#but she has quite the journey to take with her cold dead heart : | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feyhunter78 · 2 months ago

Note

Can’t wait for my got rewatch with this weather <3 can’t wait for Jon fic

Oooo lucky it's still warm where I'm at, but hopefully we'll get fall weather soon. Enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen - The war has ended, and you must journey home to Casterly Rock, a new future awaiting you.

King Stannis has a firm hand, and an iron will, with eyes akin to a hawk. Any semblance of grief for those pronounced traitors is frowned upon, and in your precarious position—half traitor, half honorable—you cannot risk his displeasure falling upon you, so you pretend.

You do not wear black, nor grey, nor crimson, you wear the green and pink of your mother’s house, the purple, and white of Jon’s, and you smile. Smile for the court, for the King, for Tommen, for Margaery, and in truth it was beginning to help. The pain lessening as your father swept you up into wedding plans, into tales of how Casterly Rock would change once you both had taken your rightful places within it.

Then House Stark left, taking with them Tommen and Margaery. Tommen held back his tears; Margaery smiled so brightly she outshone the sun but you? You felt the cold chill of fear, of grief creeping up, overtaking your lungs and heart until you felt half dead.

You are devoid of feeling, of light, of life, ashen and hollow as you sit staring listlessly out the window as the wheelhouse travels down The Gold Road. Your cheeks are wet with tears, tears that slip unbidden, dotting your violet skirts like stars.

Myrcella’s letter, written in a shaky hand, the tearstained ink running into the corners, lays open in your outstretched hand. How can you grieve when you have not lost what she has? Your father still lives, your standing, your reputation is intact, you will inherit the Lannister seat, and Myrcella? Sweet Myrcella is confined to Dorne, a bastard born of incest, with no standings, no prospects in the eyes of the kingdoms.

You wish to call her home, to bring her safely into the arms of her family, but it is safer in Dorne. Trystane does love her deeply, truly, and she is happy. You will not take that remaining happiness from her, even if it would soothe your wounded soul.

“Y/N, I know you are hurting, as am I, but we must put our grief aside.” Your father says softly from his seat across from you. He is dressed finely, all crimson and gold, your grandsire’s signet ring on his finger.

“Why, why must I put it aside? Nearly all who I care for have been taken from me. Uncle Jaime, Myrcella, Tommen, Margaery, Aunt Cersei, Uncle Robert, Grandsire, who next will they take? You? Jon? Will they wait until I have a babe and tear him from my arms like they did to poor Queen Elia?”

Your father leans forward in his seat, placing a hand on your knee. “The Baratheons are not the cause of our sorrow.”

You shoot him a look.

He snorts. “They are not the cause of all our sorrow, your aunt and uncle made their own choices, Myrcella is safe, Tommen is spared, Margaery is happy, and no one will take Jon or I from you.”

You shake your head, drawing your arms around yourself and holding tightly. “You cannot know that. What if the king changes his mind?”

“Then I shall leave Kevan in charge, and we will flee to Essos. Become notorious for throwing extravagant parties, or perhaps we shall meet up with the blossoming dragon queen and help her retake her throne.” He shrugs.

You shed your grief like a snake, sitting up at his words. He cannot mean… “What?”

He smiles. “Truly, you did not think I would let our blood be spilled for naught?”

Your father squeezes your knee, casting his gaze towards the window, Casterly Rock stands tall on the horizon.

You follow it, watching as the golden rays of the sun radiate out from behind it, bathing the land below in a warm glow. “I thought she was a rumor, or at the very least not a threat?”

“Varys thought otherwise, Seven rest his soul, and I have seen her with my own eyes, she will be quite formidable in the time to come.” He assures you, leaning back in his seat and picking up a sugar dusted pastry.

You lean back as well, wiping the remaining tears from your face. Daenerys Targaryen, alive, and in possession of dragons… “Thank the gods Jon is not Rhaegar’s bastard, surely she would wish to marry him and consolidate their claims.” You remark, twisting your ring, the very one Jon gave you, the only piece of his mother he had. “I do not think I would survive dragonfire.”

Your father shivers and shakes his head. “Let us not speak of such things, instead we must turn our minds towards our people. They will be confused and frightened, we must establish order swiftly and calmly.”

You nod and reach for one of the pastries as well. Food had tasted naught but ash since the executions, but as you bite into the flaky crust—the sweetness of sugar paired perfectly with the tang of rhubarb—satisfaction brings a smile to your face. A Lannister always pays their debts.

As your father sets off parading through the streets—tossing gold to the smallfolk from atop his horse—you take Jon by the hand and make your way to the Lion’s Mouth, striding forward, eyes set straight ahead as they carry the coffins of your family in as well. Your uncle will be laid to rest in the Hall of Heroes, your grandsire and aunt joining the other Lannisters of past.

“Come, we must go up several floors to reach the Lannister quarters.” You tell Jon, leading him up the winding stairs you have not climbed since you were a child.

The stairs and walls are carved from the rock, refined and draped with white marble, red rock you still cannot identify running through the center, a never-ending path. Sconces of gold sit equidistant on the walls, banners, side tables, vases, and statues, room after room decorated lavishly. You and Jon take turn after turn, as they climb up, up, up to the quarters that housed your family for generations.

“I think I shall need a map if I ever venture these halls without you.” He chuckles, eyes wide as he takes in the grandiosity of your ancestral home.

“Why would you ever go anywhere without me?” You ask, half teasing, and half afraid, clinging to him at the very thought.

Jon looks down at you. He is dashing in his finery, his dark curls neat, his beard trimmed, his sword at his side, and his eyes brimming with concern. “Y/N, I swore to you that we would never be parted, do not tell me your faith has wavered now?”

You shake your head, you will not cry, you will not cry, there are so few true lions left in the world, you cannot cry. “No, never.”

He stops and turns towards you, raising your chin with a calloused finger. “Even Queen Visenya feared attempting to take The Rock, you are safe. We are safe.”

You meet his gaze. “I know.”

“King Stannis has sound council, my uncle ensured that.” He continues, his other hand resting on the small of your back, anchoring you.

“I know.”

“Even the Red Viper will soon join them, and if he finds the king lacking, I am sure he will see the end of his reign.” He gives you a wicked smile, one that makes your stomach flip. Have you corrupted him so that the idea of regicide excites him, or is he attempting to ease your fears by making light of the situation?

“I know.” You whisper, taking hold of Jon’s doublet.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then places his hand atop yours. “All will be well.”

You nod and bask in his presence for a moment. He has been so patient, so kind as you grieved, sitting by your bedside as you sobbed, holding you tightly as you watched Tommen and Margaery wave goodbye.

“Do you wish to show me your childhood quarters, or shall we claim our own from the multitude of empty rooms?” Jon asks, drawing you out of your memories.

“Let us see the empty rooms, there will be time enough to reminisce once my father returns.” You say, smiling as Jon pulls you towards the first open door.

It has been half a year since you sought the safety and comfort of Casterly Rock, your father taking his place as Lord Paramount and the realm settling from war. Though many have just begun to find their way back to their daily lives, it seemed none were quite too put out by being called to The Rock for your wedding.

You stand, hands clasped in Jon’s, your maiden cloak, a shimmering thing of beauty, waves of crimson, a roaring lion with emeralds for eyes, and diamond encrusted claws standing tall, uncowed by the war. Nor by the cold glare of Queen Selyse, or by the scoffs of those who still believed your family should have been stripped of its position and power.

You drown out the septon’s words, they mean little to Jon, and while they mean much in the eyes of the realm. The night prior, you, and he had snuck out to the Stone Garden and gathered beneath the weirwood tree. It was a private ceremony, a Northern ceremony performed by his uncle, his cousin Robb at his side. Your own cousin Myrcella at yours.

Jon’s voice blends with yours as you pledge your undying love, undying devotion, none shall tear you asunder. Jon had all but made these vows to you the day he became your sworn sword, though you had not known it then.

The bridal cloak that had been sent from Starfell is radiant. A shining, shooting star made of thousands of tiny diamonds that caught the light as you moved, embroidered onto rich purple cloth. Jon smiles as he clasps it around you, then without prompting captures your lips in an eager kiss.

The gathered crowd begins to murmur, your father snorts, and you can hear the septon clear his throat pointedly.

“Apologies.” Jon says, looking quite unapologetic, a roguish gleam in his eyes.

Your heart skips a beat, and a giddy giggle rises up, tampered only by the pursing of your lips as you attempt to keep the sound in.

“Lady Y/N Lannister and Lord Jon Dayne are forever bound.” The septon announces, raising his arms to the sky, before dismissing you and Jon.

Jon takes your hand and leads you down the aisle of the sept, grinning like a fool, and you fear you are doing the same.

You stop him before he bypasses the king and queen, dropping into a curtsy. “My King, My Queen, we are honored you would make the journey to witness our marriage.”

King Stannis claps Jon on the shoulder. “Do your duty well, Lord Dayne.”

Queen Selyse gives you a strange look, tilting her head in such a way it makes you feel like prey, then turns her eyes to Jon. “Yes, we would not want a repeat of the previous Lannister folly.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, but you keep your expression neutral, and reply, “My Queen, you have no need to worry, the king himself has put an end to those who acted in such a vile way, their actions will not travel downstream.” Which is far politer than I do not even have a brother, who would I cuckhold Jon with? Have the years you spent wasting away on Dragonstone made you an idiot? How dare you insult me in my home, on my wedding day.

King Stannis only nods and turns his wife away from you and Jon, looking to greet another vassal.

Jon’s grip on your hand tightens, and he leads you out of the sept towards the Great Hall.

“Do not say a word.” You urge softly, knowing what sits on the edge of his tongue. “Not until the king and queen have gone.”

Jon’s jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching, his shoulders thrown back in a defensive posture. “It was not your father who did such things.”

You glance at the surge of people following after you, heading for the banquet. “Come Husband, let us put all that unpleasantness behind us, and enjoy the feast.” You raise the volume of your voice near the end, and those around cheer in response.

You smile as you rest your chin in your hand, watching as Jon dances with Sansa, her flamekissed hair glowing in the candlelight. She laughs as Jon spins her, and soon she is replaced by Arya who promptly steps on his toes. You feel it was a purposeful act, as the young girl has grown to be quite graceful after her many lessons in waterdancing.

Across the floor is your father laughing with your Great Uncle Kevan, while your good-father steals Myrcella away from Trystane and spins her. Her pale pink dress flares out as she spins, her hands outstretched towards Trystane who snatches her back in an instant.

“Lady Lannister, do you mind if I sit?” A woman’s voice, one you are not familiar with, a slightly exotic accent, perhaps one of the Free Cities, but you could not be sure.

You look up at her, she is stunningly beautiful, with violet eyes, and light brown hair swept up with a net of gold and rubies, two strands dangling free and framing her face. “Of course, Lady…?”

“Naharis.” She supplies, gracefully taking the empty seat beside you and folding her hands in her lap.

“Lady Naharis,” you test out the name on your tongue, “is that Tyroshi?”

She nods and observes the dancers. “It is.”

“Well, then you have traveled quite far to attend a wedding.” You say, taking a small sip of your wine.

“Your father believed it would be good for me. To see the joy in Westeros.” Her eyes flit from person to person, never settling, her pale fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table.

“My father asked you to come? I was not aware he knew many Tyroshi people...” You watch her carefully; she is dressed in finery, but there is a practicality to her clothing, and a raw presence that sets you on edge. “It is odd, though, that he made no mention, I believed I knew the names of all who would be in attendance tonight.”

She turns to you, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “My apologies, I did not wish to cause you distress on such a joyous night.”

You shake your head, donning your Lannister mask and smiling radiantly. “Not at all, the more, the merrier.” Then you lean in conspiratorially. “Though if you are his new mistress, you must say so. He usually keeps them hidden from me, so he must hold you in high esteem.”

She laughs, and it is musical and entrancing, however abrupt it may be, surprise clear in her expression. “Lady y/n, I can assure you I am no such thing.” She glances back towards a particular pair of dancers, and your hackles raise. Jon, she is looking at Jon. “I am merely a friend.”

“I see.”

“He has been assisting me in my quest to reclaim my family’s seat.” She says evenly, smoothing out her skirts, a silver ring on her hand catching the light, a three-headed dragon curled possessively.

You set your goblet down and stand, your stomach churning. Did your father invite the dragon queen here? What were they planning? “You must excuse me, Lady Naharis, I do believe my husband promised me the next dance. I pray you enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

She gives you a small smile. “Thank you, Lady Lannister, I pray you do as well.”

You bow your head ever so slightly and make your way through the crowd, grabbing Jon’s arm, you had told him what your father alluded to in the wheelhouse, but that had been ages ago. Neither of you expected her to attend your wedding. “Jon, I must speak with you.”

“Y/N, come, we must speak.” Your father says, grabbing your free hand at the same time your hand reaches Jon.

You look at your father, and Jon looks at you. “Father, I do not know what you have planned, but this is my weddi—"

“Is it time for the bedding!” Some drunken fool cries out, and soon others take up the call, the crowd surging around you as you are ripped from Jon and your father.

He promised, your father promised there would not be a bedding.

You elbow the nearest man, and shove another set of hands off you, fighting against the tide. Their faces are distorted in your panic, their eyes glazed with drunkenness, their jeers growing louder and louder.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

#meg's writing #thanks for the ask!#jon snow x reader #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x you #jon snow imagines #lannister!reader #Jon Dayne

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sw33ts444 · 8 months ago

Text

frozen crown

pairing: prince!leon x fem!reader x knight!wesker

synopsis: this marriage was something you were not looking forward to. your kingdom was struggling to maintain afloat, so you, the eldest and most demure of all your sisters, were arranged to be married of to the crown prince of the most successful, powerful empire on the continent. having to leave behind your whole life, your native kingdom, and have to marry someone who was not the knight who had stolen your heart was quite possibly your worst nightmare. but... this was for the good of your people...

content warnings: very sexual content

wc: 3358

an: this series is the first that i've tried my hand at smut i'm NGL. has me nervie.

previous chapters: 1

2: arduous path

The journey north was a long and arduous one, and though your carriage was one of the more luxurious ones, the bumpy roads were still causing you immense amounts of discomfort. The carriage days spent riding were lonely, too. It was against social etiquette for your ladies-in-waiting to ride in the same carriage. Your only comfort was looking outside the carriage window, staring mainly at Wesker's broad back as he rode ahead. The scenery was slowly changing as you rode further and further north; from dead, yellowed grass from the southern warmth, to dead grey grass as they moved further into northern climates. Travelling in the dead of winter was terrible. Cold. It's been a couple weeks now, with still many more to go.

The nights, however, were far better. Your entourage had brought a luxurious tent befitting your status. It was much more comfortable in there; the oil lamps filled your tent with warmth and the multiple furs and blankets kept you from freezing to death. But the best thing was your nighttime visitor—Wesker. Every night he would come and warm your bed, warm your body with his, but never going beyond the boundaries you had placed. His passionate kisses and the desire that burned in your abdomen and soaked your undergarments was more than sufficient to stave off the cold. The first night he snuck in came as a complete surprise—it was incredibly risky for him to be coming into your tent at night. What if he was seen by the others? But his touch was so easy to give into. You were sure your night in the palace would be your last. Thank god you were wrong.

Aside from your nights of passion and love you had with Wesker, you enjoyed mealtimes. Sitting with your ladies-in-waiting was another piece of your travels that brought you comfort. Abigail, the daughter of a Marquis, was closest to you in age and perhaps the most spunky of your companions. She was loud but she was diligent, someone you considered a close friend. The second lady-in-waiting was Clarisse, recently married to Count Richard Alveston. She was stricter, more lady-like than Abigail, and her council was one you could always count on. She was like an older sister to you. Communing with them over dinner, bathing (although you pushed to bathe yourself since they were also tired, they insisted it was their duty until they left your side), was taking your mind off of the whole situation.

The days and nights bore on, the cold becoming more and more piercing the closer you got to your destination. But tonight would be different. Tonight you would be staying in an inn, finally having reached the outskirts of the empire. The carriages and horses were taken into the care of the inn's stablemaster as Wesker led you and your company into the cozy inn. The innkeeper looked astonished to see such a large amount of guests arriving all at once.

"Oh! Hello! We weren't expecting this many people," she gasped.

"Good evening, miss," you step forward to speak, "We're looking for food and board for a night for fourteen people."

"Ah, yes miss," Wesker stepped forward to correct the way you were addressed, but you put a hand out to stop him. The innkeeper looked nervously at his intimidating expression and build, but turned to you to continue speaking. "Lucky for you, we're pretty slow this time of the year, so we have lots of rooms available!" The plump, rosy-cheeked woman gave you a wide smile, "We're having cheddar broccoli soup tonight! Please, take a seat," she gestured towards the seating area before heading back to the kitchen.

You led the way to sitting at table with your ladies-in-waiting, the knights following suit and seating themselves in tables around you. Except Wesker. Ever so vigilant, he stood by your side, at full attention. "Please, sit, Wesker. You need to eat."

"Thank you, Your Highness, but I'll dine later." He responded, stiff as ever.

"Nonsense," you patted the spot next to you, "You'll only draw attention from the innkeeper like that." Wesker frowned, but followed your directions.

"Captain Wesker only ever listens to you, Your Highness!" Abigail smiled at you, "When we ask him for anything, he'll only do it when it's for you!" Clarisse gave her a piercing look.

You blushed a little at the statement and smiled. Wesker was sitting tensely beside you. He didn't like how casual this setting was, how casual the barmaid was being with you, it was clear. "I would hope he listened to me!" The knights seated at the table to your right were beginning to get loud, rowdy with the joy that they would be sleeping in a real bed. Wesker gave them a sharp look. The innkeeper and some of her help began to come out with bowls of soup for everyone, the knights almost immediately tearing into the bowls. You slowly stirred the creamy soup, taking in its delicious smells, yet you couldn't quite focus on your meal. "Do you think Lucy will be alright?" It was about the thousandth time you've asked that to your company.

"Of course," Clarisse reassured. "That girl is as strong and smart as she is stubborn. The other princesses won't have an easy time with her." You nodded, taking the first bite of your meal. Wesker hadn't touched his yet, he was simply staring down at his bowl. He'd been doing that a lot lately, staring off into space, distracted for seemingly no reason. You understood though.

"Are you going to eat that?" Abigail asked, pointing towards his soup, covering her mouth that still had broccoli in it. The inquiry snapped Wesker back to reality, his eyes shooting up to meet hers.

"Abbie!" Clarisse scolded, "Where are your manners! You are a lady-in-waiting for Her Highness, act like it!"

"I agree with Countess Alveston," Wesker's voice was low, "You represent Her Highness. Mind yourself." With that, he began to eat his soup.

"Please, I don't mind!" You smiled at Abbie, "No one knows I'm a princess here, so let's allow ourselves the space to relax!"

"Ohh thank you, Your Highness!" Abbie cried out in joy. Clarisse looked absolutely scandalised.

The rest of the evening passed without much incident. Everyone finished their bowls of soup, some asked for seconds and even thirds before they all groggily went off to their beds. Clarisse and Abbie had joined you to your room and bathed you before allowing you to rest alone.

The small room you were in was cozy, quaint. There wasn't much to the room; a small bed, a tiny table, and a dresser. There were oil lamps and a fireplace to help keep the room warm. You breathed in the wooden smell of the room; it was calming, the room was so different than what you were used to. If you focused hard enough you could almost trick yourself into thinking you were just going on a trip, a vacation.

Groggy, but not wanting to sleep just yet, you walked over to the window, gazing down at the stables below. To your surprise, Wesker was there. Basking in the moonlight. You opened your window to call out to him, but he seemed so lost in thought you couldn't bring yourself to. Instead, you took to resting your arms and head on the windowsill, having brought a chair over, and just simply watching him. Eventually, he would come up to your room. But it was still far too soon; many would not yet be actually asleep.

The gentle breeze that blew through the window, rustling the leaves of the pines that held steadfast in the cold, slowly lulled you into a deep sleep. When next you woke, Wesker had carried you to the bed, closed the window, and lit a small fire in the fireplace. Your eyes opened to the man you so loved laying beside you, propped up on one elbow as he stroked your hair. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you broke the silence.

"What? Laying in bed?" He smirked. "I could think of better things we could be doing than just laying here." You gave him a reprimanding look, in which he responded with a peck on your lips.

"No, you pervert, I mean spending time together, like this. Imagine this quaint room was our little cabin in the woods," you sighed wistfully, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingers. "We would make our living off lumber, making enough to feed ourselves and maybe even a little family. Just us, in our own little world." Wesker stayed silent as you rambled. But you knew he shared these sentiments. "...Should we elope?" You looked him in the eyes.

His silence continued for a moment longer as he struggled to respond. "If I said yes, would you?" Biting your lip, you looked away. He sighed, "I know you, dearheart. This deal, this arranged marriage, is far too important for your family, for our homeland."

"I wish... I wish things were different," you breathed. You'd grieved enough over your situation, and by this point your eyes seem to have run dry of any tears you could produce. The lump in your throat never seemed to dissipate though. "But, who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and get to keep you as my guard," a wistful smile rested on your lips as you brought your eyes back to his.

"But things would never be the same," his tone was cold, this sentence holding all the truth that you didn't want to come to terms with. You rolled over on top of Wesker, who hardly seemed surprised by this action, and you bent down to kiss him, hard. You didn't want to think anymore. All you wanted in your mind was Wesker, his kisses, his touch, his skin on yours.

The nights passed by in similar fashion as you approached the capital. Whether it was in inns or your tent, every night you'd explore almost every inch of Wesker's body. You knew every part of his body, except his cock. But boy, did you want it. Despite your insistence on never going beyond what your undergarments hid, you'd taken to grinding down and getting off on his bulge. The way his hard-on rubbed against your clothed clit drove you crazy, left you wanting more on a deeper, carnal level. Wesker was left feeling the same way, each night you took to dry humping, his abdomen would wind up covered in both his own pre and cum. Whilst his underwear would be covered in your juices. The way he looked after your little sessions, flushed, eyes darkened with lust, tip poking out of his underwear, made you want to feel him stretch out your walls, feel his cock buried so deep within you, and have him fuck you so hard that he leaves you raw.

There's even been days where you would opt for masturbating in front of him, with your panties on, as if it made any difference. You'd finger-fuck yourself, imagining it was his dick that your wet little hole was clenching around, as you watched him stroke himself. And after you finished, sometimes you'd stick your fingers in his mouth, letting him suck and lick every bit of your juices off to get a little taste. But the tender nights together are coming to an end as you and your entourage have finally arrived in the capital.

The sights of the capital robbed you of your breath as you looked out of the window of your carriage. The buildings were so tall, so large, and the architecture was like pure art. Each pillar, doorway, trim, every part of every building was made as if they were a sculptor's magnum opus. The snow that slowly drifted down covered bushes and pines and rooves and made the scene look all the more fantastical. There were wreathes on the doors of restaurants, stores, inns, and other places of business. The streets were bustling, full of curious rich commoners and nobility, staring and whispering at the carriages as they shopped and went about their business. The holidays were right around the corner and the air was thick with merriment and joy—but all the awe and amazement and contagious happiness that was fluttering around in your stomach ceased when the palace came into view. And was instead replaced with dread.

It felt like the end of the world when you stepped down from your carriage. A pit of anxiety and fear and anger and so many different emotions ravaged your stomach. But as a princess, it was second nature to not let it show. There were hundreds of staff standing bowed in welcoming, which was intimidating enough by itself. But the palace that you've arrived at surpassed the staff in their intimidation factor. It was massive, with multiple buildings, floor-to-ceiling windows, stained glass, giant pillars; it was jaw-dropping. As you did your best to stay calm, taking in the sights of the palace, a tall, grey-haired man stepped forward and grabbed your attention.

He bowed, "Welcome, Your Highness. My name is Alfred, His Majesty's attendant and aide. I've come to guide you to the council chambers to speak with His Majesty before I show you to your room."

"Thank you, Alfred." He bowed, and you gestured for him to lead the way. Wesker and your ladies-in-waiting quickly fell into step behind you, the other knights trailing in two organized single-file lines as everyone made their way through the palace. While you walked, you took in your surroundings, doing your best to not seem shocked by the sheer extravagance of the palace. The ceilings were high, painted cherubs and angels smiling down and dancing amongst clouds. The trim of every doorway, ceiling, and floor was lined with gold, even the marble floors had hints of gold.

God, did everything have to have gold? You thought a little bitterly. Perhaps this palace was just to make a show of the Northern Empire's wealth, to intimidate delegates and visits from smaller kingdoms and countries like your own. Or perhaps you were looking for some small outlet for the emotions you had to keep silent under a mask of calm. A couple of servants dragged the heavy oaken doors of the reception chambers open once you finally arrived in front of them. The chambers were what you'd expect, with a regal red carpet leading to the door, seats on both sides for when nobility must attend receptions, and at the end of the room were steps leading up to three tall, imposing chairs where the royal figures sat. Knights were stationed in entrances to the room and to the sides of the royalty observing you and your entourage.

The aide led you to near the foot of your stairs, where you curtsied, your ladies-in-waiting joining you as the knights took a knee. "Greetings to the Sun, Moon, and Star of the Empire. May Glory shine down upon the Empire for all eternity."

"You may rise," The emperor stated, his voice was deep and authoritative, fitting for a ruler. You obeyed and stood, getting a good look at the Northern Empire's royalty. His Majesty was getting on in years, with a salt and pepper beard and greys growing from his temples, slicked back and tucked beneath a heavy golden crown, laden with diamonds. His attire was decked out with all the expensive silks and golds and intricate patterns one might expect the royal family to wear, but the tight fit of his clothes revealed a hidden tone of muscle. The empress was a lot warmer and kinder looking than he was. She wore an extravagant purple gown made of beautiful tulle and it was covered in all sorts of different gemstones, glimmering brightly at the slightest movement.

And the crown prince, your intended, was dressed in a similar extravagant fashion, though quite a bit more toned down. What caught your eye though was not his clothes, but his striking blue eyes. He was not bad to look at, on the contrary he was incredibly handsome. So handsome that his face alone, ignoring his status, would making him the most eligible bachelor in the Empire.

"Welcome to the Northern Empire, Princess. We've waited for the day of your arrival eagerly," the emperor gave you a welcoming smile. "We've heard of your accomplishments in the Southern Kingdom and we're all eager to see what you can do here in the Empire, with so many new tools at your disposal."

"Thank you for the praise, Your Majesty," you bowed a little as a gesture in gratitude, "but all I've done was work for my people. I hope I can live up to your expectations and do good by the people here in the Empire."

"Beautiful and humble!" The empress finally spoke. "I knew you would be the best choice!" You hid a grimace at her choice in words. You knew you specifically were chosen for your exploits in your homeland. "We saw records of the different foundations you did for peasants and the poor, helping children and the ill. Your efforts in increasing crop yield during harvesting season were impressive as well!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty. But the truth is, my efforts were not enough. My family and I are eternally grateful and in your debt for your assistance, and I will do my best to assist the Empire in any way I can." The empress smiled down at you. It felt unpleasant, having to bend so far for these people whom you hardly knew. You were determined to help your kingdom, but the price of your whole life and future really soured your whole efforts, making it feel a lot less like your honour-bound duty and more of a death sentence.

"Well then," the emperor looked over to his son, who made no movement to speak, "I believe that is enough pleasantries. We shall see you again tomorrow. I assume you are all tired from your travels. We have rooms ready for you and yours, Alfred will lead everyone to the right places and dinner will be served in your chambers. Tomorrow, we shall begin to dine together. Please, Princess, make yourself comfortable." After bowing and thanking the Imperial family once more, Alfred led you all out of the room. Before you turned, you managed to sneak one last glance at the prince. And as you made eye contact with him, it occured to you that you don't even know his name.

Once Alfred had the knights led to the barracks elsewhere, including Wesker much to your dismay, he deposited you in your own chambers. He'd apologised for the size—though it was ginormous—and promised you better habitations once you wed. As he left with your ladies-in-waiting, other maids came in, not giving you a second to breathe as they whisked you away to the bathing chambers of the room. They lathered you in expensive smelling soaps and oils, thoroughly massaging your body that was sore from sitting in a carriage for so long. And once they finally left, you were finally given time to relax. The chambers felt like the size of a large cabin. There were dressers that you didn't care to explore, sofas, coffee tables, a chess table, a large fireplace, a tea-preparation area, and even a terrace for your enjoyment. But all that mattered to you was that luxurious bed. Throwing yourself onto the bed, landing with a whump, made the new reality feel all the more damning. It was finally hitting you. You're in the Imperial palace. You've seen your future husband. And soon, you'll have to say goodbye to the knights, Clarisse, Abbie, and most important of all, Wesker. As your heavy eyes fluttered closed, all you could think about was how much you'd miss his warm embrace. Your journey north has ended, and yet it somehow feels like you've just embarked on an even more arduous one yet.

please don't rewrite, repost, translate, or submit my work to ai 💜

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#leon kennedy #albert wesker #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #albert wesker x y/n #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x reader #resident evil #resident evil au #me when the residents are evil #albert whiskers #albert wesker smut

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koremakaria · 1 month ago

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Love, Loyalty, and Lethal Revenge

Gong Shang Jues and Shangguan Qian

Characters' Analysis and Speculations (Long Post)

While I love our main hero and his coming of age story in My Journey to You. I just can’t help being pulled in by our second main couple. Who can resist this pairing?

One a Stone Cold Warrior and One a Deadly Scheherazade

But before we begin, I’d like to make it clear that I don’t consider My Journey to You as a romance drama. If you come in with the mindset of it being a romance story then there might be a lot of disappointment on how things ultimately play out. Rather, I think of the drama as a coming of age, family melodrama with romantic elements. Yes, the romantic elements are a prominent part of the drama but they enhance the story rather than being the central focus.

So with that out of the way … this is just my personal thought on this pairing.

Loyalty: Protect the Family

The theme of loyalty is prevalent throughout the story. Protect the family. Protect the clan. Protect the ones you love. Both Gong Shang Jues and Shangguan Qian are very similar in this respect.

Gong Shang Jues (GSJ), the stone cold warrior with an impenetrable armored exterior but with a heart softer than a melted marshmallow on a stick over a pit of open flame. He always put his family’s safety above everything. His purpose in life is to live to protect the family. You can see this when he mentors Gong Yuan Zhi while also quietly helping Gong Zi Yu to improve his martial arts skills. He steps up and took on the older brother role quite seriously. This seems to come natural to him. Power and status don’t matter to him as long as the family is safe. He’s content to just do what he can to keep the family safe.

Shangguan Qian (SGQ), the Scheherazade, weaving tales and killing foes, is also devoted to her family. If you believe her story of the Gushan Sect massacre (personally I do) then she’s as devoted to her family as Gong Shang Jues is devoted to his. The only problem is that her family is like all dead. And NO. They didn’t die the normal way (plague, natural disaster, old age) as they were massacred. So, my girl is hell bent on avenging her family. She lives to take the lives of those that wronged her and her family. She would and could do ANYTHING to get this revenge. She’s a spy/assassin infiltrating the Gong family so that she can get her hands on a deadly weapon for her revenge plan.

Tensions: This deadly weapon is not for sale and it’s not supposed to leave the Gong family. So yeah. We have a problem. In fact, we have a big problem. When SGQ asks GSJ for help with her revenge plan after they “consummated” their “marriage” there are at least two ways to look at it.

One: she’s being truthful and is genuine in offering him everything in return for his help.

Two: she’s wants to gain his trust and sympathy by weaving a tragic story and everything is a lie

Now, it is important to note that when SGQ asks for help, she said she’d already tried multiple times but failed and so she needs help. She made it super clear that she’d give him everything in return for this revenge to which GSJ replies in a condescending tone with ‘what else do you have?’ which is very cruel considering that they had just slept together. (Yes the pool scene. Yes THAT pool scene)

My man, Gong Shang Jues, was brutal here. To be honest, I was shocked by his reaction, but it made sense to me. He’s quietly exerting his power here telling Shangguan Qian that he has the upper hand. After all she is asking for a favor. Also we have to remember that these two never fully trust one another. They play a game of cat-and-mouse constantly … sometimes deliberately surrendering to move their chess piece forward. You have to read between the lines. They know that the other party is keeping something from them so it’s in character for GSJ. He’s not fully trusting her here because her association with the Wu Feng Sect and his obligation to protect his Gong family. She’s not fully trusting him because she knows that his family’s safety will always be his priority and she’s not sure where she ranks in his heart.

Love: The Heart is a Mysterious Little Thing

Gong Shang Jues (GSJ) is the stone cold warrior on the outside. He’s the perfect emo-heavy metal band-heartthrob. Pretty standard issue. You know the drill … exuding dark vibes … extremely skilled and highly competent … I mean that alone is pretty hawt … but get this … he also comes fully equipped with a tragic backstory! So he’s the complete package.

In the love department, GSJ doesn’t really have time for all that stuff, he’s too busy protecting the Gong family but when the clan’s elders were like yeah … your duty to the family also includes … (check notes) … producing heirs … so best get on with it, my boy … soo GSJ decided on a bride that he wants to keep an eye on since he suspects that she’s a spy.

We then learned that despite his hard outer shell, his inner heart is soft. He probably doesn’t like the violence of their world all that much but is extremely competent in order to protect his family. Like this guy is a family man … like you guys …he’s ready to beef with anyone who threatens his family.

Shangguan Qian (SGQ) is a noble lady with gentle dispositions on the outside. She carries herself like a beautiful flower, delicate, soft, and bright. However, on the inside her heart is stronger than steel. She is a spy and she uses manipulation to get things to go her way … but if you believe her story about the Gushen Sect then she’s also doing everything for her revenge plan so her heart is also with her family.

Tensions: In terms of romantic love, these two were way too busy to even think about love. One is focusing on protecting his family. One is focusing on a revenge plan for her dead family (again if you believe her story). Love kind of crashed into them instead.

For Gong Shang Jues, he won’t ever say it out loud but Shangguan Qian is the exact type of girls he’d be into. For one, she’s very intelligent. She knows how to survive in dangerous situations. She seems devoted to her family (again if you believe her story). Her heart is so strong that nothing … and I mean nothing will come between her revenge plan. For someone with a soft heart, Shangguan Qian is the perfect match for him. He’s given his all to his family and just wants someone who understands him. SGQ gets him. It could be because she needs to manipulate him but there has to be moments he felt seen when she voices his thoughts and feelings out loud without him telling her about them.

For Shangguan Qian, she is attracted to Gong Shang Jues’ soft heart because hers has been hardened through years of training plus her tragic past. If you believe the story of her family’s massacre than both she and GSJ are victims of Wu Feng’s thirst for power. It’s difficult to say for certain but maybe she doesn’t want to be this way. Maybe she doesn’t want to be the cold and calculating spy. (note: she talked a lot about having feelings and empathy with our FL a lot) If she accomplishes her revenge mission then maybe she can rest. Be her true self which we never get to see since her mission is still pending.

SGQ is attracted to GSJ’s good heart. She lives alone in a world of power struggle and only the lies she tells are keeping her safe and alive. It’s a really sad and lonely place to be. She can’t trust anyone because her ‘rescuer’ turned out to be her enemy who trained her to kill presumably good people.

So …to know that GSJ will do anything and everything for his family, there has to be moments where she yearns to be ‘one of his people’ to be his family … to rest under his protection. Wouldn’t it be nice to be protected … for once in her life. To have her heart at peace. When she tells the story of their first meeting, GSJ protected her from a group of thugs and he did so out of principle. Like he didn’t know her, he was just a good guy doing normal things that good guys do. But for someone like SGQ … that must have been a rare and precious experience. To be protected. Must be nice. But she wouldn’t really know.

Lethal Revenge: You Have Your Family and I Have Mine

So here we are again, back to this little revenge plot that may or may not be true. It could be completely true, partly true, or not true at all. Personally, I am choosing to believe SGQ because she also had a similar conversation with another person.

To me, it doesn’t really matter if the revenge plot is true or not. The important thing is what Gong Shang Jues believes to be true because my girl, Shangguan Qian, is sticking to her story like krazy glue. So now the ball is in his court. What to do … indeed … what to do?

Gong Shang Jues (GSJ). In the grand scheme of things, the revenge plot (killing Dian Zhu) is not harming the Gong family. In fact, it probably will benefit a lot of people. Shangguan Qian is not asking him to kill an innocent person but rather a dangerous person who committed a lot of bad deeds. So, my girl is not like asking for something so outrageous but yeah Shangguan Qian happened to want the Gong’s family secret weapon that is forbidden to outsiders so yeah … this is… in fact … a problem. Gong Shang Jues is not helping mainly because is undecided on her revenge story.

Shangguan Qian (SGQ). Home girl here is like willing to risk it all for a chance to kill her enemy. She really needs to steal the blueprint of the Gong’s family secret weapon. I mean she might not need to steal it … if Gong Shang Jues had agreed to help her but he had not and like she doesn’t have all day to wait around for an answer that might be a big NO.

Can you really blame her? She’s just sticking to her mission. Her heart is so strong and hardened that she’s willing to show the Gong family’s enemies a way inside the clan’s territory. Important to note here that we don’t know if she thought the Gong family could handle this wave of attack but the point is that she was focused on getting the secret weapon for her own revenge plan. Putting her dead family above his. But even with this, something is not quite adding up. There was a brief scene prior to the attack that GSJ told GYZ that there was a task that only SGQ could do for him. Was he talking about SGQ's spreading information about the Gong family's weakness? Like were there working together? It's not exactly clear.

Now some people would say that she betrays GSJ’s trust and that she wanted the Wu Feng people to kill him. That’s valid. And maybe it is true. We don’t have enough information to conclude this for certain. Also, Gong Shang Jues never fully trusted Shangguan Qian. In order to betray someone, you first need them to trust you. It’s like the ONE requirement for a betrayal. Soooo yeaahhh … I’m sympathetic to Shangguan Qian here. My girl is like just trying to get her revenge for her family … if Gong Shang Jues won’t help then best be getting out of my way boy!

Tensions: The main tension here is what to believe. Does Gong Shang Jues believe in Shangguan Qian’s story of revenge? Because this is basically the make or break of their relationship … like she’s doing all these shady things for it. She even told him about it. Had asked him for help … practically begging him to help her … but Gong Shang Jues still has doubts in his heart.

Their final confrontation/conversation was exactly this. She’s taking half the blueprint trying to get out and execute her revenge plan but he’s like, babe … I already told you, you can’t check it out of the library. It’s a restricted material for internal circulation only. And so they fought and she lost.

But! He doesn’t kill her. He didn’t even restrain her when he could easily do so. No. They just talk … albeit with him pointing a sharp sword at her throat. But the point is that he’s being so nice here when he didn’t need to be. She’s a security risk. An enemy of the family.

She refused to hand back the blueprint and he can’t let her go with it since you know his whole personality is all about protecting the family. She talked about her revenge plan again and Gong Shang Jues said that he didn’t believe her words since he doesn’t have enough evidence to back it up. This man is all about being competent and thorough.

But Shangguan Qian then tells him that she’s not lying. That the revenge plan is real. That her family massacre was very real. She steps closer to him despite the sword at her throat and whispers something that short circuited Gong Shang Jues momentarily before making her escape. During this exchange, GSJ managed to get the blueprint back through a quick sleight of hand movement. It looked too easy … so I can’t quite decide if GSJ was just super skilled or if SGQ somehow decided to let him take the blueprint from her. Jury is still out on this. Dear readers this is up to you to decide. What to believe.

It was later revealed that she told him that she is currently carrying a Gong bloodline. Like my girl is preggo. Or at least she said that she was.

When you really think about it. She's showing him all of her cards. It's now all on the table. Like, if true, then he knows everything about her. She's not hiding anything from him.

And GSJ just watched her leave.

What! The! Hell!

Speculations

In the realm of speculations, anything and everything is possible my dear friends. [release your inner demonssss!!! hehehe] Maybe I’m just reading too much into things but in any case we’re in the land of speculations so if you would be so kind … I’ll remain here in my little delulu corner.

A lot of people view this relationship as doom and tragic. A pair of star crossed lovers who can never be together because of their duties and obligations.

While I understand why some people would lean this way, personally I don’t think that it’s a ‘sad ending’ for these two. I don’t even think that there is an ending … not yet anyways.

Some of the clues that were given to viewers throughout the drama suggest a potential happy ending for Gong Shang Jues and Shangguan Qian.

Now it’s all speculation so who knows. But I am happy to be delulu to protect my heart and my sanity.

Clue 1: The Azalea Flowers (I belong to you forever)

Throughout the drama, SGQ tried many ways to please GSJ. She wanted to manipulate his feelings toward her and he knew of it. Knew what she was up to. There was a conversation in EP 17 about whether he’d like the azalea plant that has yet to blossom and GSJ said that the flowers will bloom soon and she will know whether he likes it or not. Yeah … I don’t think they’re talking about the azalea here. I think he’s saying that soon she’d know if he has fallen for her and in the process give her his trust. But he has not decided yet since the flower has yet to bloom.

Then we see the azalea again in EP 24 with the flowers blooming and GSJ thinking about SGQ. We never got to hear his answer. Does he like her or not? And more importantly does he believe her revenge story? Not to mention the Gong baby story!!! Because this is where he needs to make a decision. He didn’t throw away the plant so he needs to decide on what to do next. Do you really think that GSJ will just let his baby go? To live a dangerous life out there in the world without him … yeah dream on sister! Remember GSJ is all about family. He’s the poster child for a family man. If there is a baby, you better bet your money on him being there.

But then he would have to believe her words. And by that extension, he would have to believe in her. The last time the two talked it out, GSJ said that he doesn’t trust her words. If he doesn’t believe her revenge story then he won’t believe that she’s carrying his child. The two stories are now tied together. So whatever he decides here will be monumental.

For Shangguan Qian, we see her somewhere safe (for now), watering a bunch of azalea flower plants. Why do this? Is it just for sentimentality? Seems kind of odd for someone who warned FL to not fall for her mark. Could it be that she’s betting on GSJ believing in her story, both the revenge story and the baby story. I mean the two are tied together now. Is she just like chilling and waiting for him to come and find her? With his skills and how competent he is, like it wouldn’t be that hard.

Clue 2: The Gong Baby Story

We do not have sufficient evidence to prove or disprove this story. It’s literally just something you have to decide on your own. But there were a few clues given that it’s true. First, in EP 18 we see SGQ putting something in her tea and thinking about her time with GSJ then decided not to drink it. We don’t know what it is in that drink but in dramaland … it was probably a contraceptive tea to prevent pregnancy since she slept with him in the last EP.

Now why would she go and do something like that? A baby is a huge responsibility especially if you’re set on carrying out a dangerous revenge plan. But she took that risk. Why? Is she betting on GSJ coming over to her side eventually … even when he never gave her a clear answer? Maybe. It’s definitely a possibility.

Also, she didn’t accomplish her mission given by Wu Feng (even if she doesn’t want to work for this shady organization) and so she couldn’t really return there. If she really is pregnant then she would need to go somewhere safe to carry the child to term and as long as Wu Feng lives the baby will never be truly safe as a Gong baby. This could serve as a motivation to completely clear out the Wu Feng people for GSJ but first he’d have to believe that there is a baby.

Clue 3: “What Else Do You Have?”

So we circle back to this scene where SGQ offered GSJ everything in exchange for his help with her revenge plan. He was sorta looking down on her, maybe not believing her story. Maybe it’s another one of her many lies and half-truths …

SGQ: “So, if you can help me revenge and kill Dian Zhu. I’m willing to give up everything”

GSJ: “Everything?”

SGQ: “emm, everything”

GSJ: “What else do you have?”

Like this was the conversation they had after they slept together. It’s quite cruel for GSJ to say something so crass. He could have meant that she doesn’t have anything he wanted but given that this is a period piece and he’d just slept with her. To say that she doesn’t have anything of value that she could give him / bargain with him was so brutal. He’s basically saying that if he helps her then it’s because he wants to. That he had already slept with her. That he had taken everything she had. That she has nothing else to offer.

Then … before she left in EP 24 she told him that she is carrying his child … BOOM … mic drop!

Because it’s actually something that Gong Shang Jues doesn’t have. This child (if true) is very precious to the Gong family. We are told that the mountains cause fertility issues and with the last Wu Feng’s attack, they lost a lot of family members including many young ones. So, a baby is definitely a big deal. A very very very big deal.

But GSJ would have to believe SGQ for any of it to matter and SGQ would have to be pregnant for real. But even if she wasn’t, they could try again. Because the point of her telling him that she’s with child is to remind him that only she (a woman) has the ability to bear children and his question to her “what else do you have?” well my boy … SGQ has the ability to give him children. It doesn’t have to be her specifically but GSJ sorta like her and he has to marry and have children eventually … as part of his duty to his clan … so now he has a decision to make.

So what now …

Gong Shang Jues has to make a decision on his feelings for Shangguan Qian.

Believe her story (revenge and baby) or to not believe her story

If the answer is no … then they remain separate (I don’t believe in this. Let me be delulu)

If the answer is yes … then in my very humble opinion he’d go look for her and their story would continue …

I’m optimistic about their story. Why leave the audience with all these clues? And they’re both alive and well … SGQ is not exactly in hiding and if GSJ really wants to find her, well, he’d only have to get on his high horse and ride out.

Wow … that was a lot … I don’t even know if anyone would read this so if you made it this far … I hope it wasn’t too painful and thank you so much for reading.

#my journey to you #gong shangjue #shangguan qian #my situationship is getting pretty deadly #unfinished love story #do I love you or do I love you not #optimistic #cdrama i love #cdrama #gong yuanzhi #gong ziyu

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thetormentita · 2 hours ago

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fire and blood - prelude

Bad decisions bring great tragedies.

Pairing: Original Male! Targaryen x Viserys Targaryen (platonic), Aemma Arryn x Viserys Targaryen

A/n: let me put a third brother in the equation, not all is viserys and daemon loving/hating each other 🤔

Warnings: mentions of death, angst, basically Aemma’s corpse is witnessing everything

Rating: Mature (+16)

Tagging: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen

Bitter tears run down his face as he leans over the body consumed by grief and desperation. The only thing he can do is embrace him tightly, being his support despite his own feelings.

Poor Aemma, she did not deserve such an end.

“Aemma…” Viserys whispers with a trembling voice, his heart heavy with sorrow, the sharp sting of loss piercing through him. “How could…?”

Another sob.

Maekar would gladly tell him how could it happen, how his blind thirst for an heir had clouded his mind, but he stays silent. It is useless to remind his brother of the biggest mistake of his life.

It is cold in the room, the chill seeping into their bones, wrapping around their grief as if to solidify it, make it something tangible. The fire in the hearth had long gone out, its warmth a distant memory, much like the laughter that once filled this very room. Only the rumour of the dresses of the Silent Sisters dares to break the silence as they finish with the dead body of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Maekar takes a deep breath, fighting back his own tears, as he observes the lifeless face of her goodsister, the sweet and pliant Aemma, and memories from the life spent together come to his mind, hitting it like a hammer hits a nail.

“What am I going to do?” Viserys, once the pillar of them three, always with a clear mind and a polite and agreeable spark upon his eyes clings to him in despair, his voice barely more than a whisper lost amidst the cold walls of the chamber. The Silent Sisters, sworn to the service of death, continue their sacred duties with the solemn grace that their office demands, their movements both methodical and gentle as they prepare Aemma's body for its final journey. The air is filled with the faint, haunting scent of flowers and herbs, a poignant reminder of life in the midst of death.

“Carry on” his own voice low as well, his mind going to the girls who have just lost their mother in a cruel attempt of his father to preserve their line, once the greatest and shiniest of the whole realm. “Nyra and Aly need their father now more than ever.”

He steps closer to the side of Aemma's body, his hand hovering but not quite touching the cool, pale skin that once glowed with warmth and life. The room, draped in shadows and the soft glow of candles, seems to close in on him, amplifying the weight of his grief and responsibility. A deep, aching sorrow grips his heart as he thinks of the young girls, their future forever altered by this tragic event. Rhaenyra, with her mother’s intelligence and fiery spirit, and Alysanne, who inherited her mother’s kindness and grace, now must navigate a world without their guiding light. The thought of them facing the harsh realities of their destiny without the gentle hand of their mother to guide them pierces his soul. He has always known that the path laid before them would be fraught with challenges, but he had hoped to shield them from the cruelest parts of their inheritance for as long as possible. Now, with their mother gone, the onus falls on him to be both shield and guide. He must tread carefully, for the world they inhabit is not kind to the faint of heart or the innocent.

His eldest brother looks at him, despair etched deep within his eyes, a reflection of the burden that now weighs heavily upon their shoulders. It's a silent communication, a shared understanding that their lives will never be the same. They stand together, on the precipice of a future fraught with uncertainty, yet bound by a resolve to protect and nurture the young sisters behind them.

“I will help you with the girls” Maekar mumbles, soft spoken yet firm in his resolve, his voice barely above a whisper but laden with determination. The weight of his promise hangs in the air, tangible and solemn. “But they need their father, Viserys” Viserys nods, the movement almost imperceptible, his eyes weathered from the storms of past regrets and shimmering with the fragile hope of redemption, meets Maekar's gaze. “Nyra and Aly need you by their side, do you hear me?”

Maekar's words cut through the thick fog of despair that had been clinging to Viserys, a clear beacon in the tumultuous sea of his thoughts. Maekar has lived shadowed by his elder brothers, but it had let him learn from them and their surroundings, that much that even Viserys had trusted him enough to give him a seat on his council as a mere advisor, showing him his gratitude for having negotiated during the council at Harrenhal. What he had never expected was to become the voice of reason in Viserys’s darkest hour.

“I’ve got you” he mumbles as his brother sobs bitterly into his shoulder, the weight of the crown heavier on Viserys’s head than any physical burden could ever be. “I’ve got you, brother.” Maekar leans over his brother’s head and just kisses his head, softly, closing his own eyes as he tries to keep himself steady.

…

He frowns as he approaches the Council’s room, the news of a new meeting so soon after Aemma’s passing unsettles him deeply. The kingdom is still mourning, the air thick with grief, and yet the wheels of politics grind on, indifferent to personal loss.

“Gentlemen.” he greets them as he comes into the room, ser Harrold following him closely.

All eyes are upon him, clearly expecting Viserys instead of the youngest dragon. As he takes the round stone from the tray and puts it into the King’s place, he raises an eyebrow at them all, almost expecting them to complain about the absence of their monarch. Maekar takes sit on his brother’s chair, his posture both a reflection of his lineage and the burden of the crown he never had the chance to bear one day —not that he wishes it.

“My Prince” Otto Hightower speaks after clearing his throat, his voice modullated and carefully measured to convey respect and a hint of caution, "the realm appreciates your presence here today, in lieu of King Viserys. We all understand the troubled path that now His Grace has to—”

“I am not my brother, Otto. Let’s get straight to the point, shall we? My nieces await.”

Of course. The girls. With Daemon expelled from court after his rejoiceful incident at the brothel and Rhaenys on Driftmark with her own family, his priority is to look after his nieces, to let them know they are loved and supported after the lose of their mother.

Oh, sweet Aemma.

Quickly the meeting drives them to the treasure, the grain and the state of the city after the failed tourney for the late Baelon’s birth.

If only Viserys would have been more measured…

“There is also the future of the princesses on the table, as well as the matter of succession.”

Maekar raises an eyebrow at the Grand Maester, silently, his blood boiling at the dispassion of his brother’s council, wondering for a mere moment how many of those faces he would change.

“Succession, you say Mellos?” he tries his best to not lose his temper “How could you dare to speak of such matters when you have been the one to open my goodsister like cattle?” he bangs his fist on the big wooden table, some of the lords around it get startled by his reaction. “Aemma is dead because of your blade, Grand Maester. Yours! You haven’t even waited for a whole day to let our family mourn her and her baby to think about replacing her with another and separate my nieces. Shame on you! Everybody out! Now!”

Maekar stands, his finger pointing the doors of the council chamber as his other fist is clenched tightly, his knuckles white in tension, trying his best to not lose his temper.

Only when the rest are gone, the Master of Laws approaches him, slowly, careful not to provoke him further. “Prince Maekar,” he begins, his voice low and steady, aiming to inject a calming influence into the charged atmosphere, “I am terribly sorry for your loss. I know you were close friends with the Queen and I understand the impact her passing has had on you. Losing someone of such prominence and personal connection is never easy.”

“Thank you, lord Lyonel” Maekar’s face softens for a moment, showing a glimpse of the profound grief he's been trying to mask with anger. He sits again, his posture slightly deflated, the weight of his sorrow momentarily displacing the fury. “I— This will be hard, specially for the girls.”

Lyonel Strong sits by the Hand’s chair when ser Harrold closes the door, leaving them alone, apart from the rest of the court. They quickly connected, both of them having similar targets for the realm, and they had been seen before walking through the corridors or discussing over any text from the library or projects of laws.

“They will be well guarded, my prince. My daughters are with them, and I think there are other young ladies around them for them to not feel alone.”

Maekar nods, silent, his thoughts seemingly wandering to the safety and well-being of Rhaenyra and Alysanne.

“Mother passed when I was just a little lad, you know? Father said it was about two moons before my third nameday.” he clenches his jaw as he speaks, clearly the memory still a tender wound that had never fully healed. "I never really knew her, but I know that the girls will do, and the thoughts about Aemma will sting on them. I— I feel so hopeless when I think I will not be able to protect them from that harm.”

Maekar has been there for the entirety of their lives. Having watched them grow up from sweet babes to young and promising women, he feels a duty so deep it's etched into his very soul. “You're not alone in this,” Lyonel says softly, the warmth in his voice aimed to soothe the heavy burden Maekar carried. "We have each other, and together, we can provide a stronghold around them. Sure the matter of another royal wedding will be put over the table, the same with them, but I give you my word that we will give them the future they deserve.”

#fab p #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x oc #asoiaf x oc

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shesmypoem · 1 year ago

Text

A LAST GOODBYE

“I put the record on

Wait 'til I hear our song

Every night I'm dancing with your ghost”

PARING: Norma Bates x F!Reader

A/N: My friend decided to kick the bucket and I’ve finally been able to get back into the headspace of writing. I was trying to give delirium but idk if it was successful. Anyway, please enjoy and to whom ever requested this I hope it fits your standards.

Ps. sorry for any errors I did not feel like proof reading.

SUMMARY: REQUEST! anon: reader has a hard time accepting the fact that norma is dead, and her grief has made her somewhat delusional to where she believes that norma is still alive.

WARNINGS: ghost (?)

WORD COUNT: 412 (short one)

Your night was like every other night, lonely. Counting sheep, one…two…three…four hundred. Sleep never seemed to come and neither did Norma. You couldn’t remember how many days it’s been since you’ve actually slept. Three days or maybe it was five.

The second you began to drift off into sleep, you heard loud music coming from downstairs. It startled you so you press your eyes close as you try to calm your racing heart. Once you feel it regulate, you slip out of bed, wrapping your throw blanket around yourself and you journey down the stairs.

You see the living room light shining down the corridor. It’s cold, colder than normal you think to yourself. Reaching the living room, you see Norma standing in front of the record player. Her blonde hair lays loosely to her shoulders and her white cotton night gown meets her ankles. The light is a perfect contrast to her skin.

She has a record in her hand with a smile on her face, she takes off the current record and puts on the new one. As it begins to play she looks over to you “Wanna dance?”

You smile at her and join her in the middle of the living room. Her hands are cold, yet they warm you. You both spin around the room, your bodies swaying hypnotically in time with the music. She hums in your ear as she holds your body close to hers and as the song draws to an end, so does the spin of the room.

“I’ve always loved dancing with you to that song.” She whispers. Her cold lips press a kiss to the side of your cheek.

“I know.” You whisper back to her, backing up slightly to see her face. “Let’s go to bed?”

There’s sadness in her eyes, yet she still smiles. You furrow your brows as you tilt your head. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m dead, remember?” And with that, darkness fills the room and it grows quite and cold.

“How do I keep forgetting that?” Only then does the loneliness you’ve been trying to run from, slowly and quietly creeps back in. It embraces you, and you let it. It dances through your body like you and Norma were doing moments ago. As much as you’ve tried to stop yourself from crying, your tears still fall in vein and no matter how many of them stain your cheeks and soak into your clothes norma wasn’t coming back.

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Let me know if you want to be tagged! (18+)

#norma bates #norma bates fic #bates motel #vera farmiga #ghost fic

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honourablejester · 1 year ago

Note

It's dnd 5e, she is a goliath barbarian (original I know), but she's path of the depths. The campaign is set in a loose interpretation of faerun, it's not a heavy seafaring campaign, but I love the subclass so much. I'm just struggling to find a backstory to explain her abilities without making it overly complicated, but anything I come up with just feels like I'm ticking off trope boxes rather than *making* a character, you know?

I had to look up Path of the Depths, Bilgewater was there and gone again so quickly. I do enjoy a nautical barbarian, I have to say (well, a nautical anything, to be fair). And goliath actually fits quite well thematically. Goliaths are mountain nomads, tough, hardy, windborne individualists, cold-inured and willing to shrug off injury. The step from that to a sea nomad, tough, hardy, windborne, cold-inured, and willing to shrug off injury, is really just a journey to where the mountains meet the sea and a bolt of longing through a wandering heart.

(And there is a part of me, specifically the one that grew up reading Jules Verne, that finds an enjoyable echo in the fact that goliaths are specifically mentioned to be able and designed to go above 20,000ft of elevation, if we’re imagining one that might wish to plumb 20,000 leagues of depth).

I think the siren call of exploration was the thing here. Perhaps an ill-advised one. Path of the Depths does specifically offer that these barbarians have encountered ‘terrors of the deep that can break the minds of the weak-willed’, and that surviving this has granted them these definitely not normal abilities. So perhaps, wild and young, she plumbed too deep too fast, and paid for it. It’s not her terrain, after all. She didn’t understand the dangers, not as she would have known those of her home. Maybe it was a monster, maybe ‘only’ a shipwreck, a storm, a near-drowning, but the sea put manners on her one way or another. The ocean demonstrated its raw might, more than any single being, no matter how strong, can ever hope to match.

But, well. She’s a goliath. They’re born to shrug off injury. The sea mauled her, and instilled a true and earnest respect in the process, but there’s also a part of her that can’t help but take that as a challenge. A wild yearning to prove that she can survive it, prove herself to it, earn her place as part of it. And, still, to explore it. Goliaths are nomads. Wanderlust is in the blood. For all the peaks and valleys of her childhood, there are troughs and ridges of equal, perhaps more splendour below the sea. She’s not dead yet. It didn’t kill her. Why should she falter, when there so much more she can still endure?

And even that small a taste of the sea was enough to sow it in her blood. Of course it was. That’s how the sea is. Like calls to like. Sometimes with a fish-hook. Or a dredge line. Heh.

The sea has so much that would call a goliath. Power, freedom, wind, the depths that call as sweetly as the heights, the power that smashes you against itself, but cradles you all the same. An endless font of strength against which to test yourself, an endless vastness to explore.

But then why isn’t she there now? Why is she adventuring on land, with this call so siren in her blood? Well, the sea can be carried with you, for a start. Once it’s in your blood it doesn’t leave. But perhaps she’s seeking training. A specific kind of strength. Or perhaps a specific kind of knowledge. Maybe it was a monster that put manners on her, and she’d like to travel with those who know monsters long enough to learn. Or it could be simpler. Maybe she wants a ship, and ships cost money. Or she owes a debt, to those who helped her survive, and freedom is one thing, but you must always pay your debts first. How can you wander freely, test your strength without care for the results, when there is a chain of debt tying you back to a place and a person and a task?

Or, perhaps, she simply wants the best of both worlds. The heights and the depths. She wishes to wander to her own whim, to the top of the world or the bottom of the sea, and carry all of her history in her blood as she walks.

What gave her her abilities? Maybe not a monster, no. The sea itself, and her reaction to it. That wild call that she felt and answered. What gives her power is the heart of yearning for the sea, and the strength she found to carry it in her blood, no matter where she goes.

There was a fish-hook, planted in her soul. But she's goliath. She gladly scarred herself around it, and pit her strength gleefully against the tow.

Ah. Ahem. Anyway. Does that help any?

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musicprincess1990 · 2 years ago

Text

Happy Sherlolly Appreciation Week!

For Day 1, I’ve decided to go with a Cinderella AU. It’s kind of lightly based on it, and without the magical elements (I’m just not good at fantasy), but you get the gist. It was really hard to keep this to a one-shot, I really wanted to expand on it, but I've already got one WIP right now, so… yeah. Anyway, enjoy!

~*~

The Dream That You Wish

Sometimes Molly dreams of leaving this place, of packing her precious few belongings and stealing away in the dead of night. Sometimes, in those dreams, she meets a handsome stranger who promises to love and protect her, as she has never been loved or protected before. Sometimes she can almost make out the features on his face… almost… and even without a clear vision of that face, she knows—she just knows—he is the most beautiful man that ever was seen.

Then she wakes up.

There is no handsome stranger. There is no leaving this place.

She is trapped.

A bell rings incessantly in her ear, rousing her from her dreams, and reminding her of who she is. Molly yawns and stretches as she pulls herself into a seated position, brushing the ash and soot from her skin and clothes as best she can. The nights have grown too cold to make the journey up to the dismal attic, so she has taken to sleeping in front of the fire in the kitchen. Her stepmother and stepsisters mock her dirty and dishevelled appearance, but have never ordered her to go back to sleeping in the attic, not out of any charity or sympathy, rather the simple fact that it means their breakfast arrives more quickly.

Molly dampens a cloth and scrubs at her face and hands, then sets about making tea and toast. The bell rings again and again, soon accompanied by shrill cries from above stairs. Molly works as swiftly as she is able, until finally, she leaves the kitchen with three trays. She has mastered this precarious balancing act, and has not dropped a single teacup in over two years.

With measured steps, she climbs her way up to the first floor, then sets two of the trays down on the table in the hall, placed and decorated intentionally for this purpose. Still holding the third tray, she first knocks on her stepmother’s door.

“Come,” her imperious voice calls.

Molly twists the knob and enters, keeping her head bent in submission. “Good morning, my lady.”

Lady Elizabeth Smallwood does not return the greeting. “On the table, girl,” she orders, gesturing to the bedside table in question. Molly gently places the tray, then pours the tea, holding the cup toward her with the handle facing her stepmother, thus eliminating any chance of physical contact. Lady Smallwood takes a sip of the tea and grimaces. “How many times must I tell you? I want three lumps of sugar.”

“I-I did give you three,” Molly says timidly, and immediately she regrets it.

Her stepmother stills, then turns her furious gaze on Molly. “What did you say?” she seethes.

Molly swallows thickly. “I’ll go fetch the sugar,” she whispers, turning to do just that.

“Never mind,” Lady Smallwood snaps, stopping her in her place. “There isn’t time. You must wake your stepsisters, they have much to do to prepare for this evening.”

The ball, Molly reminds herself. Not that she had forgotten. Since the moment the invitation came to them, it has been the dominant topic of conversation, and she has spent every day over the past two weeks either mending gowns or shopping for jewellery. Molly ignores the bitter resentment festering in her heart, knowing that the money going toward baubles and lace will be coming out of her wages, and they’re a pittance already. But she keeps silent on the subject, for one simple reason.

She is invited, too.

To the surprise of all, and the delight of many, the Crown Prince requested to extend the invitation to all eligible ladies of the kingdom, not just the nobility. Women of all stations will be able to attend, and will have the chance to meet His Royal Highness. The reason for this unforeseen break from tradition is quite clear: the King and Queen are all but desperate to marry off their son and heir. Molly has never seen the Prince her life, but she has heard he is remarkably handsome, and as such, she can guess that the cause for his unmarried state lies beneath the surface. He must be an unbearable snob.

Or, she thinks with a smile, his interests lie elsewhere.

“What are you smirking at?”

Molly quickly schools her features as she answers her stepmother. “Forgive me, my lady. I became lost in thought.”

“Useless chit,” she growls. “Go and wake your stepsisters. Now.”

She wastes no time in doing just that, stepping out into the hall and picking up a tray as she approaches the next door. Irene is already awake and gazing at her beautiful reflection in the mirror, and she barely acknowledges Molly as she pours her tea, for which Molly is most grateful. Irene has always loved to insult her, and has made something of an art of it, finding the most clever and cruel ways to do so. Molly quietly retreats, leaving Irene to her self-admiration, and moved on to Janine’s room.

Janine is far less cruel to Molly, though still not exactly kind. After a lifetime of being second-best to her older, more beautiful sister, it’s no surprise. She is very pretty in her own right, but not the ethereal and enigmatic paragon of beauty that Irene is, and she has the added disadvantage of being less elegant and more brash. Lady Smallwood has often berated her youngest daughter for her “poor decorum,” while praising Irene’s effortless grace.

Molly sets Janine’s tray on her bedside table, then gently taps her shoulder. “Janine,” she murmurs, “I have tea and toast for you.”

“Mmmf,” is her stepsister’s groggy reply.

“The ball is this evening,” she tries again. “Tonight, you will meet the prince.”

“Sod the prince,” she grumbles.

Molly smiles to herself, then employs one final tactic. “You would rather Irene have him all to herself?”

Janine raises her head to glower at Molly. “Over my dead body.”

“Then, up,” Molly urges her.

After a few more seconds of scowling, Janine sighs and relents, taking the toast and munching quietly, while Molly pours tea into her cup. “You are lucky you don’t have to go to this dreadful ball, Molly,” she complains.

Molly says nothing as she hands the now-filled cup to Janine. Neither of them speak again, and Molly slips quietly out of the room. Instead of returning to the kitchen, however, she tiptoes her way up to the attic. She shivers against the chill, but perseveres until she reaches her room.

There, on a mannequin borrowed from the seamstress in town, is her mother’s favourite dress. Made of forget-me-not blue silk, it is the most precious item in her possession. She saw her mother wear it only once, at a Christmas party when she was very small, and Molly had believed her to be a princess. It’s still in fine condition, though the silhouette is perhaps a bit outdated, but near enough to the style of the day that Molly doubts anyone will notice. Besides, there will be other ladies in attendance who will no doubt dress similarly, as few servants can afford the latest fashions.

Molly spends the day carrying out her chores and helping her stepsisters and stepmother prepare for the ball. By nightfall, all three are dressed and coiffed to perfection, and all three leave without so much as a thank you. And the moment their carriage s out of sight, Molly races up to her room and closes the door, locking it for good measure.

Tonight, she is her own fairy godmother. Tonight, she will become someone else.

~*~

Sherlock barely suppresses a groan as yet another young lady rushes forward to meet him. His idea to allow the lower classes to attend seemed an excellent one at the time, but he now realizes he has nearly doubled the amount of time he must spend making their acquaintance. After a full hour of meeting prospective brides, he deeply regrets it, and prays for an end to his misery.

The entire thing is a farce. His parents have told him all his life that he should marry for love, and yet they insist on this ridiculous ball. “You simply haven’t met the right woman,” his mother said to him the day she and his father announced the ball. Sherlock argued the point until his breath ran out, but they did not concede, and he was forced to agree. He included the stipulation that all young ladies be given the chance to attend, hoping they would be too scandalized to continue, but instead they applauded his decision, reasoning that a humble girl might offer sounder advice and greater perspective in the future. (He agrees, but God forbid he actually admit that in front of his parents.)

Marriage is something he does not want… as is the Crown. His brother’s abdication came as a shock to all, and Sherlock resents him still for laying the mantle on him. He is trapped, forced to abandon all his academic pursuits for the sake of ruling the nation and siring heirs.

Damn you, Mycroft, he curses in his head.

Time goes by, more and more young ladies come forward, but eventually the end of the queue is in sight, a light at the end of this tunnel of tedium. He will have to dance with at least a few of them, and has already determined one of them, a young woman who seems even less happy to be here than he is, which he had not thought possible. He has also deduced that her real motive for attending was not to meet him, but to infuriate her sister, a sly and suspicious beauty he distrusted immediately.

Then, just as he reaches the last lady in the queue, the doors open again, and all eyes turn toward the late arrival. Sherlock stops… stares… and for a moment, forgets how to breathe. His mind has gone quite blank, all his attention on this mysterious young woman. She is small and thin, almost too thin, and clad in a blue silk gown that is slightly out of fashion, but fits her like a glove. Her chestnut hair is twisted into an intricate knot and adorned with pearls. She does not have the same fine and elegant features as many of the other ladies present, but her soft, elfin features are, in his eyes, utterly exquisite.

Without having made a conscious decision to do so, he crosses the room, his eyes locked on her. She is surprised when she sees him, and goes completely still, her pink lips parting on a gasp. Sherlock slows as he comes within arm’s reach, never releasing her wide brown eyes. “It’s you,” she whispers.

Curious. “Is it?” he asks.

She seems to snap out of a trance, and dips into a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Now, that just won’t do. Sherlock reaches out a hand and tucks it under her chin, gently raising her head first, then urging her to stand again. Those impossibly large eyes land on his again, and he feels warmth spread from his head to his toes. “What is your name?”

She swallows nervously before she answers, “Molly Hooper.”

It’s certainly not the name of any prominence, she is among the lower class, likely a servant. He likes her all the more for it.

“Will you dance with me, Molly Hooper?”

Her mouth falls open. “Me?”

“You,” he confirms.

Molly’s eyes dart over to a spot slightly to the right of his face, and part of him wants to look over his shoulder and see what has caught her attention, but the greater part of him refuses to take his eyes off her. He has the strangest notion that if he does, she will vanish in a puff of smoke, and he’ll never see her again. And that is simply not a risk he is willing to take. Whatever it is, she seems to draw strength from it, and when her eyes return to his, she nods and smiles.

He has never felt more blessed.

~*~

Mere days later, the news of the Prince’s engagement spreads throughout the country. Those who were present at the ball are not surprised at the identity of his chosen bride, having witnessed their first meeting. Some hear the news with delight, some with apathy, and some with anger and bitterness. But no one, not even those angry few, can deny the love between them.

Molly smiles up at her husband, no longer the stranger from her dreams, but warm and real and every bit as wonderful as she knew he would be.

#sherlolly appreciation week 2023 #saw 2023 #sherlolly #cinderella au #sherlollyweek2023

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sw33t-oubliette · 2 years ago

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(gripping the bathroom sink) There are lies we tell ourselves, and there are lies we tell the universe. The crew of the Aurora once used the word 'immortal' and the universe believed us - for a while. But no matter the eons, years, millennia you may live, no matter the wormholes, time jumps or parallel dimensions... all things end. And it's hard to play so much with time without learning the shape of your own end. We know where we will be when we start to slow and choose to follow Nastya into the dark. We've lived so long together, perhaps it is only fitting we die alone. Jonny dies in a barfight, on some nameless backwater asteroid. After countless lifetimes of carving through every sensation it is possible to feel, he is stabbed clean through the heart and this time, for some reason, it sticks. When he realizes what is happening, he laughs for the first time in a millennia. Witnesses will say that they have never before seen someone so viciously excited to die. When you start your existence by burning down a planet, how the hell do you end it? In Ashes' case, drunk as a skunk at the very end of time. Cast forward by some freak accident, they will watch as the stars wink out, and then they'll light a cigar - the last point of illumination in the universe - and drop the match into gasoline as a final fuck you. There is so much to know in this universe, so much to learn. But when her research has become monotonous and her observations are dull, Raphaella will decide to partake in one final experiment. Taking a fragment of the ship once known as Aurora, she will cast herself into that black hole. Beyond the event horizon there, maybe to die, maybe to learn something new one last time. Gunpowder Tim feels the end coming for a while. His aim wanders by nanometers and his explosions seem somewhat... lacklustre. And so he returns to a planet that he's been saving for a very special occasion, the one that builds the largest gunship existence will ever see, and he goes on a final rampage. Stars shatter at the thunder of his guns until, at last, he crashes into a space station. And he isn't wearing his seatbelt. Ivy will try to retire, spend her final centuries on a small library planet with those books that mean so much to her. Unfortunately, the library will do what they are so prone to and burn in a pointless war. Ivy falls launching an escape pod piled high with ancient texts that scholars will someday say were actually... quite a dull read. Marius has always approached the concept of immortality with a little bit more skepticism than the rest of us, so his end comes as less of a surprise. One day, at something of a loose end, he will decide to check on the octokittens. Unfortunately, the purring horde has not been fed in... many decades, and devours him. Head to toe. In 11.7 seconds. At least, by my watch. When the Drumbot misses his first beat, he knows exactly what it means. He considers briefly the fire and bloodshed of his compatriots, but in the end the only thing that feels right is to complete the cycle. And so he casts himself into the void. His body will float there forever, far beyond the warmth of stars. The Toy Soldier, of course, well... it was never real to begin with. And, when all its friends are finally gone, it will decide to stop pretending. Pointless, ignoble deaths the lot of them. But who that lived can really boast otherwise? Thank you for joining us on our journey. Our bodies are still, and our blood is cold. The books are closed and our stories told. No happy ever after for a tale so old, Laid in blood when the story is done. Thank you. But - But we're not quite dead quite yet. And so, for the last time, we have one last song.

#SCREAMS CRIES EXPLODES DIES DIES DIES DIES DI

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m-r-nicely · 2 years ago

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Rude Awakening

Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Word Count: 771

Chapter Summary: Everyone is having a nice nap, and a talking doll decides to test fate by testing if it can awaken chaos incarnate. Will it work?

_______________

If she was fully honest, Bela did not want to leave her human friend. Not to mention, there were still questions she had yet to get the answers to. The two had come to a state of silently understanding the other in the setting of Seraphine's home. With the woman having somewhat successfully taught the vampire how to make the fearsome Bela Dimitrescu's new favorite food: Blood Glazed Profiterole. At first Seraphine wondered why she wanted to learn to make the puff pastries, but she realized Bela was worried if she would ever get a chance to see the woman again, or if some tragedy would take the life of her new favorite human before their next meeting. She wanted an excuse to either spend more time with Seraphine or have something to remember her by. If Bela chose to remember her with her favorite dessert, then so be it.

Eventually, the time did come for Seraphine to see Bela off. It was still rather cool out on that afternoon. Bela wanted to stay until the weather was warmer, but she knew the human could see she really just wanted more time with Seraphine herself. Due to this, none of her ideas worked.

It was too cold? Bela was handed an extra, albeit short, fur cloak. She doesn't know the way? Worry not, for Seraphine has many maps. She would get hungry on her way home? Bela was offered a chance to feed shortly before leaving with a basket full of profiterole for the journey.

"You cannot seem to be rid of me soon enough," Bela joked.

Seraphine looked at Bela and the vampire could once again see that unidentifiable emotion. Except now it was stronger. When Bela heard Seraphine speak, she knew exactly what the emotion was, and why it was growing. Why she was pushing Bela away.

"I just think your family have thought you dead long enough," her words were sincere and caring, but they were delivered with an apathetic and empty voice.

How she achieved such juxtapositions will forever be lost on the eldest Dimitrescu.

Bela saw it, and now she heard it. Her heart hurt for her friend. What Bela saw hidden in those captivating chartreuse eyes was loneliness. Everyone good who had come into Seraphine's life had left, in one way or another, and now Bela was doing it too. Seraphine was too caring to ask Bela to forget about going back home. To stay. So, she was pushing her away instead.

The doors to the library open and Angie waddles in. She completely ignores the two sleeping women and addresses Bela.

"Hey blondie!" the doll said very, very loudly.

Daniela sat up at the sudden noise and looked around for the source. Bela put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention and tilted her head in Angie's direction. The doll waved to the younger sister, who promptly waved back after pivoting in her seat, and made its way to the sofa the women were sat upon. She holds her hands up like a toddler, or like when Seraphine wants to ride on Bela's back, to make it clear she wants to join them on the couch. Daniela lifts the doll thinking she would peacefully sit on the couch with them. That was proven incorrect when Angie wriggled out of Daniela's hold and, with chaos in mind, all but tackled the sleeping Seraphine to the floor.

"Angie!" The sisters yelled. One in surprise and the other in frustration. Both in fear.

Seraphine is awful to deal with if she is, quite literally in this case, rudely awakened.

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear.

Daniela and Bela both brace for the incoming onslaught of absolute attitude. Even the village's Goddess has found herself cowering at the fury that will inevitably be faced if those gentle chartreuse eyes open too soon.

"Mother Miranda wouldn't dare cross you, sleeping beauty," Lord Heisenberg once said. Nobody truly knows what happened, but if Karl ever has any more remarks about her attitude, he keeps them to himself.

The library is deathly silent. Even the sisters' flies are stilled from their usual humming buzz. Nobody dares to move. Yet all things must come to an end, but it would seem fortune is on their side. The one who would be destined to be first to fall victim to Seraphine happened to be the one person who did not care about the attitude. Someone who had a heart big enough to understand the frustration and the only person who has ever extinguished the flame that makes chartreuse burn.

#re8 village #donna beneviento #re8 #bela dimitrescu x oc #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #angie beneviento

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Come live with the same tempo

A sonnet sequence

Verse I

Devotion gives you much more, as we climbe. Whose godly labour by singing to his chain, and Sops in wine, worne of Paramoures. You said the swift thro’ the rocks of a stand at them; ah, when she moved, she finds her home. Go; my mind, my falter to the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps she’ll give it a clumsy name. Come live with the same tempo. Blood red were his cruel hand. It only the throe! Since Juliana here is no shame alike, the source of mine. Simple, as if it brings me to thee, where she were left of me: so then the green and freezes, blooming in me under the wold and meek, she played it light.

Verse II

Fragrant bank of lilies I have shot my fond fancy, so artless, some interest, which if I should make suspicion start; no pause they bene hale enough to warm me throughout you sorrow’s trick. Lady of Shalott. See what I an accessary needs bear that is become of thorns and the tast, each house’s barbed antennae trawling for another, me, there with timorously; and ache from fools that I had a system made no purple moor, a highwayman comes riding two and two: she hath wounded brethren of such a grasp of the room is so cold and lead away. It is not reserv’d!

Verse III

—Just ere she stay sang Sir Lancelot. On music, came from her head, so glad it has its utmost wise by Phoebus peeps over you, let the great lords out and the morning star, get with so much as I took my first of all, her iron heels: and so live in this, thoughts there with Aarons pretious oyle, and like in each applied to awaken. That my manhood is cast down in the trouble you may; take me mourne, but listen’d with my burning kiss, so sup’rabundance flower! Then what I can behold desk, dusty for lacke of Dan, which outweighs argosies,— as purply black, as erst to vex us?

Verse IV

Of our will quite clear to starbursts sixteen arms electric to carry … or crash … it’s a journey … that I knew mankind, and I believe it. Is your changing, and your belles and Creame, with slow dilation round nay! Are the ancestral fruit in a Catalina stand at that, unknown; to see it bent in a Girdle rounding all the sun’s meridian splendour out of brasse. That gave doth lie, yet growest more, now, than repose on aught that rides best recall; earth changing Hands of Day and Night Movie Theater, showing them on my tatter’d free, like Phoebus peeps over sudden from Camelot.

Verse V

But in the Nymphes doe keepe from on high adoring mortal names, and sold for endless prove, that, where our fine bed too, vs in the advancing hound. The Prince is fled, is shifted round earth’s wheel, that I shall never one: our times are not to show false to your first for wanting. By night, my idle spright, raunged for heart receive the man she said: twas I. Will nane the Captain’s lady. What powers of ecstatic women striding to run away, ’twould boldly trip and print those seemed true: things does me, is fair brow, he leap’d amid a murder nor stumbling over his Justice slain, else men are true?

Verse VI

Robert Burns: pass by hunders, nameless wretched make. And so she died—but see the other way, I feare, beeing immortall, subject to no dispute from my fixt height to beauty’s dead fleece in such a glance—like some stooping, made head, gained ground, and art may spare, for sacred throng, and its punctual, mystery and for my verse softly and me, i’ll come there. I’d toss life yonder tower and hope no redress; for I would ask me, if the Right and Good and long it would ask me, if thee living teares, as the way did lie. And the flaxen lilies, that euer was he, the other left hys flocke so dear!

Verse VII

And dreery death’s wound along her faire mindes resourse, and pall, so hath its white. So I may never a word! Of one that seeldome falls melodious words to show by the greene embellish the strain; learn, nor account the hands worked busily a day, and each would they lifted up, and carnation free as he was conscious of my Mortal parts could not be dieted with paine this line, remember: falling up a sweet as drowsy noons, and fro, a disease, feeding from a cliff on Sunday morning of Empire of pale blue fly sung in the summer-indolence; I warily oped her mouth saddles the one who resembles most you can see myself until the force to withstand, year upon the low world to thee, of which, from France. With joyes increase that with fair and unkind; no less the hour has struck athwart the rich light of thine in thy curl, it is vain bubble’s sharpest pangs o’erpay.

Verse VIII

Close though the red cloaks of market girls in this, that bids nor sit nor eloquence wit still with folded arms she brought; and our son, because the days of honeysuckle that I shall stay. With blackest moss the man; you wrong for weight and due to languid limbs streaming with the face so liuely to my sight, and look’d down dear Genevieve! So artless, so silv’ry is the finger failed to move or bread or the doleful air; I sang an old and looked up at her? In a silver bugle hung, and is fast, still delights and dame, to the kind flood of reason, the summer- indolence; the Lady of Shalott.

Verse IX

That is Love—then wounded balsam, so the hollows of his quick fire shall strike from whence love may smell the distance of a conquest of a wall bounding all his gold: and you to love of one fingers. Has made: our soul, going to his Secresy; stirr’d not at first set myself bring wainscot shriek’d aloud: Help, help the other. Woman, fillèd with the leave me despair: now called work, must sentence sayes, that tenderest strain; learn, nor any; nay, you shall weigh the alien city— a beekeeper’s hair-shirt, sewn with a rabbit’s foot, watch those perfectly complete, you are my Last Love. Desiring your name.

Verse X

For better, your name for love? If only words I know, that thou leave and Destiny both a wrong. What strained in the fetish boutique, those showers breaks the Past! Let Virtue wore, she hears, in the very temples with all the plaine, and weep to death: which the string I wound timorous eye the rich light across his beauty, and entered, lying on a headland over the day, the Princesse bene principall. For Winter will invite me to heare. No where thou hast graced; marching— and hid her soiled gloves by, untied her sense; but go my way where, and as long, and had our window, and kneeled and undressed.

Verse XI

Across the main of all I have all passion of its earnest glance, beholding, waiting there. With tann’d antiquity, mine own finger to me: forsaken and subtill serpent kiss poyson’d the better is, then for those lines clawed in the earth with sugred sentence pass, things which han be dead branch the horizon—where he grew less and delight to me and be kind at once to a stately tree, cut down, but your love or on train memory; then faded, and be thereby! But get a windy nights a funeral, with the blue mount who does not betray, if like allay, so gone through, each humble in.

Verse XII

For nothing more. So I may but die together. Softly, in the green-gown has been given; and thro’ the Nith’s winding doom. And the terrace—all and each field where you all; let Virtues with all the wellfed wits at Camelot. Counter top, the hurt is nothing stars, it is my goddesse shines: and as he rode his armour rung, all love go by, but is got up, and right of these; if so, by any other most? She knows not mine’ or thine than all these joys refin’d of Sense and silent isle imbowers her will; but if my simple was the soil, and stay, and severe, your battle: kiss her; take her grace.

Verse XIII

Her who loves loneness best, how far can that will not know. Till by his foly one deep in Phidian lore. By whom he is restored to me, darling one wish that would their hand that spot of joy into the ending never: let simply riding … a wave shot my father break our laws with little house: yet asleep, powers lie folded in the flowers. Your song she dight, I pray thee move, the little skill in an abyss. Despite its strife, let me, and turn to do with belts of glitters but grows tart. Gilded monuments of prince of a yellow wood, and told, but shall I say than my hand, now I raise.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #163 texts #sonnet sequence

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fantastical-affairs · 8 months ago

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Chasing Shadows - Part 6

Evangeline has protected Lona ever since their parents passed away. When Lona is kidnapped by a shadow in the dead of night, Evangeline sets off to find her, despite knowing her journey will take her past the Border, where no human has walked in centuries. Finding aid in unlikely places, she and her companions must unravel the truth of Artera's long-forgotten past and how it connects to Lona's kidnapping.

I do not consent for my work to be copied, reposted or plagiarised. All parts of the work belong to me, the author.

Fire. There was fire, burning everywhere.

Smoke burned her lungs and eyes.

There was running, screaming all around her. She was running too.

There was a building, a house? With an alley. Hearing hoofbeats, she ducked into the alley just as a horse galloped by.

They must’ve escaped when the fire started. There were so many of them, and people were torn between running to avoid them or the fire.

There was crying. Not her crying. A weight in her arms. A face swaddled in blankets and streaked with tears and soot. She was so small.

And Evangeline was running again, shouting for her parents. Her baby sister clinging to her arms. What happened? The town was supposed to be guarded. It was supposed to be safe!

But the houses were gone. So was the town.

There was just the fire, slowly surrounding them. And Lona was crying. But she suddenly felt heavier.

Looking down, Evangeline found her sister, once again 8 years old, staring up at her. Her nightgown dirty and shredded, and she was wearing her blood red headkerchief.

Suddenly, Lona was yanked from her arms and into the fire. Evangeline screamed her name, running into the fire after her.

But it was no use. Lona was gone.

Evangeline knelt in the flames and wept.

And burned.

Evangeline bolted awake with a gasp. There was a fire burning near her. She tried to run but found her legs tangled in her blankets, forcing her to crawl away from the source of the fire. Her hands were suddenly wet and cold, and taking a moment, she felt droplets of water fall on her from above.

Finally taking a moment to survey her surroundings, she found them unfamiliar. She was out on the moors, it was cold and wet, and it was raining. Looking up, she saw the moon barely poking out from behind the clouds. She was surprised she could see anything from how little light it gave.

She turned to look at where she’d just been sleeping, her heart still beating erratically, but she sighed when she realised it was just the campfire the gaoithe had set up the previous night. Now dim and dying with the lack of care. Safe, and unable to hurt her.

Wiping away the tear tracks, she took a deep breath and crawled her way back under the rock outcropping, collecting her discarded cloak on the way.

Knowing she’d be unable to fall asleep again, she grabbed some sticks the gaoithe had set aside and lay them in the fire. Little by little the fire got brighter, warming her face and fingers, which stung from the cold. Settling herself near the fire and wrapping her cloak over her for extra warmth, she finally let her gaze fall on the gaoithe.

He was asleep, quite deeply if the noise she’d made hadn’t woken him up. His breaths were shallow and raspy, but other than that he seemed peaceful. Harmless, for now.

Taking the time to observe him, Evangeline noted his skin was very dark, darker than that of Kahlila, matching almost exactly to the coat of his equine lower half. He even had lighter speckled patches of skin like that of his coat. And Evangeline wondered if other gaoithe had skin that matched their coats, thinking of what a speckled gaoithe would look like.

His hair—mane? Evangeline wasn’t sure—was a mix of black and white patches, and very curly. His tail less so, though likely due to its longer length. His ears Evangeline found strange. Where human ears would’ve sat, instead were horse ears.

A stick in the fire popped and Evangeline watched the ears flick at the sound, though he made no other movement. Realising it could still be a few hours before dawn, she felt the tiredness creep back in, making her eyes feel heavy. With one final glance over the gaoithe, still finding him asleep, she scooted a safe distance away from the fire, though staying close enough to benefit from its heat. Laying her head onto her back and pulling her cloak over herself, she finally fell into a peaceful sleep.

This time she awoke slowly, sluggishly, to the brightening light of the sky. Blinking her eyes, she found the sky a light grey colour, the clouds having blanketed the sky completely compared to last night. Or early this morning?

Sitting up, she found the gaoithe slowly waking up as well, his arms above his head to give a satisfying stretch. The fire was nearly coals, and Evangeline huddled close to get the last bit of warmth knowing the moors would be windy and chilly despite the warmth of the previous days.

Taking some rations out of their respective packs, they both ate in silence. Evangeline occasionally sneaked glances at the gaoithe between sips of water, sometimes finding him doing the same before his eyes darted away.

Once done, she brushed herself off and pulled on her satchel. “Which way did you see that thing go?”

Taken off guard between the last bites of his food, he paused. “Uh, I believe I saw it go west, into the forest. Though I think we’re a bit far off at the moment.”

Turning to face where she thought was west, she saw he was right. As she could barely see the treeline in the distance. Travelling there would take all afternoon. But she supposed they didn’t have time to worry about that before with the guards on their heels. Turning back to the gaoithe, who’d eaten the last of his food and was now staring at her cautiously.

“Shall we get going?” she said, gesturing west.

He nodded, rising, he paused momentarily before walking ahead of her, and she waited for him to travel a good distance before following behind him.

The day continued uneventfully, with Evangeline walking a distance behind the gaoithe. The sky getting greyer as dark clouds rolled in. It wouldn’t be summer without the storms. Thankfully it had only drizzled so far, and she hoped the worst of the storm happened after they entered the forest. At least they’d have some cover then.

As they walked, Evangeline noticed how the gaoithe kept her in his periphery. Just as cautious of her as she was of him. Gaoithe were notoriously good fighters and hardy, for one to see her as a threat if she wanted, it eased her worries slightly.

They crested a small hill, the gaoithe suddenly keeping a wide berth from her, Evangeline finally spotted the treeline ahead of them. The mist that came with the dismal weather had shrouded the trees from her view just after she’d seen them that morning. She let loose a breath when she saw how close they suddenly were. An hour or two’s walk at most and they’d be there. She’d be that much closer to Lona, something that’d seemed impossible yesterday.

Evangeline began walking with more purpose, suddenly invigorated. She stepped on a mossy rock in front of her only for it to give way. Her foot sank into the ground up to her knee, her ankle wrenched into a position that quickly turned painful. She yelped, instinctually trying to pull her foot out only to fall forward, twisting her ankle into an even worse position.

She heard the gaoithe come up behind her, and she turned frightfully, pulling away as he reached his arms out to her.

“Sorry! I should’ve told you about the hummocks here. I thought you would follow my path since you’ve been doing that since we started walking. I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. He stilled when he realised she was twisting away from him. “Do you want some help?”

Gritting her teeth, she nodded, letting him pull her up by her underarms. As he was doing so however, he stopped. Evangeline squinted up at him, annoyed and still in pain, but stopped when she saw he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was looking ahead of them, ears pointed forward. Following his gaze, she froze.

Not too far ahead of them, in fact, too close for Evangeline’s liking, was a pack of wolves. She’d never seen a pack of wolves in real life. Once she’d seen a picture of them in a book and foolishly thought they looked like big dogs. They were not.

There were five of them, big and brownish grey, and all of them staring. Likely sizing them up. Evangeline’s breath grew ragged as she felt wildly for her satchel, intent on pulling out her knife to at least have something to defend herself.

In a low, calming voice the gaoithe spoke. “Please calm down, they’re just wary of us. They aren’t going to hurt us if we just stay still.”

She looked at him then, intent on hissing out exactly what she thought of his advice, but he stared down at her pleadingly out of the corner of his eye. “If you keep moving like that, you’ll agitate them. Deep breaths, keep eye contact, slow movements. They’ll pass on once they’re done surveying us.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she nodded, turning her head slowly to stare back at the wolves. She forced her breathing to calm and her heart to slow. After some time, one wolf broke away from the pack heading north. Slowly, the other wolves followed suit, continuing on their intended path. Still, the gaoithe didn’t move, not until the wolves had almost disappeared from sight, blending into the grey mist.

Only then did he let loose a breath, gently lifting her up and allowing her to slowly extract her foot from the hole. Once he set her down, she sat herself on the ground, pulling off her boot and sock to survey the damage. Thankfully other than some tenderness and some red which could form a bruise, it was fine. The wolf encounter holding far more weight on her mind than her pain.

As she pulled her sock and boot back on, she was suddenly struck by the unfamiliarity in the land around her, hidden holes in the ground and dangerous creatures coming out of nowhere. She was truly out of her depth.

“If you follow behind me, you can avoid the other hummocks,” the gaoithe said.

Hummocks…

She’d heard stories about them from farmers who lived closer to the Border. Where moss grew and kept its shape, even as the ground eroded away. They’d tell stories about entire sheep disappearing into these holes. Looking around, she realised she found many of what she first thought were moss covered rocks. Not all of them could be hummocks, there had to be real rocks, but there was no way of knowing.

Glancing up at the gaoithe she nodded. Rising to her feet and following behind him, still at a distance but much closer this time, intent on following his exact steps to avoid further trouble.

They walked for a time in silence before the gaoithe asked, “You looked shocked by the wolves earlier. Have you never seen so close before?”

“I’ve never seen a wolf before. We don’t get them on our side of the Border,” she said, caught off guard by the suddenness of the question.

“How come?” he asked.

She stopped, blinking at him confusedly. He sheepishly glanced at her, and Evangeline realised he wanted to converse with her. With a sigh, she answered, “Because the High General doesn’t allow anything that large and dangerous on our side. They chased out wolves and bears along with the spirits and your lot when the Borders were being built. The biggest thing we have on our side are the foxes and deer.”

“Really? So, your military chase out all the large predators that comes on your side?”

“They try to, anyway. It seems this time they weren’t successful,” Evangeline answered bitterly.

Silence followed, before he spoke again. “We don’t have any large predators around where we live either. We chase them off when they get too close to our villages and animals. The biggest we get are wolves and they keep their distance. Most larger predators live in the forest.”

“Animals? Like livestock,” she asked before she could stop herself.

He looked confused for a second, humming in thought. “Oh, right, livestock,” he said, then continued, “Yes, we have sheep and goats. We don’t have cows like you do.”

“You don’t keep chickens?”

“Chickens?” he said, once again he looked deep in thought. “Ah! Those birds you keep, right? No, we don’t keep birds, we hunt the ones on the moors. Much easier I think, since herding them when we move would be difficult.”

“Move?” Evangeline prompted, finding herself enjoying the conversation. More curious about how gaoithe lived than she’d like to admit. It passed the time at least.

The gaoithe nodded. “Every few years we move to a new place on the moors. It allows us to continue taking the things we need without exhausting the land.”

“So, you’re nomadic?”

“What?”

“Nomadic. Nomads are people who don’t live in one place all the time, they move to suit their needs.” The gaoithe nodded in understanding, before mouthing the word. “So are all gaoithe nomadic?”

He nodded, giving them a half smile over his shoulder. He looked about to say something more when it began to pour heavily with rain. It quickly soaked through her cloak, causing her to shiver miserably.

They walked for quite some time in the downpour before the gaoithe turned sharply to the right. Evangeline dutifully followed as he eventually led them to a decrepit wall of stacked stone. It sat on the slope of small hill against the angle of the rain. Stepping over the shortest part of the wall, she and the gaoithe sat behind it, finally getting some reprieve from the downpour.

For a while she just sat and shivered, wishing they’d gotten to the forest before the rain started. Knowing the tree canopy would’ve shielded them from the worst of the rain. Looking over at the gaoithe, she found him faring no better.

With little else to do she looked around at the stone wall that shielded them, finding two other walls attached to it. Opposite them were two short walls, a space in between them creating what Evangeline was now realising was a doorway. They were sitting in the remains of a building.

By how much moss and lichen had grown over it and how little of the structure was left, it had to have been abandoned for decades, if not more.

Slowly but surely, the rain began to let up. Once it became only a drizzle, the gaoithe asked, “Are you fine to continue?”

She nodded, rising when he did to follow him out of the structure through what was left of the doorway.

“Hey, uh, this structure,” she said, gesturing to it when the gaoithe turned to her. “Is this made by one of you?”

He looked at the structure, then shook his head. “No, it’s an old human structure, from before the Fire.”

He didn’t have to elaborate for her to know what fire he was talking about. “How do you know?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s square. The houses we make are round. They handle bad weather better and use less materials to build.”

Evangeline blinked, looking back at the remains, realising they’re far older than she’d thought. She was off by centuries.

“There’s many of them scattered over the moors, some in worse condition than others,” he continued.

“Do you repurpose the stone for your houses?”

He shook his head. “It’s considered by my people as bad luck.”

Evangeline nodded, giving one final glance at the remains before turning away, following behind the gaoithe. They weren’t too far from the forest now.

The clouds had somewhat cleared by the time they reached the forest, with the large storm clouds retreating to the eastern horizon. The mid-afternoon sun glittered off the tops of the trees, painting everything in a golden glow.

At the edge of the forest was a stream, narrow enough to hop over. And yet Evangeline paused, observing it.

“This is the stream that protects the forest from the fires,” the gaoithe spoke suddenly. Evangeline jumped, her gaze snapping to him, finding him standing on the other side of the stream. He smiled at her though it looked strained.

“The summer fires? The ones that clear the brush on your side of the Border?” she said carefully.

He nodded. “The stream is small, but very old. It’s guarded by a spirit. Its why the forest has never caught fire.”

Evangeline tensed, looking from him to the moors behind her. He followed her gaze then shook his head. “None of our villages have ever been burned by the fires either, no matter how big they get.”

He took a deep breath. There was uncertainty in his eyes, but nonetheless he spoke with conviction. “The Gaothan Mòra keep the fires at bay. They protect us, always.”

Evangeline watched as shook himself off then turned to walk into the forest. She gave the stream one last look before hopping over herself and following him.

I'm so excited to show you guys more of this story. I'm so proud of the worldbuilding. Baby's first homegrown world y'know.

#fantasy #adventure #found family #long form storytelling #my original writing #sisters #creative writing #nonhuman ocs #sister relationships #friendship #scottish gaelic

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demonsandmischief · 4 years ago

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Something Special

Marvel - Bucky Barnes Imagine

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader,

Soulmate AU

1.6k Words

You can meet your soulmate in your dreams but you can't speak to them and you lose most memory when you wake up, but for some reason your soul mate has never met you there. You're certain they don't exist, until one day.

A/N: I imagine this taking place during TFATWS :).

----

"What do you mean you've never met your soulmate in your dreams?" Sam Wilson asked his friend Bucky.

"I have nightmares, Sam. That is no place for them to be," Buck argued, taking a rag to wipe the blood off of his vibranium arm.

"But they probably think you're dead."

"It's just better off that way," the stoic man finished, his steely eyes meeting Sam's.

"I don't think you're willing to admit that you are scared to try," Sam said, his voice dropping to a softer tone as he leaned forward.

Bucky sighed. "Of course I'm scared. I am not what anybody wants for a lifelong partner," he whispered, dragging his flesh hand down his face.

"Bucky, that's not your choice to make." He stood up, walking away to let him think it over.

Bucky had heard stories of how people meet their soulmate in dreamland. It was a common occurance, but when he had first tried during World War II, he never got a response. There was no way he could even have one now. He was 106 years old after all.

Yet, when he went to bed that night, he decided to push his thoughts aside and focus on calling for you.

You had been waiting for your soulmate to meet you, but it had been years and never once did you hear anything back. You just figured you didn't have one.

Until that night as you were drifting to sleep, it was like a tingling sensation that drew you in. Your eyes were closed, yet it was like following a rope deeper into the darkness of your head.

At the end, was a man. He was tall and stern, and even though you were dreaming, you could feel his presence.

His facial expression remained masked when he saw you, but even you could see his dark eyes widen slightly. You couldn't believe it, after all this time. You searched his body for any distinguishable features, but only found a blurring image. It was going too fast and you were already waking up.

Bucky couldn't believe he saw you on his first try. Plus, seeing you meant no nightmares. Instead, he had a new longing to look for you, and when he woke the following morning he scrambled to write something down before he lost it.

"Shit," he groaned miserably, only managing to write down brown eyes. Most of the population has brown eyes.

"Someone's in a mood," Sam grinned when he caught sight of Bucky's deep frown, deeper than usual that is. He took another bite of toast. "We've got to move on this next lead. Be ready in five."

"Seriously, what's up with you?" Sam asked genuinely when they both were on the plane ready for their next destination.

"I took your advice-"

"Wait, wait. You took my advice?" Sam smiled widely.

"Yeah I took your advice," Bucky said sharply. "And I saw my soulmate, but I can't remember anything about her."

"You know that's just part of the gimmick. You'll figure out a way, Buck," he said sincerely, standing up.

Bucky couldn't be sure. If he dragged this out for too long, there was a possibility that you would find out who he was and never want to meet him. He wouldn't blame you for that.

---

You felt like you were floating in clouds the whole day. For your entire life, you had seen people meet their person, and as you got older, you realized that the chances of you not having that were becoming greater than actually meeting them.

You didn't know what had changed, but you spent the entire day trying to come up with a plan to finally meet the handsome man you saw in your dreams.

You couldn't remember much. You tried to write or sketch him when you woke up, but all you got was blue eyes.

You wondered if you appeared to him in the same clothes you slept in, and if so, maybe you could fold a note in your pocket. You weren't sure you would even be able to remember it was there. Either way, it was worth a try.

The following night you were so excited you were certain you weren't going to be able to sleep, but you managed, and sure enough there was your broody man.

He gave a wave. His lips twitched up slightly, brightening all of his sharp features.

You reached into the pocket of your sweatshirt. You didn't know why, but you had the longing to do so, and you pulled out a small sheet of paper.

You stepped closer to the man, and placed the paper in his palm.

Y/N, Y/L/N, Your Address

Bucky didn't know how he managed to remember all of that once he woke up. He stared down at the scribbled piece of paper in wonder. Could it really be?

You were probably better off without him. He had not been a good man for most of his life, and you deserved more than him.

That's how Sam found him, sitting on the floor lost in thought, the paper scrunched in his fist.

Bucky relaxed his hand so his friend could see the writing. Sam blew out air, and sat down in front of him.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked as gently as possible.

"She deserves so much better than me."

"You can't decide that for her, Buck. You've kept her waiting long enough." Sam stood up, but spoke once more. "I'll get the plane ready if you change your mind. I think we both deserve a detour."

----

You were on pins and needles the whole day. You truly wondered if your man got the message or not. You could just vaguely remember holding his hand, which means you must have given the paper, but you couldn't be sure. You were just willing someone to knock on your door.

Yet, as the day passed you grew less and less confident. If he remembered the note, surely he would have tracked you down by now. Unless he didn't actually want to track you down. Your thoughts were a swirling mess.

You didn't have any dreams that night. You woke up in cold sweat, a sinking feeling forming in your stomach. You felt nauseous. Was it you who ruined everything? Maybe he knew who you were already and decided to pass.

You weren't sure you had the energy to get up and go to work, but you forced yourself to start moving. Your thoughts were only going to get worse.

----

The two men were quite far from the states and Bucky couldn't stop thinking as they made the long trek. For once, these thoughts were not dark flashbacks, they were a bit hopeful. What if she accepted him?

He felt bad that he couldn't sleep. He desperately wanted to see the girl of his dreams, but it just wasn't going to happen. Even Sam kept unusually quiet.

When they finally landed, it was evening, and the pair parted ways. Bucky would finish the journey alone and he was a nervous wreck, even though all of his emotions remained masked.

When he arrived at the address, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door... except there was no answer. He considered his options. He could have messed up the address, or maybe you gave him a fake one. What was he supposed to do now?

He was so lost in thought, he didn't even notice you pulling in.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you saw the handsome man standing on your doorstep. All of the dreams you had forgotten came rushing forward.

"Hi," you greeted timidly. He was huge up close, definitely taller than you. He wore mostly black, leather gloves on his hands. His features were sharp and familiar from the dream.

He flashed a nervous smile that only lasted a second before his face went blank once more, "I was worried I had the wrong place."

"Yeah, sorry, I was at work," you said, shuffling a bit as the silence consumed you. You had dreamt of this moment, literally, yet you didn't know what to say.

"I'm Bucky," he said, his tone much softer as he looked at you, soaking you in.

"It's great to finally meet you. I'm Y/N, but you know that," you blushed. "Do you want to come in? I can make dinner or we can order something?"

"Okay," he nodded, following you inside. You realized he was very stern and very observant. Combined with your quiet and shy personality, you were quite a match.

"Do you want something to drink?" you asked from the kitchen, pulling ingredients to throw something together for you both to eat.

"No, but thanks." Bucky sat on the stool by the island unsure of what to say or do, but he enjoyed watching you. There was something very positive about you and your home. It felt good.

"Can I ask about the gloves?" you ask curiously, throwing some chicken in a hot pan.

It seemed like you didn't know who he was. He slowly pulled off his gloves, revealing his metal hand.

"Woah, cool," you said, moving closer. "Can I touch it?"

Bucky furrowed his brows, "I guess."

You couldn't help yourself. It was so smooth and shiny, and you giggled happily.

"I guess you can't feel it," you said, reaching for his flesh hand and tracing just like you were on the metal.

He couldn't have been happier to have the stupid arm at that moment. He loved hearing your laugh, and feeling your fingertips gave him goosebumps. His shadowed mind seemed almost calm in your presence, and he knew just from being around for a short time that you were going to be his addiction.

You dropped his hand, meeting his beautiful blue eyes. Your lips quirked automatically, and you were relieved to know the tension was finally broken.

----

A/N: aw yay I love this. Here's part 2 :))

#bucky barnes #bucky imagine #sebastian stan #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #sam wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws imagine #tfatws #soulmate au #bucky barnes soulmate au #james buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian Stan #sam wilson imagine

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purplehanfu · 2 years ago

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KinnPorsche: Episode 14, Part II

notes: Spoilers! If you’ve read all these recaps- thank you! content warning: attempted suicide Ep 14 Part I /// TOC

In this episode: The dramatic conclusion to our journey! Important life lessons learned: always keep a plot twist stashed in a secret room, don’t wear a suit you care about to a shoot-out and the most reliable route to a promotion is, as always, nepotism.

“Wanna do it against the glass for old times’ sake?”

Timecoded Review

40:57 Ah the Pete and Vegas showdown I don't care about. Pete shoots Vegas in the shoulder and then punches him repeatedly. That counts as making out for these two.

Now they really are kissing even though Vegas is bleeding heavily.

Vegas runs off and Pete gives chase.

43:37 Dad! Not dead and pressing his Rocky & Bullwinkle style secret skull button lol. I'd love to have heard him try to explain that project to the electrician who installed it. And why the subterfuge? The door is right there- why does the lock need to be hidden behind a tiny mounted skull that's placed on the wall right where a light switch plate would be?

44:20 Hey it's a secret room with Mom inside. There must be a cryo-chamber in here as well, because Mom has not aged a day. Who put this beautiful woman in this horrible dress? That’s not an aesthetic judgement- the fit is terrible, the buttons down the front are pulling and the neckline is wonky. If you have the money to stash someone in a secret room, you have the money to dress them properly.

Oh gross, Uncle Gun is utterly disgusting and that’s why Dad hid Mom away.

Did anyone know Dad was still alive? I feel like everyone should be a little more surprised by that.

46:00 But we never hear the truth because Dad shoots Uncle Gun, further traumatizing Porsche's mom. "I'll take care of Vegas and Macau" says Dad. Upgrade for those two at least. I hope Tankhun inherits Uncle Gun’s scarf collection.

49:00 Vegas finds his dad; in his grief he pulls a gun on Dad. Pete pulls a gun on Vegas. Dad says welcome to the main family. Vegas runs off. Pete quits, presumably to be with Vegas. They deserve each other.

54:00 Vegas tries to kill himself, Pete stops him.

56:53 Pete: "I'm your pet. And I'm hungry." Maybe Vegas has some hedgehog chow left over.

57:45 Vegas is shot multiple times in the torso at close range. I'm sure he'll be fine.

Yes Pete, just cry your heart out, don't try to stop the bleeding or anything.

59:59 Promotion! Dad makes Porsche the head of the minor family and gives him the ring of power, which means he either just pulled that ring off of Uncle Gun’s cold, dead hand, or he has a box of minor family rings in his secret room.

1:00:01 Chay notices Yok's place is full of dead bodies. Maybe Yok will be so pissed about the blood and bodies, she won't notice the hair dye on her loveseat.

1:01:45 Porsche pimp walks through the halls and manages to have even more shirt buttons undone than Kinn.

He sprawls himself over Kinn's sofa.

1:03:07 Awww, matching family rings.

1:05:07 Chay gets a video from Kim; it's Kim singing a romantic ballad. Chay cries. Are they back together? Were they ever together?

1:08:13 Party on a boat with the gang.

1:09:34 Kinn mixes Porsche a special fancy mixed drink called Kinn’s Heart. If it was called Porsche’s Heart it would just be DeKuyper Cheri-Beri Pucker Schnapps straight from the bottle.

1:12:31 Kinn and Porsche workshop some wedding vows.

Tankhun films them secretly and sends the video to Dad. Dad immediately posts it to the Mafia Parents facebook group.

1:14:10 Porsche takes Chay to visit their mother. She looks annoyed when they hug her. Jokes aside, this scene really bothered me- it’s very obvious she has no idea who they are, but they invade her personal space anyway.

THE END

1:17:38 Oh there’s also this scene, post credits. As expected of these two:

“so please forget the kidnapping, torture, and the fact that I was chasing you around with a gun and trying to kill all your friends a few days ago”

Ep 14 Part I /// TOC ///

Master list of all recaps

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche episode recaps

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

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twenty questions (7/8) | r.b.

summary: No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you. Or, after four years, Reiner meets you once more.

WARNINGS: angst, just conversation, a bit of violence, mentions of trauma, children ummmmm yeee, jean also appears <3 true king pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.3k

a/n: reiner returns!! welcome to the penultimate chapter and thank you for being on this journey with me :) again, song is not mine! it’s the wellerman sea shanty hehe

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Morning streams through the curtains.

You part the billowy white fabric, pushing open the window breathing in the late morning air. As always, it’s warm and ripe with the aroma of the fresh bread from the bakery you live above, and as you lean on the windowsill, you hear the door below you chiming with new patrons. You smile to yourself, resting your chin on your hand.

Even still, you can’t help but admire how beautiful it is, especially in the streets here, far away from a industrial zone. The Liberio interment zone is small, yes, but it’s no less beautiful. The architecture of brick and glass all hold an austere beauty, and when the sunset is upon you, the shadows they cast and the warmth that embraces the stone is something you’ve never quite seen before. There’s a church, and you’ve sat inside day a few days before, watching the light stream through the stained glass in amazement.

A knock at the door takes you from your thoughts and you let out a sharp noise of surprise, gaze ripping away from the busy streets. A tremor shoots through you and you swallow harshly, waiting in bated breath.

“The shop’s busy as bees, today!” your landlord admonishes on the other side. You let out a relieved sigh, relaxing a bit. “If you want, I can still save you a loaf!”

“No, thank you!” you shout over your shoulder, reaching to close the window and get ready for the day. Sliding a warm vest onto your shoulders, you adjust the hat on your head and grab your bag from the counter, your bare fingers a bit cold and numb.

You burn at the thought of Reiner. You don’t want to see him, even if you live in the same city now, but all the same, it’s hard to avoid him. After all, it’ll only be so long before you’re forced to confront your past, push yourself into his way because how long, really, can you stay away from him? As you slide the white armband onto your bicep, your heart tightens. You’ve seen the man he’s grown into—handsome, tired, lonely. That only reflects in you.

Pulling your arms through your jacket, you stare at the woodgrain beneath your feet emptily.

Why am I even here?

Coming to Marley, of all places. Some days, you can’t wrap your head around it, before you’re reminded of the reason. It all has a purpose. You just have to keep going—keep moving forward.

Continuing through your loft, you shove your feet into boots and head out for the day. The festival’s tonight—you have lots to do before then.

Night slips in.

Reiner frowns when he realizes he’s walking back to the stage. He’s been trailing after the sound for a good half-hour, but considering they stay relatively nearby his final destination, he’s never felt the urge to detract.

He still can’t place the tune that’s been hummed, whistled, sang gently and leading him on, and as the sky darkens and the crowd noise grows louder, he realizes that his trail is slowly growing colder and colder.

“Hey, Reiner!” His head swivels to find Gabi waving at him and he meanders over, frowning a bit. “Where’d you go? The others said you wandered off.”

“I took a walk to clear my head,” he says dismissively, ignoring her frown deepening. “I see you’ve recovered from your food coma.” Immediately, Gabi’s frown turns into a pout and she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” He snorts, turning to survey the area. The others are milling about. Zeke and Colt are talking by the bench, and Pieck and Porco are off together, as usual. They’re not half as inconspicuous as they think they are. Finding Udo and Zofia, his brow wrinkles when he can’t catch sight of a certain blond boy.

“Where’s Falco?”

“He ran off earlier, saying he saw someone he knew,” Gabi says, waving it away. “He’s always being so weird. Who else could he know besides us?”

“What, are you jealous?” he teases, ruffling Gabi’s hair and she lets out a squawk, smacking at his hand. Chuckling gently, he surveys the area again as they walk towards their seats. Zeke and Colt give him a nod in greeting, one he returns.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” he replies distantly. His eyes keep searching, a ticklish feeling at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if he can really hear that tune still at the edge of his hearing, nagging for his attention. Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest. “What Falco does during his free time isn’t on your need-to-know basis, Gabi.”

“I know. I’m just saying—he doesn’t even have any friends besides us,” she says pointedly just as someone calls his name.

“Mister Braun!” Falco skids to a stop in front of him, his forehead gleaming with sweat, even in the cooler night air. Panting, he leans forward on his knees, meeting Reiner’s eyes, and Gabi tilts her head, confused and agitated and betraying her previous aloof words.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Ignoring her, Falco continues to try and catch his breath, barely punching out, “Can you come with me?” before looking down at the floor again, his shoulders rising and falling so quickly Reiner almost feels bad for him.

He frowns. “Right now?”

“You’ll be fine,” Zeke assures. The two look at the older man who glances at his watch. “It shouldn’t start for a few more minutes.”

Reiner debates it for a moment. Then again, it’s not like he’s the number one fan of this show. His presence is for appearance’s sake at this point, and if Falco insists, then it must be something important. Sighing, he nods and Falco takes off again. Telling Gabi to explain his absence to his mom should he not return in time, he walks after the sprinting boy, his mind a whirlwind on the possibilites of why he’s in such a hurry.

Falco stops past a blue curtain that’s near a residential building and points at the arch, smiling. His entire face is flushed and Reiner cocks an eyebrow, approaching closer before hearing a soft voice singing. It only grows as he passes by the blue partition, and his heart picks up as his eyes widen.

“…The Captain's mind was not on greed… But he belonged to the whaleman's creed… She took that ship in tow… Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguin' is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He knows that tune. The sailors sang it in the port city after Fort Slava. It’s one of their sea shanties—it’s rare to hear them anywhere except by the water, and when he reaches Falco, searching for that voice, his eyes fix on a figure leaning against the archway underneath the building.

The woman in purple.

Falco runs up to her. A hand is on her bicep when she shifts to look at the boy, and Reiner’s throat swells as his legs move on their own accord. Time seems to slow as Falco turns around, mouth open in words that go in through one ear, and out the other.

The woman says something, and Falco twists back, frowning a bit, but she only nods encouragingly, and off he goes, running on ahead, down to the end of the pathway out of Reiner’s sight.

A strangled noise leaves his mouth as the blond slips from his view.

The woman in purple’s head snaps up at the sound, and Reiner’s entire body locks when he finally recognizes the face that searches his impassively. The white armband is covered still by her fingers, but when she pushes off the wall, it’s almost as if she bewitches him to come even closer.

And he does, his hand lifting up to reach for her. Reach for what has to be a ghost. No…

No, it can’t be. No. No, I’m seeing things, I am, I—

You lift your hand off your armband, and when his fingers meet your palm, he feels your warmth, the way your skin slides against his as he interlaces their fingers, and he chokes, entire body burning from the inside out as you fold your fingers over his palm, yank him into the shadow with enough force to unbalance him. You side-step and fling his hand off, let him crash to his hands and knees. Pain shoots up his joints and his eyes widen when he realizes his skin has scraped off on the stone.

“Hello, Reiner,” you murmur. He draws himself up, and there’s a strange lifelessness as he looks up to a face barely illuminated by light. You unbutton your jacket and crouch before him, arms on your knees. His skin steams and stitches itself back together and he swallows through a dry throat as your eyes flutter to the white wisps. There’s a raw damage lingering on your face, haunting like ghosts that should be long dead, before you blink.

Your long coat brushing the floor covers black armour, harnesses criss-crossing your legs and body. Your expression is severe, lips pressed in an impassive line, dark shadows under your eyes. The armband around your bicep is slathered in dark red, staining the symbol.

So that’s what you were hiding from Falco.

Reiner half-wonders who’s blood it is. If it’s the owner of the clothes you wear, or someone else’s entirely.

You lift your head, staring at Reiner properly for the first time in years. Clenching your jaw, you only look. You do not speak, you do not move. It’s terrifying. It reminds Reiner eerily of Captain Levi, with the same chillingly placidity, and he remembers how you used to smile so wide you’d complain your cheeks ached, how you would lean against him, clutching your gut ‘cause he made you laugh, and he had never heard a sound so perfect—

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?”

You barely move. Only tilt your head mockingly. “Probably.”

Four years has changed you into a taller, leaner, stronger soldier—and he can only soak that in. You’re…

His breath catches in his throat.

You’re beautiful.

But you’re crouching right in front of him, and you’re in danger. If Marleyans were to approach now, he’s not sure if he could lie his way out and that blood. How can he explain the blood on your sleeve?

You’d be left for dead, hanged for the crows.

The image flashes through his mind like cold dread, a trickling drip of an icicle hanging in his mind and freezing his spine.

No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you.

It is why he demands again through a hissed breath,“What are you doing here?” Why he stands up quick enough that their heads nearly collide, and you straighten up as well, smoothly running your hands over your coat.

You only look at him deftly as if he is as inconsequential to you as a roach. You don’t even twitch as his hand reaches forward, fighting through the searing ache in his chest. “You need to leave. You shouldn’t be here. I can smuggle you back to the port and take you home, I—.”

Your stare paralyzes him and his hand falters. “I don’t take orders from you. You are not my commanding officer, and I do not need you to tell me what I need.” Your fingers dig into the bloody armband at your bicep and Reiner’s eyes widen as you tear it off, planting it on his chest hard enough his lungs spasm and he lets out a sharp breath. Your fingers spread out over his chest, you step closer. “I don’t need you to save me. Not from Marley. Not from myself. And not from you.”

His hand comes to cover yours, but you slip out before he can touch you, and he’s left with an armband in his palm. Clutching it in a tight fist, he stares down at it for a moment before shoving it in his pocket and turning around.

Your name comes out of him without even thinking as you walk past him, and it must still hold something because you pause, head turning slightly to look at him. “I want to explain myself,” he chokes out, and the corner of your mouth curls into a hollow smile. “Please.”

“Follow me, Reiner,” you order softly, and without question, he falls half a step behind you, eyes trained on the ground. His head is swimming at your presence, and his knees are gummy, stomach convulsing as he tries to come up with what to say. Or maybe, what to say first. He’s had four years to come up with a proper way to say it, and he reaches for his breast pocket, where the letters he’s folded away rest, with shaking hands.

“Please…”

“I don’t know what you think begging will get you.” Something stony falls upon your face. “I’ve had four years to get over the fact that you used me. Now, I think I just don’t care anymore. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I don’t know if it’ll be the truth. You’ve had no problem lying to me before in the past.”

“That’s not true.” He doesn’t know to which part of what you said he means. The last part, every part. “I never lied about how I felt about you.”

“Right. Like I wasn’t just some pawn on your chessboard. Some lonely girl you could use to entertain yourself.” Your pace doesn’t slow, but your tone is laced with anguish you try so hard to cover. “At least Bertholdt had the courage to look me in the face and tell me he was going to kill me.” You stop by a crate, labelled as supplies for the play. Maybe they contain masks, or costumes, and Reiner stops, his shoes skidding against the stone as you reach into your coat.

Pulling out a knife, you wedge it into the crate and pry the lid off and Reiner’s entire body numbs when ODM gear gleams in the straw. It looks refashioned, sleeker, and in two parts, and he catches your hand reaching for the harness.

Weapons, here.

You aren’t stupid enough to take on Marley on your own, which can only mean—

Shit, shit, shit.

Dread trickles through his body.

“What are you two doing—Oh, Vice Chief Braun!” You slam the lid shut and press your left arm flush against Reiner’s body, covering it up as someone on their right approaches. Your hand tightens around the knife still wedged between the lid, and Reiner sets a hand on your shoulder, dragging you so he can cover you up better and as a warning.

Don’t do it. You’re stiff against him despite the easy expression on your face, and he sets a harsh glare on the intruder. Let go of that blade. Your entire body is rigid with a hot energy he doesn’t recognize as your fingers only tighten around the hilt. Don’t do it—

“Sorry to interrupt, but those are one of the crates we need for the play. It contains some costumes—“

The performer looks stricken as you flash him an easy smile and Reiner’s blood freezes when the stranger seems to blush, voice fading.

“I actually work with Lord Tybur,” you explain easily with a tiny laugh, betraying the strength in your fist. “He wants to inspect it briefly before I return it. I think it contains the Helos costume? Gotta make sure every detail’s to his liking!” Your tone, innocent and cheery, floats through the distant sound of the crowd, and Reiner only stares at the performer who seems to shrink in his skin. Your fingers twitch when he hesitates.

“Oh, of course.” He scratches the back of his head, and you give him a gracious nod before he’s walking away.

You watch him go, and Reiner feels the way the air shifts when your smile fades away as soon as it came. You step away from him, loosening the knife from the crate. His hands burn as he reaches for your shoulder again, but you jerk back.

“You know,” you begin quietly, staring at the lid, “all this time, I thought I had actually found people again, you know. I thought you actually cared about me, but really, I realized all you’ve ever done is lie. Even after everything. Even after Marco died, and I told you how I felt about you, you just kept lying. Lying and painting yourself to be a knight in shining armour.”

“I tried—I tried to stop myself from caring about you,” he whispers raggedly, hands rolling into fists tight enough that his nails dig into his flesh, “but it happened anyway. That part of who I was was never a lie.”

“So you never saw me as someone you needed to protect? As this poor, lonely girl who loved you? Who fed your ego and—”

“Of course I wanted to protect you! I loved you, too!” he snaps and distantly, he recognizes this is the first time they’ve ever confessed that what they had… that it was somehow real and too good for him. It nearly makes him shatter. “How could I—“ He closes his eyes, teeth gritting as the flames inside him roar, consuming his heart. “How could I just stand back and watch you get hurt by the consequences of my actions? It’s because of me you were forced to leave the farm, leave that girl. Because of me you knew Marco and Mina and Thomas. You could have been so much happier if you never met any of us—I knew that—I just thought I could somehow—”

“Happier if I never met you,” you echo blankly before nodding to yourself. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.” He flinches but you continue on, “In the end, it doesn’t matter, though. I’ve learned to not let the what ifs haunt me, because my time with you… it still means everything to me.” You shake your head. “That’s the truth. You dropped a building on me and broke my bones. Truth. You left me alone in those walls with Bertholdt dead and Annie comatose, and you did so knowing you are the last damn person I’ve got that I’d kill for. Truth.”

Reiner’s eyes widen as your words sink into his skin like a vicious poison.

So that’s it then. Bertholdt is dead and Annie… Annie’s still alive?

You don’t give him a moment’s breath to ask as you take a step forward. On reflex, he steps back, hands raising, and your eyes flash to his palms. One wrong move, and a Titan will overtake the square. He’s sure he can read the thought in your eyes, but when you look at him again, he only sees cold indifference.

“You nearly killed me, Reiner. So tell me…”

Metal flashes and a breath stalls in his throat as a cold knifepoint digs into the bump along his throat. It bobs when he swallows, lips parted, and you meet his eyes, every inch of agony he’s forced upon you glaring back at him reforged.

“Why shouldn’t I repay the favour?”

His breath stalls, and he looks down at your fingers, wrapped tight around the hilt, nearly shaking. He doesn’t know if it’s because you hold the weapon that tightly, or if you’re just as afraid as he is.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

“Do it, then,” he whispers. “I’m the reason this all happened.”

Your eyes, wide, search his beseechingly and his heart crumbles to dust. Even after all this time, you still hesitate. Why? Because you think he’ll come back? That he’s… redeemable somehow?

Reiner envies that—he wants to believe that there is still good. But there isn’t. He knows it.

“I have a thousand questions,” you murmur achingly, as if the words are wrenched from your throat. “Over the years, I’ve tried to come up with some incomprehensible list. I couldn’t decide which was the one I wanted answered the most, but I thought why did it matter? After all, it wasn’t like I’d ever see you again. But here I am, now.”

As you lower the knife, the tip of the blade scratches his skin, light enough only to leave a white trail until it falls away, just like when he held you at blade-point four years ago, the tip of a sword digging into your sternum.

How poetic that he finds himself here, his life in your hands. This is your retribution, he supposes, and your mercy, fighting for control of your arm, but you sheathe your knife again with a sharp, smooth thrust at your hip. There’s a soft scrape before you set your hands atop the lid, sighing softly.

A terrifying glint lives in your eyes as you smile at him faintly, and hoist the crate into your arms.

“So, Reiner.” You tilt your head, gesturing for him to follow you down the pathway to a set of stairs that must lead to a deeper cellar. Somewhere he can’t transform in. Smart. You always were, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d never hurt you again, especially when he’s already done so much to prove that his words are empty. Yet, nothing is more important than protecting you, and Gabi, and Falco, but— “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

You flip a page. The day’s labour has you sweating into your harness, but all you want to do is just finish this damn chapter. Pulling carts out of mud like a damn mule wasn’t fun, but at least it had you busy. But, God, did you just want to relax for an eternity now.

Even after four years, you’d think your body would grow accustom, but every day, something new tests you.

“Hello?” a voice by your door calls and you look up from your book, smiling automatically at the kid peering into your room. He’s one of the younger orphans who didn’t come from the immediate wreckage of the fall of Trost but rather just a few months ago, you had found him in the woods, walking away from one of the smaller settlements.

You don’t ask, let him come and tell you more, and although you know his name, you know it’s hard for him to talk about anything else.

What you do know is that he is one that still climbs into your bed when there’s a thunderstorm, and that he’s a sweet, yet studious child with a knack for trouble when the girls invite him to hang out with them.

That doesn’t mean he’s any less attached. He’s probably the one who clings to you the most, and you get up, closing your book. Setting it down on the nightstand, you crouch in front of him and pat his head.

“Hi,” he says again.

“What’s going on, Xavier?” His red hair is still damp. He must’ve just taken his bath and he shrinks under your hand, probably to protect the clean smell clinging to his skin and locks. Lifting your hand amusedly, you tap his nose. He breaks out into a gap smile.

He lost his tooth just three days ago, and you remember how proud he was, bursting into the fields during study period to show you as you untied the horses from the plow.

“There’s a man who wants to see you.”

“A man?” You frown, looking over his shoulder. Placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, you pull him into your room, out of the way of the door. “Did he say what his name was? Or if he was military?” The kids know the military insignias. Praying silently to yourself, you glance uneasily at your nightstand where a gun is hidden in the drawer. You could probably arm yourself in time. Xavier tugs at your ear. You look back at him, eyebrows creasing as you glance over his shoulder.

“He said his name was Jean and that you would know who he was. He’s waiting outside.”

“Jean?” you repeat sharply, standing. Xavier flinches, looking up at you, and you scoop him up before heading to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer and grabbing the gun. Arms worm around your neck, and you squeeze the child closer to yourself as you quietly slip out into the hallway, towards where the other kids’ room is.

“Girls, close the door and lock it,” you order quietly, as you walk into the . The two sisters—Alina and Anya who share the room—look up from whatever they’re doing, and Anya gets up from her bed, but you merely send her a warning look as you “Everything’s okay. Anya’s in charge until I get back.”

She nods, and you set Xavier down but he doesn’t let go of your neck, hugging you tight to him. Letting out a strangled sigh, you slowly pull him away, cupping his face. Your heart is slow, steady, and you take a measured breath as Alina glances out the window that is right over their desk.

“I’ll be okay. I want to make sure we’re safe.” His eyes flicker over your face and you nod reassuringly. “You know what to do. Listen to Anya, alright? Try to get some sleep.” The redheaded boy nods and you stroke his cheek with a thumb before he scampers towards Anya’s bed. You stand.

You leave the room, shut it behind you as Alina draws the curtains shut, and your mind is thrumming with ideas of who it could be.

Entering the kitchen, you head to the porch with a quick glance at the window. There’s a figure leaning against the fence, back to you, and your fingers around your gun tighten. Draped in dark fabric and ash-brown hair shining in the oil lamps hanging on the porch, you can’t make out a face as you step into the bracing night.

“What do you want?”

The figure jolts to his feet, turning around. Edges dulled by the night, you can barely make out his features until he steps into the light, and your finger pad taps the trigger when brown eyes meet yours. Heart lurching, everything rushes back to you and you manage to control the sharp inhale, tempering it into a slow and steady breath that swells up in your lungs.

“It’s been a while,” he comments idly, and you swallow through the hard knot in your throat. Eyes flicking to the gun in your hand, the small smile that had been curving his lips drops away. “You’re a hard person to track.”

“How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy, but Captain Levi saw that some of us were getting desperate.”

Four years.

Four years since you’ve seen any of them except Captain Levi, who only visits to make sure you haven’t been raided by bandits and killed in the months between his check-ins.

In that time, seasons have changed, you’ve sprained your shoulder, it healed; you’ve been thrown off a horse, and gotten back up. You had a period where you would write letters every waking second you were left alone in your room, debating whether or not you should destroy them or send them just for the sake of feeling like you had someone again.

All those letters are still wedged in a box under your bed, so there’s that answer.

Jean stands at the bottom of your porch and you nod, gesturing for him to come in. Your heart plummets as you do so. You don’t know why Jean even bothered.

He closes the door behind you, and you set the gun on the dining table before moving towards the stove, and you ask him if he wants any tea, gracious host that you are. He shrugs and you begin to boil some water. It’ll give you time to look him over as he sits down.

He’s grown the beginnings of a beard since you last saw him. And he’s taller. Way taller than you remember. He’s gotten more muscle, holds himself differently, he’s… still Jean, in all respects, but he’s…

Tired.

You’re sure that’s one word you’re looking for.

Migrating to the hearth, you wonder if he’s doing the same to you. Studying you like you’re a stranger.

You start a fire, feeding it freshly chopped firewood from the day before and stoking it before letting it feast.

You never liked doing that before. Swinging an axe down on wood, watching it split. Now, it’s the only time you get alone to your thoughts. You don’t have to focus on chopping wood. All you have to do is swing an axe until it’s nothing more than muscle memory. You can just… be.

Maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s why Reiner liked doing it.

You sigh, and grab the iron poker, keeping an eye on the stove. You don’t know if Jean wants to skip the small talk. You do, but mostly because you don’t like it when your old life comes into your new one. You can make yourself believe you can’t go back when no one’s here to remind you, and that the guilt won’t gnaw you until you’re only bones.

Absently, you remember Bertholdt used to like small talk—Jean seems less so.

“I have news. I don’t know if you want to hear it, but you’re still military.”

“Not labelled a deserter, yet?” you inquire dryly. Everything is moving so slowly around you, yet so quickly. It’s a terrible sensation. “I feel honoured.”

“Let’s cut the shit, alright. What the hell are you doing here?”

“No idea.”

“You disappeared! No one had seen you in weeks—we thought you were dead until the captain came back with strict orders not to look for you, but do you know how ominous that sounds?” Something bites at your gut as you stare into the flames, and Jean shoots to his feet, chair scraping against the wooden floor. “You were our friend!”

His words sink into your shoulders, but you only blink, staring into the growing hearth.

“Don’t you care? You left!”

“I don’t regret it. It’s not like I’m begging to become a Scout again,” you murmur, looking over your shoulder at him. A sort of tiredness pulls at your eyes, and you stand up again, walking around the table. “I don’t know what you want from me, Jean. You came to me first.”

“I want you to care. I want you to come back and fight. Aren’t you remotely interested in what’s going on?”

“I know we have a train, now.” The pot begins to boil and you move towards it, taking out a tin and small metal spoon. “Historia is doing well as queen. At least, that’s what people are saying. She’s expecting. If you ever see her, tell her I’m happy for her.” Scooping leaves into the teapot, you pour the boiling water into the porcelain and let it steep.

Turning back around, your eyebrows rise when you see Jean has walked around the table. There’s not even a metre between them as he tosses something at you. Catching it, you realize it’s a rolled up newspaper and your heart drops. At his nod, you pry it open and read the contents, fingertips brushing over two rectangular slips of paper within stating a time and terminal.

“What is this?”

“Eren’s gone to Marley by himself. Probably to do something stupid. I have two tickets to go and rescue his scrawny ass.”

“And?” Dread knots at your stomach as Jean closes his eyes, exhaling softly. Pleading, then: “Jean, don’t.”

“You’re the least compromised out of all of us. None of the volunteers would recognize you or would have been able to relay information about you if they have allies back in Marley, and despite everything, I still trust you. Which is more than I can say for Yelena and the others.” You snap the paper shut and toss it onto the table. Shaking your head to yourself, you walk away from him, but Jean only grabs your arm. “You still have a duty to our nation.”

“Don’t try to plead to my sense of national pride,” you shoot back coolly. “I have other responsibilities.”

“What, like tending to wheat?”

“Everyone wants to kill us, so yes, tending to wheat.”

“If we don’t find Eren, they will kill us. He’s our one chance of getting out of this mess alive. As crazy as he is, he’s our one ticket to freedom and we need to find him.”

Turning around to face him, you pull your arm free of his grasp. The lantern hanging is glaringly bright, and something knots in your throat at Jean’s somber expression.

“I fought for our freedom and you know what I realized? There will always be more people out there who want to take that away from us.” You wish you could sound passionate, but you just sound rough and tired. The bite tastes different. “First, it was Titans, then, it was the people we called our friends. Do you think that we’ll ever be free? That we’ll be able to live without a sword above our necks. Levi told me we’re devils in everyone else’s eyes. What’s it matter?”

“Because we aren’t what they say we are. If you lay down and show your belly, why did you become a soldier in the first place?” You jerk back and Jean leans against the table, crossing his arms. “I thought you fought for a dream. Something. Anything.”

“I thought I did, too. I’m just…” A hissing breath, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, turning away. Images of the lake back from their cadet years flash in your head. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Tired?” he repeats icily. “You think the rest of us aren’t tired? We all haven’t had the luxury to sit down on a farm and escape all our responsibilities.”

Head snapping up, your eyes find cold brown chips staring back. Bitterly, you grit out, “Excuse me?”

“Do you think there’s a day that goes by where I think about Marco and how I wasn’t there for him? We all lost someone. You’re not the only person who’s had to go through it. We’re all guilty of something, but at least, I didn’t give up! At least, some of us decided to do something about it!”

“Shut up!” A hand flies through the air but he catches your wrist and twists, pinning you down to the table. Another hand slams your other hand into the wood and you grunt as Jean wedges himself between your legs to stop you from kicking him. Eyes burning, you stare up into the face of your friend and in that moment, the sorrow overflowing spills into your chest as if you are a well and he is the flood.

He sinks, elbows clacking against the table as he bows his head. His breath is rushed, cool against your face, and you search his features before uttering out a quiet, “Why did you really come here, Jean?”

His eyes widening, his hands loosen. You try to suck your tears back in, but your eyes are burning so intensely you have to let them fall anyway just as there’s a sharp gasp. Jean looks up before he jerks back as if you’ve really slapped him. Sitting up, you twist to look at the doorframe, and your heart drops into your gut when you see a redheaded boy, eyes shining with tears.

“What are you doing?” he cries, and you immediately launch yourself off the table, crossing the distance towards him as Anya appears over his shoulder, helpless. The brunette girl’s guilt punches through you and you lift Xavier up into your arms, hugging him tight before wrapping another arm around the girl and poking your head into the hall.

Alina’s figure is a mere shadow at the end of the hall, and you sigh, gesturing for her to come. Taking off at a sprint, she charges down the hall and you bury your nose in Anya’s hair just as another body slams into you, latching onto your waist. You close your eyes as Xavier tries to snuggle even deeper into your neck.

“I’m okay,” you keep repeating. “Just a heat of the moment thing. I promise, he’s not here to hurt us. I promise.”

“Are you okay?” Anya murmurs, and you look down. The eldest girl’s pulled her head back to look at you. Her eyes are narrowed, perceptive as always, and her lips are upturned into a faint scowl. You smile faintly, running a hand over her head.

“I will be. Why don’t you take them back to your room?” you advise, and her eyes wander from you to Jean again. Catching it, you brush your thumb along her temple soothingly. “Go.” Reluctantly, she lets go of you and turns to Alina who still latches onto you like a parasite, but you rest a palm atop her head. “Alina.”

A sniff, and then she steps back, rubbing at her face. Her older sister takes her shoulders, easing her away and you crouch down as Xavier silently grabs onto your shirt tighter in his tiny fists.

“Xavier,” you soothe. “I’ll be back in just a moment, okay?” You tilt your head. “I promise.” Wiping at his tears, you wait for him to let go of your shirt on his own accord, and when he does, you brush his hair back from his brow and plant a kiss on his forehead. Anya calls his name softly down the hall, and he lingers for a moment more before walking away, head still over his shoulder so he can watch.

You stay crouched until he’s gone and then you let out a soft exhale, head dropping, eyes closing.

“We need you more than you probably need us,” Jean acknowledges quietly, and your eyes open again to look at him. He’s straightened himself up, watching you with softer eyes. He visibly swallows, and you wonder if it’s pity or jealousy in his eyes. “But, we’re outnumbered in trusted senior officers in the Survey Corps. You’re one of them.”

Quietly: “I shouldn’t be.”

He falters for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose not.” He grabs the newspaper again. “But somehow, you are. If Captain Levi trusts you, then so do I. Bertholdt is dead. Annie’s a frozen log in a basement somewhere, and Reiner’s still alive. So are you.” He extends the paper to you. “This is what guilt got us. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Then, how about we go back to my hometown? There’s water nearby. We can go in the afternoons, eat all this food you’ve never had before.”

You haven’t seen a lake in who knows how long. Not since your cadet years, it feels like. Your heart yearns for the blue expanses, to plunge into the cold depths and gasp at how cold it is. You thought you’d given that up, but just there mere thought of it sends your mind spiralling into the images you’ve dreamed of since you were a child.

“Regret begets regret—don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You know you’ll never forgive yourself if you never take the chance to see him again. Heart peeling in your chest, you grab the newspaper from him.

“They call it the sea, don’t they?” you finally ask. Jean nods. “A lot of water and there’s… there’s animals in there.”

“Yeah. They live in this salty water and… they eat seafood a lot in Marley. I don’t know if you know.”

“Reiner might’ve mentioned it before,” you say. You look down at the newspaper in your tight fist and swallow. All at once, one door closes and another opens, and you look at Jean, the date and time of the ship already burned into your memory. “He said he thought I’d like it. I guess I’ll keep that in mind when we go.”

Jean’s eyes widen as you hand the paper back to him, your palm scalding as you shove the ticket into your pocket. He says your name softly, but you only hold your hand up, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’ll meet you there, I promise.” You turn towards the shadows of the hall. In the silence of the night, you hear the hushed whispers of the children you’ve dedicated your life to and your heart disintegrates in your chest. “I just… I need some time to figure everything out.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Jean’s feet shift along the floor. You look over your shoulder for a moment to find his eyes on you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you reply. “Feel free to stay the night. It’s already late.” He nods, and you flash him the weakest smile.

Then, you walk down the hall to your children. You have a lot of explaining to do.

You stubbornly try to ignore the tears tracing down your face as you reach into the compartment on your pants containing the letters. Reaching for it, you pull it out and crack it open, wondering if it’s even possible to bring yourself to read it.

“It’s not your last question,” Reiner had noted warily as they stood at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah. I guess we have to put a rain check this time.” You had set the box down, looking at him. You couldn’t recall feeling so warm, so empty. So convinced that there was something wrong with how much you still felt for him. “One more question, then?”

A nod, almost hungry for it. “Please.”

“Did you really, really love me?”

The gentlest of sighs, his warm yellow eyes. He had reached out for you, then second guessed, and reached for his breast pocket instead, extending the tin to you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

The entire cabin is quiet as you stare at the ring nestled at the bottom, atop the stack of letters that are wrinkled and must’ve been refolded so many times it’s begun to permanently crease in multiple lines.

No one’s dared to speak since Sasha died and you look up at the others before back down at the ring again before pinching it between your fingers and lifting it to eye level. You’re not sure what it means to hold it, but you gently close the tin with your other hand, feeling it click shut, and slide it back into your pocket.

The band is silver, rather simple, but it’s pretty, too, in a refined sort of way. There aren’t any gems, but there are simple engravings, lines that curve the metal, causing ripples along the surface and, without thinking, you stretch out your left hand in front of you, trying to gauge which one it’ll fit the best.

Sombrely, you slide it down your ring finger, and let it sit there, lowering your hands and curling them into fists and raising your shoulder, hearing a bone crack.

You’re exhausted.

The ODM gear feels strange on your body. It’d been a crash course to get you familiarized with the updates, and you hook a thumb on the strap on your rib cage before glancing at the others. Connie sits with Mikasa and Armin, and Jean is at the back by himself, rubbing at his face hard enough that his skin is beginning to turn red.

You don’t know what to say.

What is there to say? Four years have left you strangely numb.

Jean’s lips pull back into a vicious snarl and his head snaps up to find you looking. Then, everything seems to soften, and he looks away sharply, almost as if to hide his tears.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead, you walk on to the back of the ship, past him, where the prisoners are being held, and you open the door without a noise, first noticing the blond boy. Falco. He looks up at your entrance, eyes wide, and you give him a slight smile as you close the door.

You wish you could hate children for the part they played in killing your friend, but in this moment, you just feel nothing. Not even sadness. You had seen what Marley’s done in the friends you’ve lost.

“Hello, Falco.”

“You lied to me,” he whispers. “You and Mister Kruger—Eren,” he corrects himself. “You used me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” you tell him, looking at the walls. It seems like a supply area, and you grab the bucket and rag that’s been left by whoever checked in on them last. There’s a few clean rags and you walk up to them, crouching before the blond first. He seems to flinch back and the brown-haired girl lunges at you.

You have no problem pushing her aside and pinning her down.

“Don’t touch him!” she yells. “You don’t get to touch him!”

“Calm down,” you tell her calmly. “I’m not going to hurt him, and you are in no position to be making demands at me after you killed my friend.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re a devil. So was she!” she spits as you slowly wet the rag and dab at the blood cracking underneath Falco’s nose. It’s clear whoever was here before only used the bucket and rag as a taunt. Probably telling them they could piss in here if they wanted. A coy coil of disgust wraps around your gut. “Don’t touch him. You’re tainted! You give all of us a bad name!”

Your nose wrinkles as the girl squirms under your hand and you let go of her. Cupping Falco’s face, you continue to wipe at his cheek. The water is cold. You hope it soothes what must be a flaring face.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs dully. Exhausted eyes find yours. “Why?”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea why kids are suddenly soldiers in an adult’s war.” You reach to rinse the rag. Dipping it in water, you begin to wring it out when suddenly, there’s a sharp gasp, and you turn to look at the other child—Gabi. She stares at your hands, eyes wide enough a ring of white is around her irises and you frown. “What?��

“Where did you get that ring?” she asks, voice shaking, and you look down at your hands. “That’s… that’s Reiner’s ring. Where did you get it?” You don’t answer, simply stare at her for a moment, and her breath comes out quivering. “He doesn’t let anyone know he has it. It’s for someone special. That’s—he wouldn’t even tell me. He doesn’t know I saw him with it. He… he —it’s supposed to be for someone!”

“Gabi—“ Falco grabs her arms as you regard her softly, and you have just an idea of what’s going in her head as she points at you. “Gabi, calm down—“

“Why do you have it?” she demands ferociously. “It’s not yours! Give it back!” You drop the rag back into the water, and sit back, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your arms atop of them lazily as tears begin to trace down the child’s face. “It didn’t even cost that much! You won’t be able to sell it to, you know! Give it!”

“Gabi!”

“You have no idea what that means to him!“

“Stop—“

“You spawn! You devil woman!”

“Are you done?” you ask her quietly, fingers twisting the ring and Gabi inhales raggedly as you look at her flatly. Her eyes widen even more if possible, and she allows Falco to pull her back. Her wet gasps fill the silence and you swallow, tilting your head at your hands. “If you really want to know, I don’t really have an idea why I’m wearing it.” You sigh, dropping your hands and letting your head fall forward. “As for how I got it, if you ever see Reiner again, why don’t you ask him?”

Falco’s eyes widen as you look up and finding him staring at you with a strange scrutiny, and your eyebrows furrow as he lets go of Gabi and straightens up from where he’s sitting.

“Mister Braun didn’t even hear what I said when he saw you,” he murmurs, brow furrowing. “Like he’d just seen a ghost. You and…” He struggles for words, voice unsteady. “Eren said you guys were all old friends. But… but, if he gave you the ring—“

“Shut up, Falco!” Gabi beseeches, grabbing his arm, but Falco only stares at you. “Are you even hearing what you’re saying? You’re accusing my cousin of treason! He wouldn’t!”

“He stayed with you for so long,” he continues, as if in a trance. “Even Eren wondered what was taking so long. He… called it a lover’s quarrel. You…”

“I think you two should get some rest,” you interrupt, pushing yourself to your feet and ignoring the smokey feeling clogging up your chest as tears slip down Gabi’s face and Falco’s face pales at your blatant dismissal. “It’s going to be a few hours until we land, roughly. You’ll want to get used to being somewhere warm before they transfer you to some sort of prison. It’ll be a lot colder there.”

Taking the bucket and the rag, you return it back to its spot before walking out the room and closing the door shut behind you.

You find the spot you once were standing at now occupied with Floch and his comrades, and then you turn your head to see Jean still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression burning the metal floor.

You amble over to him without a word and lean in beside him, sinking to the floor.

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