one, but I’m happy to let you chop together sayings to fit your idea of not being likable.”

You stared at him a little longer, enjoying the tight-lipped smile on his face. Gaze locked onto his mouth, your brain suddenly filled with ideas about his lips, and what they would feel like. He was so rough, so brawny, but you liked to imagine they’d be soft, like he was now that you had gotten to know him more. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and your eyes drifted up, to find he’d caught you staring. Joel exhaled heavily and reached up to scratch at the little scar on the bridge of his nose. You wondered how he’d gotten it.

You’d noticed plenty of scars along his arms, during the warmer months in Jackson. It seemed he had a long history of violence that you knew nothing about, but you certainly wasn’t surprised by it. Even as you grew closer to him, and to Ellie, nothing was ever revealed about how they came together, or what led them to Jackson. It almost made you want to keep your own history private, until he shared more with you. But then he smiled at you, and your heart did that skipping a beat thing it was always doing these days around him, and your defences would lower again.

Across the fire, your attention was caught by the sound of Luisa laughing loudly at something Cal whispered to her. You and Joel watched them silently for a moment, both entranced by the giggling couple across the field.

Joel raked a hand through his hair and cleared his throat quietly. “You and Cal…”

“Me and Cal what?” you prompted.

“You two, did anything ever…” he seemed to hesitate; his eyes boring into the dirt in front of you while he struggled to articulate himself. It was bizarre to see such a strong man seem so unsure. “You never… anything more than friendship?”

A beat of silence. you wondered how much to tell him. Certain memories of you and Cal ran through your mind and you shivered a little. It had been a long few years since you’d thought about that time in your lives.

“It’s complicated,” you spoke slowly, not wanting to lie to Joel. “We were alone for so long. Sometimes there would be other people with us while we travelled around, or when we lived in other settlements, but…”

“But they were temporary?”

“Temporary,” you nodded. The band were playing an upbeat song, and you were momentarily distracted by the contrast between the group of people lively dancing a few metres away, and you and Joel sitting there talking in hushed tones.  

“They would get themselves killed, or infected, or…” you paused, feeling your eyebrow twitch at the thought of some of you and Cal’s past acquaintances. Of one in particular, whom you was still plagued with visions of while asleep.

Embers from the fire were floating through the foggy air, and you inhaled a deep breathe, watching as they disappeared into the night sky. Little pieces of crackling sparks, shooting up and evaporating. The smoke from the fire burned your eyes and throat. Don’t think about it.

“Or…” he pressed. He might as well have poked you with a stick to bring your attention back to the conversation; his curiosity rolling off him in waves. Joel with a few drinks in him proved far nosier than sober Joel. 

Your gaze stayed on the sky. “Or prove themselves untrustworthy.”

Joel was smart enough to read between the lines, and not push any further on the matter. You observed fondly that when you were speaking to him, Joel angled his head ever so slightly to have his left ear closer to you. Upon noticing, you remembered it was true that whenever he’d approached you in the past few weeks, he’d position himself on your right side. You figured the hearing on his right side was a little shoddy. 

For a few moments you just sat and watched the people around you. Some of the families started to leave, herding little ones away from the band, and in the direction of town.

“So?” Joel prompted, with a deep wrinkle in his forehead that let you know he wasn’t happy about having to ask again.

“You really want to know?”

You couldn’t read the expression on his face. He fiddled with the mug in his hands and nodded once.  You didn’t like the way he’d gone from relaxed and boozy, back to his regular grouchy countenance.

Your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth in acquiescence.

“We’d been friends for twenty years before it, and we’ve been friends for a decade after it. It happened twice, or… or maybe three times. It gets a bit hazy in my memory. We figured we knew each other so well, and after so many years alone, it had started to seem like there would never be anyone else to…” you trailed off, uncertain of how much to reveal. Joel waited.

“As much as we wished it was more it just wasn’t. It never could be.” It was impossible not to picture those times, as you talked about them. Your stomach rolled remembering the way you and Cal had stood awkwardly together, skimming stones over a lake you’d stumbled across, agreeing to never do it again. It was one of the worst moments of your friendship; both fearing you were about to break your only friend’s heart. “We love each other but… there’s a barrier there, in our heads. All the memories of us as kids, of playing soccer on the weekend with him and his brothers, of watching each other grow up and become the people we were going to be…” You rubbed the itchy corner of your eye with grimy fingers, taking a breath. Joel’s eyes flicked over to see Cal and Luisa standing up, and the pair began walking away from the bonfire hand in hand.

“When we fucked, the first time, it was just a tension release, I suppose.”

Joel flinched beside you, his shoulders tenser than they had been a moment before. A twinge of regret tickled in your chest, for using such matter-of-fact language. You weren’t trying to push him away, but it felt sneaky if you were to lie about your past with Cal. There was no denying what had happened; not if you wanted Joel to know you, truly. It was a part of your story, and neither of you could afford to be ashamed of it. 

“And after that, we tried again but it just… didn’t work. We couldn’t be together that way, as much as we longed for the connection. He may as well be my brother. Thankfully, the sibling sentiment was mutual.”

You turned to watch Joel’s face. His stoic expression was hard to read, but the wrinkles around his mouth were made prominent by how he clenched his jaw, and you could sense an undercurrent of thoughts and emotions clearly rolling under his skin. Yet he stayed silent, brooding. Jealous? You shook the invasive thought off. No.

“I don’t say it lightly, that I would die for Cal,” you said quietly, your voice as firm and wary as the day you arrived in Jackson, eyes glancing away for a moment to watch Cal’s back as he disappeared out of the field. “Him being here, happy and safe… it’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”

Silence swelled around you, heavy with the weight of all that you had revealed. Goosebumps rippled over your skin as the band started to play a song you recognised. One from before outbreak day, that your mother used to sing to you on the settlement, in those early years after everything changed. If Joel noticed your demeanour shift, you didn’t care, letting your eyes fall closed as you gently sang along to the opening of the old song.

Oh, Kentucky, I miss you

Your night sky, black and tired

But wild like a live wire

The horse is never leaving the pond on its own

You got to open the gate and let it loose to run

Faster than the clouds on a windblown dawn Faster than you left me alone to long

You trailed off slowly and reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. An image of your mother’s face flashed through your memory, but you shoved it down, unsure if it was even an accurate idea of what she had looked like. After a decade and a half without her, you couldn’t be sure your memories were trustworthy.  

“And what do you want now?” Joel finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “Now that he’s happy, and safe. What do you want?”

“For myself?” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t let myself want anything in a long time now. There’s no use; nothing good comes from it.”

Your cheeks were warm and red, and little bits of ash were dotted through your hair. Joel’s mug had been abandoned to the ground, and his fingers fiddled together in his lap, the way they always did when he was trying his best to actively listen. He was present, and this way his way of showing it. No messing around, no object or weapon in his hands to put a barrier between himself and another person. Just his hands, scratching and tracing each other, to calm himself. It made your heart beat out of time for a second, whenever you noticed him doing it. Until one of his hands lifted and held in the air for a second, and then he reached over to place it gently on your knee. Your heart stuttered as he gave it a gentle squeeze, and left it to rest there.

“I felt the same way for a long time. Thought there was no use in hoping, or wanting anything good, or feeling like I deserved to be happy.”

“And now?” you asked, staring down at his large hand on you. You wished you had the confidence to reach down and take it in your own. “Do you still feel like that?”

His thumb made one slow stroking movement along your knee, making the skin underneath your jeans tingle sharply.

“Jackson changed things. Ellie… Ellie changed things. And…” He paused, and his forehead finally relaxed. You pursed your chapped lips and didn’t look away from him, urging him to continue. “Jackson continues to change things.” Is all he said.

And it’s all he needed to. You understood. 

Take me to the track, I want to lose all my cash

This beating in my chest is all I need to stash

And why shouldn’t I?

Cause when I’m alone

We’re still looking at the same moon

Under the night

Are we two people never getting together?

I will follow your roads

As wide as the air, as wild as a storm.

part two

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

Much Ado About Snotknuckles:

Something Rotten on Berserker Island (5x03) is a completely underrated episode, especially amongst Snotlout fans. Like, even if you’re not much of Gustav or Dagur fan, it’s great as just a Snotlout episode. Such examples (though most do include him and Gustav):

Snotlout constantly sassing Gustav and saving him from falling. He also just manages to lift him up effortlessly by one arm, with one arm. (Man, this man’s strength really fluctuates depending on the plot.)

Snotlout’s (perceived) incompetence completely vanishing when placed in a situation of danger and shifted power dynamic similarly to how he is when placed with the twins, only far stronger.

Snotlout calls the dragons “war machines” again and, in a sassy, aggressive way, attempts to sate Gustav’s nerves when he expresses that it’s different without Fanghook by (indirectly) empathising by name dropping Hookfang.

Snotlout saying “grow some hair on that barren chest if yours” while the camera is in a position for us to see all the hair on his own chest. This is a metaphor.

Snotlout immediately using himself as a distraction against the coup’s guards so that Gustav may escape, whereas if he were with the other riders he probably would have been the last one to volunteer.

When Gustav calls for Snotlout’s help after immediately being captured by some guards, Snotlout without complaint immediately defeats the guards that were chasing him to go help.

Snotlout conceiving a trap for the guards (and successfully fooling one into setting it off) to break Gustav out of jail.

Bonus:

Snotlout not correcting Dagur when he gets his name wrong and only silently seething over not getting much attention or duly credit due to his gargantuan man-crush (or just outright crush) on him.

Snotlout finally correcting Dagur and standing up for himself before they’re about to go into battle with Savage’s men.

Dagur and Snotlout going into battle with Dagur commenting “Two against twenty” and Snotlout saying “Could be worse.”

This man is an excellent warrior, brother, and man-whore.

[wataksampingan]

Very long Chapter 96 feelings/thoughts below cut coz I saved my hard-earned Naver cookies for this and I'm going to react while it's fresh dammit.

Spoilers in every possible way, as always.

Oh my God its their first official date and of course it doesn't go Theo's way at all coz he's fighting a lost cause against an author with a sense of humour I share. Thank God his people love him

Nearly 100 chapters later and only now do we start steering towards Therdeo "My angel" Lapileon from the prologue (which I still find it difficult to fathom; the road is long and arduous from Therdeo 'Face as Red as My Eyes' Lapileon we see right now)

I have yet to translate the dialogue properly, but that last panel of him honestly unnerves me (and judging from Google Translated comments in Korean, I'm not the only one.) I'm not really one for the kind of ML who is madly obsessive over their love interest to extremely difficult extents coz I'm too old and cynical to see this as a good thing in a relationship, fictional or otherwise (This is purely a personal preference; no judgement if that's your jam and jelly)

But the thing is that it makes sense. Of course Theo would get dangerous over the first woman he's fallen in love with. Of course he'd do anything to keep her now that, yknow, she's actually made her feelings known. After 90+ chapters of angsting, literally watching her die a few times in front of him, holding such huge feelings of guilt for what his blood has done to her, quietly despairing over keeping anyone close to him coz he's a Lapileon and they succumb so often to death -- this overwhelming fear of losing her is understandable. The idea of her leaving now must be intolerable, like "not after every damn thing I've been through. Everything we have been through. Over my cold dead body".

...I've had the thought quite a few times that seungu succeeded in convincing me that Theo is scary, and this chapter - while also very sweet - is really laying that fact out again in no uncertain terms: Therdeo Lapileon really shouldn't be messed with.

The thing is, meta-wise, there is no end to cold, stern dukes of the frozen North with fearsome reputations, black/dark hair and red/dark eyes - it's one of the most longstanding fantasy romance tropes in manhwa after all. Throw a stone and you'll hit a milord with a chest so wide you can fit a full dresser sideways between his shoulders and a face so stony Medusa is taking notes. And of course, his grace is going to have the reputation of Ultimate Warrior and Sovereign of His Land, Tamer of the Terrain, Reviver of the Barren Soil Now Made Fertile under His Leadership, because only such a powerful man with a heart of ice and terror would have the wherewithal to bend the unyielding north to his will. He isn't emperor/king simply because of circumstances (TM), character and/or choice.

To name just a few: Prince (...kinda? Sorta? Its a long story) Killian from Like Wind on a Dry Branch, Hades from I Married the Main Lead's Dad, Riftan from Under the Oak Tree, Kandel from I Thought My Time Was Up, Milian from Karina's Last Days; heck, even the other Killian from Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story is about to inherit a territory that isn't so great but which he will no doubt develop into a thriving land coz he's Capable that way. If you remove the hair and eye colour conditions, there are even more examples. 99% of them are said to strike fear into the hearts of men just by being mentioned in a room.

...ngl, putting my gigantic bias aside, Theo truly is among my top three scariest ML. Not even Killian (Rieta's) gives me pause the way Theo does, and I have immense respect and admiration for the way Like Wind on A Dry Branch is told (and translated). I know Killian is a powerful man; I feel Theo is threatening. (Brief aside here to acknowledge that Killian has game for days, while Theo is....... look, he's trying.)

Take this opinion with many grains of salt, but few MLs that I've seen so far (and admittedly my repertoire is probably very limited compared to others) has come close to the time Theo plain snapped during Celphi's bullying arc, and when he nearly decapitated a wholeass princess in front of the entire court because she killed his wife (again. And yes, justifiable but still, in front of the EMPEROR HIMSELF.)

Also, the man looked like THIS when the servant who poisoned her begged him to "go back to the princess":

I say this with all love: Theo is not a balanced individual.

We already know this is a world where medieval torture is par for the course, but so far it's been reserved for Gen, who tortured and experimented on a child, and this dude who's been an accessory to Dodolea's crimes since the beginning. Theo does not give a single fuck about trivial things like consequences when it comes to Celphi and Perry's wellbeing. The world will burn if it must, just so he can find out who hurt them.

I said before that Saoirse is a true Lapileon, and Theo was the softest hearted of the siblings. I still maintain it's true, but with the addendum that Theo isn't far off in ruthlessness. You just need to make the mistake of hurting his wife or his son.

Granted, the obsession is only a problem if he restricts Perry just because she's "His". And she's proven a few times that she will Do Shit She Wants regardless of the Lapileons, Princess Dodolea or even herself (god, the way she second guessed herself so hard, only to bust back into the room with those shackles and physically FIGHT MIA OFF in ch 92 - Phineas owes her impulsiveness his life literally). I don't think the story can logically progress that way unless Perry has some sort of personality transplant. And I trust seungu too much for that. The fear is in more what he'll do behind her back (please don't Theo, we've been through this, you know what happened the last time you did things without telling her first - and even if other things went well (like suppressing ugly false stories in publications) that doesn't guarantee you're doing the right thing by not keeping her informed, you walnut.

...yes I know she also has the same bad habit of Not Telling You Her Business but she's LEARNING. I think.)

...also, tbf, Theo doesn't need his obsession to make him a danger to his own love life. Romance or not, he's still Socially Awkward and Fucked Up so lord only knows how many awkward mistakes he's going to make trying to actively court his wife 🥲

Then again, it's not like she's any better considering her last serious relationship was so awful, she literally died and went back in time. I'm not surprised, and in fact quite glad, it took her this long to admit to her finer feelings. However, now this is slightly uncharted territory, and this woman bottles up her feelings and lies to herself just about as much as Theo does. (Why are you so bothered Mia spent so much time around him? Why are you so upset that you can't do more to help him? Why are you so worried whenever he's seemingly avoiding you? Why do you look away each time he gives you puppy dog eyes, Pereshati? HMMM? WHY INDEED)

And now they have to return to the capital with all these revelations, and be within reach of the imperial family again and I AM AFRAID FOR THEM, PRECIOUS, I TRULY AM.

On a completely different tangent: I am truly not a fan of the novel ending where Theo ends up being crowned emperor. So if this manhwa ends with the coronation of His Imperial Majesty Emperor Therdeo Lapileon and Her Imperial Majesty Empress Pereshati Jahardt, I will be heartbroken. Like, I would have the same reaction to it the way Game of Thrones fans reacted to Season 8. That's how bad I would take it. I hope to all things good seungu deviates from there as well. It feels like the romance is following the novel just a smidge more - a soupçon if you will - in this season, so I'm a little trepidatious about what other aspects might follow. I remain a big fan of how different the manhwa direction is, so... GO SEUNGU!! FOLLOW YOUR STAR!!

P/S: my train of thought while reading ch 90:

Seungu is just bringing all of Phineas' personal trauma in full technicolor when he flashes back to his younger self witnessing his parents fight while his older brother sustains a severe eye injury, oh my god. This poor boy - no wonder he wanted to run so badly.

Oh god, Gloria having to try and save her children from this insane man.

Okay, so this cements that it was Theo's grandfather who was tyrannical as fuck and abused everyone including his youngest grandson? not Theo's father who also looks like he was just Trying His Best? But Gen's dialogue mentions "abeoji" (father)? Did Phineas' older brother neglect his kids or grow up into another abuser??? oh GOD THIS FAMILY

PPS: I cannot WAIT to see how the English translators handle that panel in ch95 when he finally finds enough braincells to return her embrace (that's not just any hug, cmon - that's a full on, no holds barred, literary Embrace)

I'm fairly sure she said "It's/I'm cold", but I also got overexcited because I thought she said "I like you" (???) It's easy to overlap/overhear either phrase as each other coz they sound fairly similar if you say it quickly (same energy like saying "suki" in Japanese but you need context to know if they mean they like a person or something else entirely).

Either way, it was definitely NOT "saranghae", which let's face it, IS FAR TOO DEEP for where they are right now. These two doofuses have only just begun to find out what their feelings mean, tho Theo may be too quick a study , eomma help.

PPPS: Ep 87 comes out in English tomorrow morning (for us in GMT+8 anyway) AND I WILL HAVE WORDS ABOUT THAT CONVERSATION, VJFHDJSKSKSL I CANNOT WAIT

PPPPS: it just occurred to me that all the examples I mentioned about the other comparable dukes of the North have more or less Definitively gotten together with their love interests, emotionally and/or physically. I mean if someone came up with a gantt chart/comparative timeline/line graph of when each duke finally kissed/tumbled into bed with their love interests to prove me wrong/right, that'd be fantastic but anyway

Theo has only just hugged her in ch 95.

They have shared a bed for over 90 chapters and it is ONLY JUST NOW that there is prolonged bodily contact apart from holding (often gloved) hands.

...I keep saying this because it's true: I love this slow burn so much.