#but the second he lays eyes on the knight? knowing they’re carrying his child?? immediate tears

[wyvernne]

what's your most On the Brain vampluc thought 👀

GOD lately i’ve been thinking about pre-frwad diluc just… pining and being an absolute mess over his feelings for the holy knight. he wants to dislike them and push them away but knows he’s lost that battle from the moment they met.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Obi-Wan has scheduled pack-bonding time. Obi-Wan also has a lot of work to do, not that Anakin and Ahsoka care. Or, pack bonding with the disaster lineage in the middle of a galactic war. AN: Happy ABO stuff with way too much background worldbuilding

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whined. “Are you done?”

“Almost. I just need to-“ Before Obi-Wan could finish filing his report or speak his sentence, he was pulled from his desk and landed promptly in his bed where the rest of his pack was already waiting.

“-finish my report. Honestly, Anakin. Couldn’t you wait five more minutes?”

The blond Knight in question didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed or repentant for the blatant misuse of the Force. Instead, Anakin only hummed, pleased Obi-Wan was here now and nuzzled his neck. Obi-Wan supposed he should consider himself lucky that Anakin hadn’t dragged him away from his own ship, but was comfortable enough in Obi-Wan’s room. Then again, he might also just enjoy that this was Obi-Wan’s space. For all that Anakin was overly possessive when it came to his pack, he wasn’t all too picky about the space he was in. He had certainly adjusted well to living on a ship, much quicker too than other Omega Jedi.

“Anakin, I have work to do,” Obi-Wan said, a weak attempt at getting back to his desk. He already knew he wouldn’t stand up again. He’d missed his pack. He wanted to do nothing but lay here for the next days where he could keep track of them and be assured that they were healthy and safe, but duty denied him.

“No, you don’t,” Ahsoka said from Anakin’s other side. The short Padawan was almost entirely drowning in a dark brown robe Obi-Wan was fairly sure actually belonged inside his wardrobe. Togruta were just as tactile as humans if not more and Ahsoka had very much latched onto Anakin’s demands concerning pack-bonding. They were good for each other and Obi-Wan was glad Anakin had another person to fuss over. Getting Anakin to settle a little more by dumping an Initiate without a pack in front of him might have been a little underhand, Mace had certainly disapproved, but nobody could deny the result. Obi-Wan supposed he’d feel ashamed about it if Ahsoka hadn’t fit perfectly into their bonds.

“I do,” Obi-Wan sighed. “The Council-“

“Sent us here, Obi-Wan.” Anakin rolled his eyes and grabbed yet another blanket. Obi-Wan didn’t even own that many, had Anakin brought them all with him? It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if Anakin had enlisted a couple of his Troopers helping him carry half a nest here. While Jedi, with the wonderful exception of Anakin, generally speaking built their nests on their own, it was very much a communal activity for the clones. Anakin had been downright delighted when he’d learned that.

“They’re not gonna expect you to be 100% available when you have gotten a scheduled pack-bonding time,” Anakin said. “Do you know how often the other packs get to see each other?”

Yes, Obi-Wan did know and he always felt a little guilty when reminded, but he couldn’t afford downtime. He was on the Council and in charge of a rather huge portion of the war effort. Any personal needs and wants had to be pushed to the back of his mind. He couldn’t be so selfish and put his own life above the millions he was sworn to protect. In moments like this Obi-Wan wished they’d have gotten more time to prepare for the war, perhaps then the long separations from the rest of his pack would have been easier to deal with.

Anakin’s Knighting had come too early. His entire generation should be able to enjoy a couple more years as Padawans and get a proper transitional period instead of being forcibly pushed into the position of General. Obi-Wan had already done plenty of solo missions without Qui-Gon before his sudden Knighting and he wasn’t sure if he would have dealt as well with the sudden separation if not for them. Anakin had adapted quickly at least, but he’d always been self-sufficient when put into life-or-death situations. He didn’t necessarily always made the smartest or least dangerous choices, but he trusted the Force and prevailed. This unshaken trust was hopefully something he passed on to Ahsoka. She was much too young for the horrors they were forced to put her through.

“I’m sorry, dear one,” Obi-Wan finally admitted defeat. “I’ll try to do better in the future.”

Anakin smiled, happy and unburdened in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t seen in a while. “Good.”

Seeing that he now didn’t have to hold up the pretense anymore, Obi-Wan gave in to his instincts. He let himself enjoy having Anakin and Ahsoka by his side again. Truthfully, they hadn’t had much time together outside of the battlefield and mission briefings. Back in the temple, they hadn’t even gotten Ahsoka settled properly. They should have had time to move her out of the Initiate room and into their small apartment or rooms actually meant to house more than two people. Right now her belongings were still stuck in boxes or haphazardly thrown into their wardrobes somewhere. Ahsoka didn’t even have a bed. He supposed they could give her Anakin’s, he never slept in there anyway nowadays, preferring to crawl into Obi-Wan’s bed, but Anakin’s entire room was basically a danger zone on his own. Her room on the Resolute was probably more a home to her than their apartment back in the Temple.

“Since we’ll be here a little longer,” Obi-Wan began to say, amusement coloring his voice as Anakin’s eyes lit up. “Give me your Padawan.”

Anakin laughed and reached over for Ahsoka, who promptly squealed in protest. “Master!”

“Nu-hu, no protesting,” Anakin replied and dumped Ahsoka in Obi-Wan’s lap.

Ahsoka crossed her arms and pouted, but when Obi-Wan began checking her for injuries, she leaned into his touch.

“I’m fine,” Ahsoka insisted. “No need to go all Alpha on me.”

Obi-Wan only hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t stop reassuring himself that she was alright.

“Hush, little one, you benefit from it,” Anakin said next to him.

“You’re only saying that because you’re not being manhandled,” Ahsoka argued.

“Yet,” Anakin added and Obi-Wan found himself nodding along with that sentiment. Ahsoka was a child, of course he had to check her first. And as reckless as Anakin could be, Obi-Wan did trust his mate. When he was done, he didn’t bother to move Ahsoka away from him as Anakin pressed himself into Obi-Wan’s side, a low whine escaping his throat.

Anakin was clingy, much more than usual. Obi-Wan frowned and pulled Anakin closer while Ahsoka used that opportunity to crawl out of Obi-Wan’s lap and drop herself across her Master’s instead. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at her antics, but let her be, focusing on Anakin instead. He hadn’t noticed it immediately, it had been a couple weeks after all, but Anakin’s scent was off. The usual scent of burning embers was followed by something quite sweet, but nothing that reminded Obi-Wan of a heat.

“Anakin, when was your last heat?”

The silence that followed was answer enough. Obi-Wan groaned and wished not for the first time that Anakin still had his Padawan braid so he could tug at it.

“You’re taking suppressants again! You know how dangerous they are-”

“I’ve not been taking any suppressants!” Anakin protested. “I just haven’t had a heat since Snips-“

Anakin trailed off and turned to look at his Padawan. Over their bond, Obi-Wan could feel the moment when the realization settled in and just a few seconds later, Obi-Wan had figured it out as well. Anakin sighed and buried his face in Ahsoka’s neck, deeply inhaling her scent.

“The Council’s gonna kill me,” Anakin muttered, confirmation all but clear now.

Obi-Wan could tell he was troubled, worried by how they would react. Going by the way Ahsoka was looking at him, she could likely feel it as well.

“You’re hardly the first Master who has had to update their file since the war began,” Obi-Wan said, attempting to calm Anakin. There had only been two cases so far with older Masters and Padawans about Ahsoka’s age and they had been pretty much covered up. Nobody had thrown too much of a fuss about it, they couldn’t afford it, but the two also weren’t Anakin Skywalker, the public’s darling General.

“Not helping,” Anakin said. The conflict was clearly visible on his face, but Obi-Wan was relieved to see that there was no regret. The worst thing that could happen now was that Anakin would reject the bond.

“Could somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Ahsoka finally spoke up.

She looked at them both with narrowed eyes, suspicion spilling all over her mental shield.

“Anakin’s nesting,” Obi-Wan explained over Anakin’s murmured shut up, shut up, shut up, shut-

“Nesting!?” Ahsoka sat up straight and paled. “Master, are you preg-“

“No,” Anakin interrupted her and clasped his hand over her mouth to shut her up. “No, nope, I’m not, I promise. I wouldn’t be so stupid to have a baby. Let’s not even go there. It’s because of you.”

Ahsoka attempted to say something, but her voice was muffled. She pried Anakin’s hand off before repeating her words.

“What do you mean it’s because of me? I didn’t do anything!”

Her tone wasn’t accusing, she was honestly just confused, but Obi-Wan wasn’t so sure that even got through to Anakin, as tense as he was. In an attempt at calming him, he put his right hand over Anakin’s neck. He stiffened, then he closed his eyes and relaxed, his breathing evening out as well.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said. “When do Initiates usually become Padawans?”

Ahsoka frowned at him, likely unable to follow his train of thought. Obi-Wan waited patiently for her answer.

“Uuh, shortly after they’ve presented?” Ahsoka offered after a moment. “So roughly around the ages ten to thirteen of their species’ equivalent.”

“Correct,” Obi-Wan replied and watched as Ahsoka beamed. “And why do we do that?”

She was quicker to answer this time. “It’s so that a proper training bond can snap into place instead of a parent-child bond.”

Obi-Wan continued to look at her encouragingly. She was almost there, she only had to make that one final jump and she would have figured it out on her own.

“Togruta are later though,” she said slowly. “We’re 15 at youngest, but I was made a Padawan anyway because of the war…”

She stopped talking, a sure-fire sign that she was on the right track.

“And I haven’t presented yet, but I’ve bonded with Master and we use our bond frequently to communicate. I know the other Padawans don’t really do that. Is it because- oh.”

Ahsoka looked at Anakin with wide eyes, hoping he’ll affirm the conclusion she’d reached. Anakin didn’t open his eyes, but he did open up his arm, inviting Ahsoka to join his embrace. She didn’t wait another second to make herself comfortable in his arms. She rested her head against his chest curled into herself. They’d need to call the Council later, but that still had time. Instead, Obi-Wan tugged at one of the many blankets and pulled it over the three of them.

“I’m sorry, Snips,” Anakin said. “Now you’ll always be stuck with your Master in your mind.”

“It’s not like you planned this,” Ahsoka retorted, then flashed Anakin a smile that was really more fangs and wicked joy than blissful happiness. “Besides, stronger bonds are an advantage on the field. But I’m not calling you Dad, Skyguy.”

Obi-Wan snorted while Anakin just looked appalled. “Please don’t ever do that.”

Ahsoka had been pretty mischievous already when she had become a part of their pack, but the way she was smiling now was 100% Anakin’s influence and as far as Obi-Wan was concerned, he absolutely deserved to be at the receiving end of her teasing.

“On the other hand, I’m not sure,” Ahsoka mused. “It does have a certain flair and maybe the Chancellor would stop demanding your time so often if he knows you have a youngling around.”

“Ahsoka, I will assign you extra meditation if you don't shut up now.”

“But then you’ll have to meditate as well.”

Oh, yes, Obi-Wan had definitely missed their lighthearted bickering.

[crackspinewornpages]

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court 31/46 -Mark Twain

26

The king wanted to immediately go disguised as a peasant with Hank, but he reminded him his queen was here, (I see why Guenever would look at other men) but so was Launcelot, and Guenever only fretted over him. (so their relationship is an open secret to everyone but Arthur) anyway, the king talked to the clergy and there was a hermit tending to the sick, about eight hundred, some only thought something was wrong with them, others wanted to see the king or get a coin for coming. The hermit saw patients and if they were sick, passed them to the king who declared he could heal by touch, “Any mummery will cure if the patient's faith is strong in it.”p.188 Hank didn’t initially believe it but did when he saw results (power of placebo) but after three hours he was bored.

His boredom was cured when he bought a paper from a newsboy but was shocked to see the flippancy of tone over everything that happened in the valley. (and all the spelling and grammar mistakes I hope) It was a good start to journalism but he was still disappointed in the monotone, Clarence’s way was direct and business like, but not the best way. It was still good enough and he couldn’t fault their grammar as much as his own. “and one mustn’t criticize other people on grounds where he can’t stand perpendicular himself.”p.192

He wanted to read it all but the monks wanted his attention asking questions on the paper. He explains to them what a public journal is and read it to them to their astonishment. They examined the paper very carefully and Hank felt like a mother with a new baby.

27

Hank cut Arthur’s hair like a peasant (literally put a bowl over his head and gave him a bowl cut) and got common clothes to wear and they left an hour before dawn. Later, when Hank went to get water he hears voices from a traveling train and he shoots off to the king before the people could get there. He tries to get Arthur to stand up for them and reminds him he’s pretending to be a peasant with a humble attitude. (Undercover Boss royal edition) Hank took a whip lash meant for Arthur and reminds him to also keep his mouth shut as they’re unarmed.

The king kept his cool but barely and Hank thought they’re like a mischievous child and anxious mother. He thinks he should have said no and it would have been better handling a menagerie and the king hardly improved in time. On the second day Arthur reveals he brought a dirk and Hank reminds him people in their position aren't allowed weapons and persuades him to toss it. Hanks asks how he can know what he is thinking, Arthur says prophecy is greater than magic. “There are two kinds of prophecy. One is the gift to foretell things that are a little way off, the other is the gift to foretell things that are whole ages and centuries away.”p.198 Arthur says the latter is better as Merlin foretold of his birth and kingship for twenty years ahead. (so it’s so far ahead the people he told it to wont live to see it)

Hank declares all prophets have their limit, most of a hundred years, two have four hundred and six and seven hundred and twenty nothing compared to him. “My liege as clear as the vision of an eagle does fly my prophetic eye penetrates and lay bare the future of this world for nearly thirteen centuries and a half.”p.198 (and you’ll use this information to make profit) Remember the talk of him coming to the valley two days before he arrived and now Hank had a new trade and plenty of business with the king’s questions.

Everyday a knight came along and knowing the king wouldn’t keep up the façade in front of them Hank lead him away. On the third day, while resting from the whip lash, he digs in his sack, there was dynamite in case they needed a miracle, he wouldn’t trust the king to carry it. (I wouldn’t either he’s like a toddler) Then some knights came along and the king forgot himself assuming they would stand aside and Hank wondered if he ever thought it to himself. The knight ignores and almost ran him over sending Arthur into a fury, when they turned their attention to them Hank insulted them sending them to charge with their lances. Hank responded by tossing the dynamite at them leaving a crater and explained to Arthur it is a rare miracle because he has none left.

28

On the fourth day Hank figured the king has to be drilled or they won't pass in any dwelling for a peasant. Two paragraphs of calling the king too confident and showing him how to be downtrodden. (like a Monty Python skit) Now play act at being in a hut which he fails at. Hank even teaches him how to walk and what won’t or will be expected in the house, after all the training he looked little like a king. Hank went on drilling him in the lives of all sufferers and misfortunates. “But Lord, it was only just words, words-they meant nothing in the world to him,”-”words realize nothing, vivify nothing to you, unless you have suffered in your own person then thing which the words try to describe.”p.204 (so the privileged won’t care unless they also experience seriously it’s like they constantly try to cut welfare or school lunch) Others try to describe the working class and how intellectuals deserve a bigger pay when they haven't tried the other, the law of work seems fair and nothing can change it. (most people now are going into trade schools because they can’t afford college and also fuck the intellectual elite)

29

They arrive at a hut that has no sign of life, when they knock and go in a woman cries out that there is nothing left. They say they are not priests or lords and the woman tells them to run from the cursed place under the Church’s ban. Hank warns Arthur to leave as the woman is suffering from a disease that struck Camelot two years ago, but he wants to stay and help. He’s about to check upstairs when he sees the woman's husband on the floor and she tells them he’s already dead. The king comes back down with her teenage daughter also dying of smallpox.

The woman holds her and forbids Hank from saving her as the rest of the family is gone, what does she have to live for. The king tells her her sister is dead too and the woman says it’s a happy day as she’ll join them. Arthur starts to cry and the woman believes he has a wife at home and knows what poverty is. “and the daily insults of your betters, and the heavy hand of the Church and the king.”p.209  

The king winced under this but kept quiet and Hank retrieves the other dead child and lays them by her. The woman shares her tale, how all the bad things happened at once, everything they have belongs to the lord and their three sons were blamed for cutting his fruit trees and rot in the dungeon. The four of them had to harvest his crop leaving theirs to rot and constantly fined and penniless, they starved. In her delirium she blamed the Church and they all got sick and have been shunned, as she finished her tale her daughter gives a death rattle. (see how the systemic stranglehold put this family in this position then blamed them for it and did nothing to help remind you of anything in our time) 30

At night they covered the four corpses with rags and left them in their home since they couldn’t be buried in sacred ground. Hank hears steps and has them hide in the back half of the house when the three sons come home. Hanks gets Arthur to leave to not listen to them wail so close. Hank believes the boys escaped the dungeon and Arthur is troubled by his conscious since it’s duty to capture and return them. “There it was again. He could see only one side of it. He was born so, educated so,”p.213 Hank tries to change the subject and spots a fire a way off, he was also starting an insurance business and fire engines.

They went down towards it through a forest and Hank knocks into the body of a hanged man. The weather turned into a lightning storm and the king pointed out two others in the trees. In the next mile they found six more and started to hear men’s voices as they run by. (WTF are you doing get out of this forest of death) Then they found the light of the fire, a manor ablaze, and men chasing others, so they hide back in the woods watching the mob.

In the morning it quieted down and they ventured out several miles before stopping at a hut for food. The king offers to buy the house for the night and she agrees and they sleep until noon. The woman told them what happened at Abblasoure (actual name) the manor had burst into flames and people hurried to save the family except the master who was found stabbed to death. Suspicion was on the baron and that was all that was needed for the mob to kill eighteen people (that’s mob violence for you can’t find a target make one) and thirteen prisoners were lost to the fire at Abblasoure. Hank asks if the family was saved why not them and Arthur says three did escape, they were the ones that murdered the master.

Hank expected him to say that, the couple asked questions but only Hank knew they had no intention of spreading the word, so he changed the subject. “The painful thing observable about all this business was the alacrity with which this oppressed community had turned their cruel hands against their own class in the interest of the common oppressor.”p.218 (again so much can be attributed even now) the couple even seemed it right to fight the master’s fight for him without question and didn’t seem guilty for it last night. (insert your war of choice) It reminded Hank of the white southerners in his time, who only had their own condition because of slavery and still sided with their slave holders, “and did also finally shoulder their muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to prevent the destruction of that very institution which degraded them.”p.219 the only redeeming feature was they secretly did detest the slave holder, (have you seen Texas text books they describe the slave trade as immigration) it being there was enough and these people are just like them.

Arthur still wanted to chase the brothers, the couple turned white and will show them the way they think they went. Quietly Hank asks their relation to the brothers and claims it’s his duty, they let them get away since they did a righteous deed, to gain their trust. He tells them it was devil’s work last night and the baron got what he deserved. The man assumes he’s a spy, he did hang his neighbors to preserve his own life from lack of zeal and is glad the master is dead. There was proof of what Hank thought, enough to make a republic of even the most degraded people like the Russians and Germans (this was written before the 1900s I’m sure Twain would write a whole nother book if he knew what was coming) if one could force it out of timidness to overthrow the throne. “We should see certain things yet, let us hope and believe.”p.221 first to modify the monarchy until Arthur dies then abolish nobility introduce them to trade and democracy, (universal suffrage) yes, he could still have his dream.

NEXT

[darthdestiny07]

FE3H Half-Sister AU (Again)

Based off this.

Warning! Obvious Spoilers for Crimson Flower, Azure Moon, and Silver Snow Routes! Consider yourself warned and proceed at your own risk.

It was supposed to be a peaceful visit. Her father and brother were in the carriage ahead of them. As soon as they stopped, something happened and familiar and comforting arms wrapped around her waist.

"It's going to be fine, my darling. We'll see El soon."

Soldiers around them sprang forward, pulling out their weapons. She saw Glenn rush forward, a look of terror warping his face.

"Mother?" she asked quietly.

"Don't worry, Nia. You're safe with me." Her mother kissed her head, her lips brushing the child’s golden hair, but it did little to comfort the girl.

A familiar scream split the air, and Nia's heart nearly stopped. That was her brother! "FATHER!!!" The anguish in his voice made her blood turn cold. What had happened to their father?!

She broke free of her mother's embrace, hoping to see what happened. As she attempted to look out the carriage window, an unfamiliar face appeared. Nia scrambled back as he opened the door, brandishing a knife.

"What are you doing? We can't fight! Leave at once!" The order seemed to fall on deaf ears, as the man swung at her mother. She dodged his initial attack, lunging at him and struggling to take the sharp weapon from him.

Her mother looked back at her, her violet eyes wide with terror. "Trust nobody from the empire or kingdom, Aniya! Run!!!"

Terrified, Aniya escaped the tiny confines of the carriage from the opposite side. She fell onto the ground, scrambling to her feet.

"And where do you think you're going?" A man on a wyvern landed in front of her, blocking her escape route. He pointed his lance at her, the sharp tip dangerously close to her smaller body.

Gritting her teeth, she grasped the wooden shaft of his weapon. He loosened his grip in surprise. He clearly didn't know who he was dealing with! Wrestling his lance from his grip, she turned his own weapon against him. Knowing the weak points in his armor were the joints, Aniya went for them. He didn't live much longer, falling off his wyvern as a lifeless corpse.

Aniya seized his mount, taking to the sky as someone raced to stop her. He knocked an arrow, letting it fly through the air. Her shoulder throbbed with pain when his arrow found its target: her. Ignoring the pain, she urged the wyvern to leave this terrible place. As it obeyed her command, she glanced back.

Flames lapped at anything they could. Her father's carriage was completely engulfed in flames. His lifeless body lay on the ground close by. Her mother hadn't fared well, either. She was face down, lying in her own blood. Frantically, she looked for her brother. He wasn't too far away, but he was outnumbered. Someone came up behind him and struck him in the head.

"Dimitri!" Aniya cried as he crumpled to the ground. She clenched her jaw, turning back to focus on her route ahead.

She made it to Garreg Mach Monastery within a day. A knight greeted her, helping her down from the wyvern's back. She nearly collapsed in his arms, dizzy and disoriented from her wound.

"What happened? Where are you from?"

"It was supposed … to be peaceful …" Aniya didn't even protest as he picked her up to carry her. "My family … they're … dead …" Her grip on consciousness finally slipped, falling into the blissful unawareness of unconsciousness.

-----

Aniya didn't do much during her first week at the Monastery. Professor Manuela had done what she could for her wound, and it had healed nicely. But the bitter truth remained: she was an orphan. Her family had died that day.

Her grief left her no appetite or desire to train. She spent most of her time just staring blankly out at the fishing pond, or in the library when the evening fell.

She was just passing the dining hall, foregoing dinner again, when someone called out to her.

"Aniya!" A young woman with vivid mint green hair in corkscrews came up to her. "We've received some wonderful news! Your brother is alive!"

"Dimitri … is alive …?" Aniya felt some hope return to her. "Are you certain?"

"Yes! Although your parents are …" she trailed off.

"I know." Still, her brother was alive! "How is he? Do you know?"

"I don't know."

"That's alright. Thank you for telling me … um …"

"Flayn. Seteth's my older brother."

After that, Aniya perked up. She seemed to return to her old self, although she was haunted by nightmares of that day. Four years passed, and she received some exciting news.

Both her siblings were going to attend the Officer's Academy this year!

She watched the students attending this year enter the Monastery, hoping to catch a familiar blonde or brunette. After a week passed, she had started to lose hope they'd come.

Aniya was spending time in the library one evening when she noticed a gray-haired student struggling to reach a book high on a shelf. "Would you like some help?"

"Hm?" The student looked at her, eyes widening. "Oh, s-sure."

"Then up you go!" Without a second thought or hesitation, she lifted him up. He seemed stunned for a second, but retrieved the book he was seeking.

Once back on his feet, he turned to face his helper. Goddess, she was beautiful … "Th-thanks …"

"Heh, sorry. I should have warned you I'm stronger than I look. I got it from my father." She chuckled sheepishly.

"No, that's fine! You're just … you look like a princess from a storybook …"

"Oh. Thank you." Aniya smiled at the compliment. Nobody really paid much attention to the orphans around the Monastery, so getting a compliment was rare.

"What's your name?"

Aniya had just turned to return to her book when he asked. "Nia."

"Thank you for helping me, Mia. Are you a student here?"

"I will be attending the Officer's Academy, yes. Probably this year, if Seteth allows it."

"Do you know what house you'll be in?"

"Either the Black Eagles or Blue Lions. I'm not certain yet." Nia glanced over at the stained glass window, suddenly realizing how late it was. "Oh, I should be going now. It was nice to meet you!"

The next morning, Seteth called her to his office. Grumbling because she had been pulled from her morning training, she approached his office. A familiar voice greeted her ears before she turned the corner.

"I have someone I'd like you two to meet. They should be here any moment now."

Who was he addressing? Her curiosity bubbling behind her calm demeanor, she turned the corner and approached Seteth's office.

"Is it our mother?" Nia nearly froze and broke into tears when she heard that voice. It had been four years since she heard that beautiful tenor!

Excitement getting the better of her, Nia entered the office and knocked on the door to announce her presence. Seteth was facing her, a faint smile appearing when she entered the small room. Standing with their backs facing her were two students, the house leaders of the Blue Lions and Black Eagles. She recognized her brother immediately, but the white-haired young woman didn't look familiar to Nia.

The two turned to face her, and Nia couldn't hold her excitement and joy anymore. She nearly tackled her half brother and half sister to the ground in a tight hug.

"N-Nia?!" Dimitri was stunned. Not from her sudden hug, but from seeing her. "You're alive?"

The white haired woman who shared Nia's mother's eyes returned the young women's hug. "It's wonderful to see you again, my sister." Her sister … Edelgard. What had happened to her? That haunted look, her brown hair turning white …

"I missed both of you so much!" Nia stepped back, smiling with joy.

"How did you survive four years ago?" Dimitri asked.

Nia's smile fell. "U-um … I … I ran away. I should have stayed an--”

Edelgard quickly cut her off. “And it’s a good thing you didn’t. You would have probably died there. I don’t want to lose another part of my family. Now then, why don’t you come with me, and I can introduce you to the Black Eagles house? You’re more than welcome to join th-”

“She’d be more comfortable around familiar faces, Edelgard.” Dimitri cut off his step-sister and pulled his younger sister closer to him. “You remember Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid, right?”

Before Nia could answer, Edelgard cut in again. “In case you’ve forgotten, Dimitri, it’s been over five years since I last saw my sister. I believed her dead as well.”

“Do I have a say in this?” Nia asked, bringing the attention back to her. “I’d like to meet your friends, Edelgard. When introductions are finished, I’ll greet my old friends. I’m not officially joining the Academy just yet, after all. But I can still attend a class or two every week. As long as Seteth will let me, right?” She looked at her guardian.

“I suppose I can allow that …” Seteth nodded slowly. “You’ll be well protected with your siblings around, after all.”

“Why would she need protection?” Edelgard asked.

“We still haven’t found those responsible for initiating the Tragedy,” Seteth explained.

As the siblings left Seteth’s office after a quick farewell, Nia froze. Standing at the end of the hallway were two other young men, one that made her blood turn to ice when she saw him. He was clearly from Duscur, the same people that had mercilessly slaughtered her parents.

Dimitri noticed his sister’s hesitation and was about to talk to her when Edelgard led her away, toward her retainer. “Hubert, this is Nia, my sister. Nia, this is Hubert.”

“Hello, Hubert.” Nia nodded with a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And this is Dedue, a good friend of mine.” Dimitri motioned to Dedue.

“Hello.” Nia clearly forced a polite reply before returning her attention to her sister. “I’d love to meet your friends in the Empire, El!”

Dimitri watched, feeling the familiar pang of sadness in his heart as his sister walked away. He later explained to Nia why he trusted Dedue, which led her to question her memories of that terrible day. Had they really been attacked by the people upset with their father’s actions?

When the students had all arrived at the Academy, the professors took them out for some training exercises. Nia waited for their return patiently, only to fear the worst when her siblings hadn’t returned with the other students and two of the professors. Then when they did come back, they had a group of mercenaries with them.

Things only seemed to get worse from there. The third professor had fled when the students were attacked, leaving a gap that was filled by one of the mercenaries. The daughter of the Captain of the Knights of Seiros: Byleth. The Ashen Demon, as the rumors went. She decided to teach one of the houses her siblings led. And it seemed that Rhea and Seteth would assign them the most dangerous missions that the students could handle. When Nia approached her sibling to express her concern, she was assured that no harm would befall them, that Byleth hadn’t failed them yet and she just needed to trust the new teacher more.

Things didn’t change until Flayn was kidnapped.

Nia was sick with worry when Flayn went missing, almost as much as Seteth. She had grown to view Flayn as her sister the past four years. Thankfully, Byleth led the rescue of the young woman. It was after that when Seteth agreed that both Flayn and Nia would be safer among the students rather than the knights.

Nia spent more time with her siblings while among the students, finally joining Byleth on the monthly assignments.

It wasn’t until the Captain’s death things started falling apart. Her brother wasn’t acting the same. He was more on edge, changing from the caring brother she knew to some wild, battle-hungry stranger. Edelgard was writing more and more letters to her father in Enbarr, even leaving a couple times to return to the capital for a couple days.

Then Byleth went after the person who had killed her father. Nia watched in terror as the professor she had learned to rely on and trust was swallowed up, sacrificed for some terrible, dark magical spell. How her siblings fell apart at that. Dimitri breathed threats while Edelgard kept her composure. Then, when Byleth returned with a new hair color, things seemed to get better.

After that, Edelgard left for Enbarr, stating something had come up that required her urgent attention. She returned later, just before they were to accompany Byleth to the Holy Tomb for some form of communication with the goddess.

Edelgard revealed herself to be the Flame Emperor, the one challenging the Church of Seiros. The betrayal Nia felt at seeing her sister’s secret … she couldn’t believe it.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke?!”

Dimitri challenged Edelgard, who reached out to her sister for help.

Nia was now faced with a hard decision, one that would change her fate forever.

[ragingbookdragon]

At Death’s Door

A Fire Emblem: Three Houses One-Shot A/N: I seriously find it hilarious that my first post back after like three weeks of zilch is a story about something unrelated to the Batfamily. Oh well. I got FETH and I love it and I feel that this scene was downplayed way too much. So here’s my take on it! And yes...go Blue Lions! Enjoy! -Thorne <3

His feet wont move for a split second, and in that minute instance, he realizes that he wasn’t able to stop the worst from happening. Jeralt is falling, knees buckling beneath him as he drops to the ground, and Byleth can’t even hear the words the new enemy is saying to Monica, because everything in his hearing is white noise.

           The two disappear in a flash of dark magic and it’s only when Jeralt’s torso hits the flat land that Byleth can finally move his feet. The Sword of The Creator falls from his grasp but at this point he doesn’t care, feet slapping against the earth as he sprints to his father. His legs ache as he drops, sliding until his fingers can grasp at the pauldron, and pull him around. Jeralt lets out a groan, and it’s one Byleth has heard too many times in his life, the groan of a soldier who’s in his last moments. His father’s face scrunches a moment then brown eyes are opening, meeting periwinkle, and Jeralt is offering the young man a sad smile. “I’m sorry Byleth…it looks…it looks like I’m gonna have to leave you now…” His son can’t bring himself to speak, the lump in his throat growing with each passing moment, but what he can bring himself to do is try to save the only family he’s got. It takes him a second to pull the glove from his hand, and then he’s holding it over Jeralt’s side, trying to pull the magic to his fingers. The magic forms under his palm, hot and burning, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t will the spell into creation. He snaps sharply, casting the magic away to try again, but after the third try, cool metal-gauntleted fingers wrap around his hand, squeezing tightly. “White magic…has never been your…strong suit…you can’t do it…” The words sting like a poisoned blade, and he shifts his gaze from Jeralt’s torso to his eyes and chokes out,

           “I can save you.” His father’s grip tightens once more before he lets go, reaching up to brush something from under Byleth’s eye. Jeralt lets out a weak chuckle and returns,

           “To think that the first time…I saw you cry…your tears would be for me…” His eyes slowly shut, and the hand that wiped the first tear begins to fall, until Byleth catches it, curling his fingers into his father’s palm. “It’s sad…and yet…I’m happy about it…” Jeralt lets out a shuddering breath, and his head slowly lowers back as he manages the last words his child will ever hear. “…I love you son…”

           The rain is cold as it comes down on them, and though it’s pouring, they’re still able to see what’s around them. Dimitri and Dedue had taken point, weapons still drawn in case something else decided to attack them. The rest of them had taken up positions within their group to suit their abilities, Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette in the middle, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix at the back. “I swear the professor and Captain Jeralt walked off this way, Your Highness.” Ashe’s normally quiet voice was damn near silent, and Dimitri had to strain to hear it, but he did. He nodded as they turned the corner, two dark figures coming into view a ways across the courtyard.

Dimitri’s grip on his lance loosens as the professor comes into view, but it immediately tightens when he sees his usually ‘composed’ professor hunched over the older man’s body, sobs wracking his chest as he holds tight to Jeralt. When the group finally gets close enough to see, the shock that goes through them all seems to stop them dead in their tracks. Barely any of them can form words beyond a mixture of, ‘Oh Goddess, Oh Shit, and Oh Professor’. Dedue’s hand rests firmly on Dimitri’s shoulder, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what the older boy is thinking; the young prince gently shakes off his friend’s hand, moving towards the sobbing man, heart twisting painfully at the all too familiar scene. He kneels beside Byleth and softly places a hand along his back, his words quiet. “Professor…I know what you’re experiencing right now has no comparison, but we need to get back to the Monastery.” When the man doesn’t respond, Dimitri wonders if he’d heard him, but opts to repeat himself despite the fact. “Professor… we-”

           “I couldn’t save him.” The boy’s words are cut short by Byleth’s admittance, and the prince sighs heavily, nodding his head.

           “I know.” Byleth shifts, gaze turning to Dimitri’s and it’s a shock to the royal as he sees the bloodshot and teary-eyed expression morph into one of self-loathing.

           “I couldn’t save my own father.” It takes the young prince a moment to gather the words, something that would offer understanding, but at the same time wouldn’t change the feelings his professor had.

           “We can’t save them all, Professor.” He tugs lightly at Byleth’s arm and urges, “Come now Professor, we need to return to Garreg Mach.” The young man jerks, shaking his head.

           “I can’t leave him here.” And Dimitri nods, glancing back at Dedue and the others, and waves them forward.

           “Sylvain, Felix, Dedue, and I will get Captain Jeralt’s body ready for the transport back…go with Mercedes and the others, Professor. They will keep you company.” It takes a moment to move, but Byleth nods, letting go, albeit shaking, of his father’s body, rising on weak knees to stumble towards the other half of his students. They offer him sympathetic looks, and Mercedes, in tears at this point, throws her arms around the young man, squeezing him tight.

The group begins to depart, save for the young men who are busy building a makeshift pull to lay Jeralt’s body across, and no words are shared between them until the honored Captain is resting atop the pull. Sylvain pats the horse’s side gently, and the second group departs, slowly trudging their way back through the mud to the Monastery.

           By the time they arrive, word has already spread through the castle, and the group stands in awe at the knights lining the bridge, the students themselves standing along with them. Rhea and Seteth stand at the entrance, Byleth beside them, a sorrowed look on his face. A group of knights comes to where Jeralt is, and gently move him onto the stretcher, carrying him past everyone. It’s a sight Dimitri loathes seeing, and a low voice murmurs, “Are you alright, Your Highness?” His gaze shifts to Dedue who is watching with a piercing look in his eyes, and he replies,

           “No Dedue…I am not.” At that, the older boy nods and asks,

           “Does this remind you of your family?” The man had always had a taciturn way of putting things, and even though he knew Dedue meant well, the words still made his chest ache.

           “Yes…it does.” Baby blue’s shifted to the form of their professor, walking until he met the group of knights, to walk beside them, and he added, “The ones we love most are always at death’s door…and we are helpless to save them.” He knows the older boy won’t disagree with him, and so they simply make their way across the bridge, thunder rumbling the darkened skies as rain falls from the heavens.

[7deadlycinderellas]

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch27

Ao3 link

  Winterfell

Benjen ends up back at Winterfell a week after the wedding.

His face is scarred deeply, his lips torn to bits by his brothers in black’s attempts to remove the perverse stitching job. It hurts him to talk.

The only words he gets out are “they’re coming.”

Ned shushes him.

“We know.”

Shireen pushes him a stack of papers and a pen.

“Don’t talk if it hurts.”

She sits with him for several hours, over steaming mugs of broth. She writes down near every word.

Benjen carries a letter from Stannis, calling for aid. The wall may soon be overwhelmed, he says. Wights attack day after day, night after night, piling themselves upon each other to try and break the stronghold down.

He has used one of the caches of wildfire Sansa sent. He says it lit part of the forest on fire, and kept the dead at bay for most of the next day and night.

But that was only one point in the whole wall.  

Ned called the banners, like he had said, immediately following the wedding. Representatives have appeared slowly, too slowly he thinks, but at least they’ve come.

He addresses his bannermen over a map of the north. He sighs deeply

“Each house will send aid, but most of our forces should remain in their keeps, for the time. If our intelligence is correct, and the wall falls, we will spread our forces in a straight line across the north. Right now, our immediate priority is to begin immediate evacuations.

“There is room for the listed numbers of non-combatant women on Bear Island,” Robb explains. Robb has escaped from his wedding night with only a black eye, and the Stark’s bannermen look to him as much as Ned.

Robb nods towards Maege Mormont for confirmation. The lady had arrived with her three eldest daughters; Dacey, Alysanne, Jorelle and had left the island in the hands of the younger two; Lyra and Lyanna.

“More than capable of keeping the women of the north safe,” Maege assures, with a stature imposing enough to back up her words, and question whether she would have ever needed protection herself. The arrangement had been Sansa’s suggestion, thinking that many of the women who were not willing to learn to fight in the previous years might feel more comfortable under the protection of other women.

While the decision making is going on, Benjen’s followed Shireen’s lead and ended up in the library, with her, Jon, and Bran.

He notes the sky, growing darker gray by the day, through the tiny window. He looks around, at the tall shelves and winding staircases.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he admits, “Even before I took the black, I was never one for books.”

While Shireen takes down his words, Bran lays out what he’s been doing with the ravens.

“I sent Una to Castle Black, Dosa to Eastwatch, and Tresn to the Shadow Tower. Quatri’s in the mountains to the west, Quinta to the east of the Kingsroad. Sexen I sent to King’s Landing, and Septima along with Theon to Dragonstone. When the wall falls to the dead, we’ll know. If either the Dragon queen or the Lannisters decide it would be a good idea to sneak up on us in the middle, we’ll know too.”

Benjen looks at Bran with a steady eye. True, he had known he would not find the same eager child as he had known the last time he’d visited home but…

“The story all of you have spun is unbelievable...As is the fact that you’ve spent years knowing this was coming and not having lost your minds.”

“I really do agree,” Shireen interrupts, pausing her writing. She has done her best to hold herself apart from what the others have told her of her demise. She tries to focus on the fact that she’s come past it, gone beyond it, but sometimes it still creeps back in. Sometimes in her dreams, she swears she can still smell the fire, hear the screams from her own throat.

Bran laughs to himself.

“It’s all we can do.”

He tries not to think too much of what it would have been like if this had all happened and it turned out that nothing could be changed at all. That they would have all been forced to watch as those they loved died around them regardless of their foreknowledge. Bran shudders at the thought of feeling the raven’s visions take over his mind again.

Once he’s done, he tells Benjen that Jon had wanted to meet him in the Godswood once he was free, and left for the training yard.

At some point, Sansa has left the group planning strategy in the Great Hall, and sits along one of the posts in the training yard with her bow across her lap, watching the others train in spite of the snow. Bran joins her.

Arya, Meera and Brienne are taking turns switching off with weapons. They aren’t taking up much space. Most of the yard is being taken up by Val and Ygritte running through the Free Folk women and children who have made their way to Winterfell. From children barely old enough to learn their letters, to women old enough to wed, they show what they can do with a spear or bow or axe. Val and Ygritte are rather ruthlessly tagging those who need to evacuate with the group the next morning.

“It won’t do any good if you stay if you can’t fight,” Val insists slowly, “You may think you’re being brave, but all that will happen if you die, is you’ll become one of them. A mindless, ice blooded, blue eyed abomination who could be responsible for the deaths of your friends and family.”

Ygritte doesn’t add anything, but if any of the children try to mouth off, she will go into details on the ones she picked off over the wall. How they barely even looked human anymore and seemed to be able to stand up and shake off near anything. She has lots of these stories.

“Just watching from the sidelines today?” Bran asks Sansa.

Sansa laughs softly.

“I’m going to be evacuating anyway, not right away, I’ll wait until the last group out of Winterfell...but it was foolish to think I was ever going to be a soldier.”

“No one ever thought you would be a soldier,” Bran insists, “Very few here are. But we all understood your reasons for joining with the rest of us. Human monsters are different from ones from Old Nan’s stories.”

Bran’s quiet for a moment. He watches the women spar. Meera catches his eye for a moment, and Bran feels the back of his neck go red. Sansa pretends not to notice.

“I’m not staying either,” he admits, “I’ll leave when you do. I’m a hundred times better a fighter than I was...but I can’t run away. If someone corners me, I’m a goner. Like you, I’m not a soldier.”

Sansa gazes upwards at the sky. It’s dark gray, it’s been that way for over a week now. It seems to be getting darker, like the very weather knows what’s to come. Or maybe they just weren’t paying attention the first time.

She turns her eyes back to the training yard, and squints,

“Where did Arya go?”

“Gendry came out a second ago, said something and they went back towards the smithy.”

What Gendry had come to tell her was that he’d finished with the set of chainmail he’d made for her.

“I’m going to make the other ladies at the training yard so jealous,” she tells him while pulling it into place.

“I’ve got more punched out,” he tells her, “Mail’s easier to make from approximate measurements. If there’s gaps in plate armor, it’s worthless. I’ve got another hauberk I made for Meera when I made yours, but she didn’t want it.”

“She doesn’t like mail,” Arya comments, “Says arrows can break straight through it. Prefers leather.”

“Well thankfully,” Gendry replies, patting her shoulders and planting a kiss on her, “We have most of the arrows.”

Arya’s quiet for too long, and she shakes her head, darkness behind her eyes. Gendry’s hands have moved to her cheeks, concerned, and she indulges herself by kissing him full on the mouth, tongue slipping between his lips.

This is what Sansa gets a glimpse of, before turning at the door and leaving. She can talk to Arya later.

It would be a lie to say she doesn’t feel a twist of envy in her chest. She seems to feel this twist nearly everywhere she goes now. The impending darkness is making the people of Winterfell cling to each other. Ned and Catelyn seem to have somehow, silently mended their fences. Meera had made an offhand comment that Summer wouldn’t leave her be nowadays, making her ears grow pink. Even Val seems to have settled in. Sansa had overheard her speaking to some of the other Free Folk women and had heard a snippet of ‘Didn’t know southern boys had it in ‘em!’.

She thinks to the letter she sent with Theon, and wonders if there’s any chance for her to find someone to cling to, even if it’s later, among the ashes.

When she needs a moment to distract herself, she finds herself seeking out Brienne.

“Lady Sansa” she greets her every time, even in defiance of Sansa’s laughing that it was unnecessary.

Sansa looks at her for a bit before speaking.

“You seem to be taking this all quite well.”

“All what, my lady?”

Sansa’s mouth puckers. She would think she was being mocked if that was so incredibly unlike Brienne.

“You follow us here, to a place you’ve never been before, and we’re all going on about fighting a war against the dead, and you don’t bat a single eye.”

Brienne shrugs. She’s so tall, that in armor even her shrugs have a note of intimidation, well, they would if it weren’t for the entirely innocent look on her face.

“As sworn shield, it is my duty to defend Lady Shireen, whether it be from nursery tale monsters or ordinary men. In my experience, there’s not always a difference.”

True enough. She continues,

“And it doesn’t matter much if I believe it or not. They’ll come or not regardless.”

Sansa studies Brienne. Even before, she had been the picture of loyalty, in face of incredible odds.

“Lady Shireen is quite sensible,” Sansa comments, “Protecting her shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

She lets the silence sit between them heavy for a bit.

“You were the truest knight I ever met before,” she tells Brienne quietly.

Brienne’s response is halting,

“My lady, I-”

Sansa shushes her.

“You were. Both by the technical definition, and in every word you spoke and every step you walked. You were brave and honorable, and always defended those who needed you.”

How foolish her younger self would have thought her. Admiring a   plain faced women who wore armor and carried a sword, who was often seen in the company of Jamie Lannister at that. But Sansa has known enough false knights to know the value of a true one. Sansa’s word speaks the truth.

“And if you’re willing to stay here and fight with us, then the north will be in your debt.”

 Dragonstone

Danaerys Targaryen is an impressive figure. Head held high, surrounded by her attendants as she walks towards the castle off her dragon.

Tyrion’s heard the stories, if only second hand from Varys. Of how she walked into the fire and remained unscathed, bring forth three baby dragons. Of her purchase and freeing of the Unsullied, of her takeover of Slaver’s Bay, and renaming it.

They’re great stories.

Despite this, most of what Tyrion can think when he sees her is, “She’s barely more than a girl.”

A girl who managed all of that, though. And with the flying figures behind her on the water, makes the stories easy to believe.

Once they sit at the table and begin to talk things out, the situation grows hair.

“You’re only allies here, present company excluded,” Varys points out, “Are a population known entirely as raiders and pirates. You’re combined forces could probably take Storm’s End, and secure this keep, if nature did not decide to keep you out. But beyond these borders, you will be met with hostility and a great deal of military might.”

Hostility, Tyrion thinks, in the form of his own family. He wonders if the punishment for a traitor is as harsh as that for a kinslayer.

The arguments over the table go back and forth and Tyrion feels like he spends a part of every day glancing over his shoulder, and the horizon, for whatever is going to ambush them, and crush this whole thing in one blow.

Somehow the only thing that comes over the horizon is a merchant’s boat, carrying Theon Greyjoy.

The young man has not changed physically much since Tyrion had seen him last at Winterfell, but given that their meeting does not involve a single dwarf joke, he supposes he must have matured some.

Watching the lad reunite with his older sister is the greatest entertainment Tyrion has had in years though. Between Theon’s exclamations that Yara used to resemble a fat little boy, and that despite her age, Yara could still overpower him with an expert knuckle burn, Tyrion sips his wine and just watches. There’s shades there of his relationships with his own brother and sister, unmarred by years of bad faith.

But Theon does not just bring news of the north, nor did he come to bend the knee in their stead.

“I come to inform you,” he begins in a voice that is half dead serious, half seriously practiced, “that the north is currently in heavy preparation for an incoming invasion from the far north...of creatures from stories. Of the dead, risen from the earth at the hands of creatures like men with skin of ice.”

Yara howls from her spot at the table.

“Are there grumkins too?”

Theon looks like he’s fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

“Nearly seven years ago, three of the younger Stark children...transformed. They began to speak of things that had not happened yet, including the coming of these creatures. I watched this happen, and I watched as Wildlings began to flee south of the wall in increasing numbers...and began to speak of the exact same things the Starks were.”

Tyrion’s mind begins to prickle when Theon’s story continues. It was strange enough, having the story dropped on him in the form of a rambling letter and a single personal secret, but for someone who saw the Starks everyday, it must have been so much worse.

Danaerys interrupts him for a moment,

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what your story is getting at...rather than bending the knee, the Starks are requesting my aid. If this is true, I would ask why this is a more pressing concern than retaking the throne that is my birthright.”

Theon nods, ever so slightly. He speaks a bit about the other things the younger Starks had warned them of, of the treacherous state of the politics of King’s Landing. But he ends the discussion with,

“Because if the Others get past the north, then the whole realm is in danger.”

This is completely true. Tyrion never paid the most attention to old nurse stories, but he remembered the tale of the Long Night.

Danaerys seems to be thinking about it, when Varys interrupts.

“If I may, your grace? The seven kingdoms may not be the most welcoming to a Targaryen seeking to regain her throne. But one who swooped in with three dragons during an unexpected war against beings who are- remind me Greyjoy? Vulnerable to fire-”

Theon nods.

“It may become easy to spin you as a war hero. One who returns home to Westeros after becoming known for ending slavery. These are the sorts of things the smallfolk could get behind.”

Danaerys seems to be considering this proposal. While the discussion continues, Tyrion excuses himself and finds Theon does as well.

When they are out of earshot, he hands Tyrion a thick letter.

“This was given to me under pain of death if I so much as glanced at it.”

Tyrion turns it over, finding Sansa’s neat hand on the envelope.

“To be frank,” Theon starts, “If Sansa has any goodwill towards you after her...last life, I say take it. Those years ago I watched her transform from a silly, empty headed little girl into possibly the most cynical woman I have ever met. Sometimes I-”

Theon rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Sometimes I catch her, or one of the others looking at me. Sometimes they look frightened, but sometimes they look...like they’re expecting me to act a certain way, and when I don’t they’re...disappointed, but not surprised. If she still holds in any esteem, I’d count yourself lucky.”

Tyrion mulls over his words for the rest of the night, and doesn’t pull out the letter until it’s late and he’s sure he’s alone.

The handwriting is neat, and the salutation formal. After that, the tone degrades quickly.

 I’m sorry for leaving you the way we did. It was cruel to do so. Soemtimes I feel I’ve forgotten how not to be cruel.

 I suppose you’ve surmised the truth from my blathering before we parted. When I was fourteen, the two of us were forced to marry, your father’s work, in an attempt to keep hold of the north. Despite the situation, you tried so hard to never upset me, to never hurt me. You will probably insist that that’s not much, but at the time, it felt like everything. During that period of my first life, I didn’t get kindness from many people, and every little bit of it is precious to me. You would shake me off, I know. Sometimes it hurts to know how little you think of yourself.

 In the past few years, I feel like the two of us could at least call ourselves friends. Some might say that’s a poor basis for a relationship, but given the disasters I’ve seen, I think it’s better than most. I’m saying this, mostly because I think there’s a very good chance one or both of us could perish in the coming war, and I had to at least try.

 I’m not sure if I would even know what love is anymore. I’m not sure I would recognize it. But if we manage to both survive all of this, the dragons and the others and the fire and blood...then I’d like to see if we could find it. The both of us.

Tyrion stares at the paper, and then tucks it away.

The next day, Danaerys decides that she should fly north with one of her dragons, to at least see what’s happening in the north.

 The Wall

Stannis had sent for aid. He sent it to every fucking house in Westeros.

The northern houses had responded, even if in such meager numbers.

But at least they had responded.

“More are attacking the gate,” a greenboy tells him,

“Then hold it. Don’t let it fall. If it falls, this will all be for naught.”

Many at the wall have fled. Those who remain are the most devoted, or the most desperate. Those with the least hope for their lives.

Stannis can’t stop to think that they are fighting dead men. They are merely the enemy, attacking the wall that must stand. They will fight until they cannot. He spares a thought to Shireen, hoping that she is still safe in Winterfell. He does not spare one for Selyse, though he assumes the other Baratheon men must have helped her flee when he ordered them away. Perhaps that god that she's begun to speak of little more than will give her some comfort.

The sky is dark gray, carrying with it the blizzard that should slow down the impending army, but instead is just making it worse.

There’s an explosion somewhere. There is only one cache of wildfire left. As many as they seem to burn, there are always more.

“Take the last, run for the Last Hearth. Come back with anyone you can find,” Stannis orders, “The wall cannot fall.”

The sound of the flames cackling among the snow reaches his ears. The sound of screams too, human and beast both. He tightens his hand around his sword.

Stannis has spent his whole life thinking of his duty. Perhaps, in this moment, he can call upon his house’s words. Ours is the fury.

There’s thumping sounds, and metal scraping, and screaming. Stannis readies himself. He will lead his men, he will be among the first in the fray.

The nightswatchmen he sent to the Last Hearth does not desert. He gathers everyone he can find, and they race back to the Shadow Tower.

They find it fallen, the gate broken through, litrered with blood and bits of bodies, burned. And the man finds Stannis Baratheon, dutiful to his last breath. They find him at the mouth of the gate, completely still, his limbs twisted and broken. They say a blessing. And then he screams.

The fire of nightswatchman’s torch is enough this time.

[monsta-sextories]

Poolside- 11

Son Hyunwoo

word count: 1931

🎧 Kiwi- Harry Styles

The night had fallen silent, tense and awkward. Your parents both seemed to close up, their eyes making their way anywhere but to meet yours. It was without a doubt the most uneasy predicament, sitting in the aftermath waiting for any response. Any at all.

Eventually you felt the tears begin to well, and before anyone could see them roll free, you picked yourself up, and with a noise of disgust you ran into the house, taking sanctuary in the only place you could.

The library was dark, and the bit of light that shined through came straight from the balcony doors. You could barely bring yourself to open them- in need of air but sensing the longing you might feel if you so much as glanced in direction of the guest house. There was a bubbling in your stomach as you considered what this could mean for Hyunwoo.

You must have fallen asleep, because when your eyes fluttered open you immediately noticed the hushed sounds of voices. They came from outside the library doors, close by, and near hisses. It didn’t take long for you to piece things together. Your parents clearly, not realizing you were not in your room, were attempting a quiet argument over what had unfolded not hours before.

“He definitely doesn’t seem like the brightest,” it began. Your father’s deep grumble still sounded ashamed if not shy. “If it's money hes after we can just give him a couple thousand to stay away from her.”

You could imagine your mothers face. Bewildered by the suggestion as your father continued his explanation.

“… a couple thousand, to keep him away from her and her inheritance.”

By now you had shifted as close to the door as possible. They must be standing in the hallway, far from the guest house, the kitchen, and your bedroom.

“Honestly dear,” you hear the chime of your mother, “he doesn’t seem like the type, he might not even be aware of her little infatuation, shes’ so delusional-“

“I don’t want to take any chances,” your father interrupts.

You catch bits and pieces as the heat in your body rises. You can feel the eruption building, your stomach, throat, eyes all building with pressure.

“-- relax, this is probably just one of her phases, I can call up Dr. Carlton, have her go in and talk it out-“

“She’s not a child anymore this rebellion needs to stop… "

“what if she really does like him, you can't be so hard on her-"

“Like him? Like what? He has no personality, I’ve seen his resume… he’s a work horse, people don’t just choose to live like that….dim-witted… after easy money…. Seen it before- “

With each word you over hear you can feel your heart shattering into a million pieces. Each word sends your hand gripping the knob and rushing out of the library, not bothering to see the precise location of their bicker, but knowing as the voices halt that they see you. You march your way down to the armory, the sound of footsteps following hesitant, and a voice echoing from afar belonging to Betsy maybe.

You don’t notice if they call after you, or if they're in any hurry to follow. You simply carry on, finding your way into the room wallpapered with useless antiques. It’s fitting that the easiest thing to reach for is a medieval looking halberd with a chip in the blade. It removes from the wall easy, and you’re not really thinking much at all.

You can hear their voices, your parents, as they approach and in an instant there is molten lava flooding your veins. Before a single coherent thought enters your mind your winding back your arm, weapon in hand, and with full force you plunge the blade deep into the wood center of the pool table.

You hear the gasp somewhere form behind you, but it’s all in your peripheral. You can feel the heat and moisture running down your cheeks, but there's something freeing about the wreckage that moves you to continue.

“Dim-witted!?” you holler loud enough for your parents to hear where they’re stopped in the doorway. Your father is looking stiff as usual, sighing as he takes in the hatchet lodged into his pool table. You reach for a nearby vase and your mother’s hand comes up to cover her mouth as she holds back a squeal.

“Work horse?” you scream as you smash it down on the ground. The sound of the crash, and the shattered pieces on the ground almost seem like shackles finally broken.

You kick one of the knight armors over, and quickly reach for one of the pool sticks hanging high on the wall.

“Delusional!” you finally roar and you can’t hold back as you start to swing at everything in sight. You probably could have continued until every last thing in that room was turned to rubble, but only seconds later you're interrupted.

Your father’s voice finally cuts in, “that’s enough!” he says, fighting the urge to maintain his image. Your mother is tucked close trying to hide against him.

“Has this boy really lead you to go mad?!” he asks.

“No, father! That would be you, and you mother. After so many years I never expected you to start understanding me now, or anything important for that matter, but I think I’ve finally reached my limit” you say as you take a couple steps towards them. You still have the pool stick in hand which your mother and father both seem to look at as if they think you’d actually hurt them.

“Let me tell you something that your “friends” never had the courage to tell you,” you say as you poke the stick towards your father’s face. Frozen in place as his eyes focus on the tip of the stick.

“You’re an awful man,” you say and give him a small jab to the gut bumping him out of the way for you to get past them.

You immediately run to your room with the intention of packing a bag and leaving. but the second you close the door behind you, you feel that freeness begin to fade as if your trapped all over. As if the realization hits you that this is indeed your reality, your life, your parents... and you have nowhere else to go.

You crumble into your mattress and allow the sobs to cascade through your body one at a time. You almost miss the small knock on your door as it open and a soft, but stern voice catches your attention.

“Miss,” you hear as you lift your head. It's Betsy, with a look on your face you wouldn't expect to see at the moment. It's something of fierce proudness, a grin so subtle but clear and a light in her eyes. "that wasn't very lady like of you."

You roll your eyes a bit, the tightness in your chest subsiding at the appearance of a friend.

"You're father is still trying to pry out that fancy ax you lodged into his table," she says with a small giggle. You do your best to wipe your face, smearing tears and goo around.

"I don't feel bad yet, but I suppose I will later," you say avoiding eye contact.

You feel her warm hand come up to your cheek as she looks down at you.

"That kind of courage isn't something to feel bad about," she says with a tenderness that you let lift you and break you again as you fall forward into the most welcomed embrace you've ever had.

"When you were a girl, you had so much of that. You were truly fearless," Betsy coos as she wraps her arms around you tightly. "I remember thinking, I can't wait to meet the woman you become."

You feel the tears stream your cheeks, and they soak into the fabric of Betsy's apron.

"I always saw you running off with someone who made you think, made you feel. Someone who showed you a piece of the word that you were missing. When you were little you told me you wanted to fall in love with a cowboy, not a prince charming."

At this you let out a small laugh, and you feel Betsy's hands move to cup your cheeks. She lifts your head to look at you with an expression of love that's always been there.

"I never told you this, I didn’t think you'd believe me… but you're the reason i'm still here. I've watched you grow, I love you like you're my own," she says stroking your hair. You think about this, and the warmth in your heart is something unexplainable. It's not the feeling you get from Hyunwoo, or from reading about romance... it's the feeling you get form diving into a pool and reaching the bottom. Its the feeling of driving a blade into a wood table, and gardening from sun up till sundown.

You quickly remove Betsy's hands from your cheeks and reach into your bedside drawer. Inside, you've kept a priceless heirlum that fits into an old sock that you've kept for years.

"Do you remember the mermaid stone?" you ask sniffling as you pull out the lump.

Betsy quirks a brow, and looks down as you pull out the worn fabric. When you were a child, you used to make up games during the summer. When you first learned to swim you had taken a special rock that had been given to you by your grandmother. It was beautiful, and you loved it so much she gave it to you with the request that you not tell your parents and you keep it safe. She told you it was magical. You didn't realize it then, but it was very valuable and she had entrusted it to you as a child.

You would sneak it out when you were alone, and throw it into the pool and search for it. You called it the mermaid stone, and sometimes Betsy would play along, searching for this magical stone that lay at the bottom of the pool.

"Here, it's Taaffeite," you say handing it to her. She looks at it perplexed as she reaches into the sock, words not meaning much to her. "I think it's quite ugly, don't you?"

Betsy eyes widen as she looks at the stone, turning it around in her hand. It's far from ugly, and Betsy smiles softly as her hand curls around it tightly.

"It's worth a shit ton of money," you add. She reaches a free hand out to you and you see the slight quiver of her lip through her widening smile. You think about her depositing this last check, getting that stone appraised and finally being able to spend time with her family.

"You're fired, Betsy," you say with the most joy you've felt in your entire life.

"You know," she says through a shaky breath, "my daughter reminds me of you when you were little. Now, I can't tell you what to do, miss..." Betsy says as she stuffs the stone in her apron pocket and straightens herself up. "But, I can tell you what I should have told you all those years ago."

She reaches out a hand, and you latch onto it as she pulls you out of bed. The room has lightened it seems, and there s a freeness in your chest. You stare into Betsy's eyes, and with a wink she says...

"Cowboys are much better with their hands"

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Read on AO3

[mizznancywheelerfic]

OG Jonsa. Crackship Jonsa. If it’s not your thing, turn away, but this fic is still cute to me so imma post it. Bye. 

Title: A Castle of Snow

by eleanor_rigby

Summary:

Stark Wildlings AU. Sansa was a gentle girl dreaming of castles and princes. However, she was also born into the world of the Free Folk where women are stolen unless they’re of the fiercest kind.

Published at: 2013-01-01

Revised at: 2013-01-01 07:00:00 -0500

Sansa lay on the cold snow with her dagger firmly pressed against her chest.  She usually held the weapon in her the pocket of her thick, woolen breeches, but tonight she decided to keep it close. The night was always the most dangerous part of any day. Indeed, that was the time when many of the women of the clan were taken, right in the dead of night while the others slept.

The moon shone brightly tonight and Sansa’s eyes focused on the glowing orb, comforted by the thought that she might be able to view an attacker if he came her way.

For now, all was calm.

Ever since Sansa was one-and-ten, the women had warned her to be vigilant of any man who might try and steal her from the clan. They all said she was already beautiful and men would be more than thrilled to steal a girl with her looks. She may have been young, but that would be of little thought to potential attackers.

Indeed, there had been close incidents. The first occurred when the vicious blonde boy from a larger clan named Joffrey came close to stealing her before Sansa’s direwolf, Lady, slew him by tearing apart his throat with her teeth. Sansa could recall the way he sputtered and cried as the direwolf snatched his last moments of life. Her eyes widened with fear, but there was a strange mixture of compassion and elation in her belly.  

Yet, Lady was gone now.

Not long after Joffrey’s death, Sansa had found the great wolf drenched in her own blood one morning. How she cried for her poor direwolf. Sansa’s younger sister, Arya, suspecte d that Joffrey’s mother slew the wolf in revenge. While Sansa did not like to believe the worst of people, it seemed possible that the great spearwife, Cersei, would take revenge for the death of her beloved, horrific son. Sansa knew she was feared by all, even by the most fearsome of warriors.

Nevertheless, the others told her to quit her crying and move past the wolf’s death. That was far easier said than in practice.  Sansa knew her tears and gentle nature were not approved by anyone but her family. Her mother said she would surely be stolen if she did never come into her fighting skills. Sansa was never a fighter, and she knew would never be a spearwife. It hurt to fall short of such expectations.

There were a few times Sansa tried to throw an arrow or swing a weapon, but they were always far too heavy or they would not hit their target by a long shot. Her failures caused the other boys and girls to giggle at her weak combat skills and the laughter brou ght tears to Sansa’s eyes every time. The only comfort would come when her mother’s hand would always caress her chesnut hair and tell her she would grow into her skills eventually, but they never did come. The disappointment in their eyes was never hard to miss, though they tried to hide it.

The second time a man tried to steal Sansa; she was three-and-ten. Only a few months passed since Joffrey attempted to steal her, but Lady was not here to save Sansa from the abductor this time. She knew who the man was as soon as she found herself cradled in his large arms and stared at the ugly, disfigured face above her. The man was called Sandor, or the Hound, and he was known to be particularly large and horrible in attitude and combat. In the past, Sansa had noticed him looking at her intensely when she helped gather kindling or make songs for the companion birds, but she did not suspect he would attempt to steal her. But he was too large for her to fight off. The few pu nches she attempted made no sound. All she could do was weep and beg him to set her free, but he did no such thing.

Her savior came in the form of a direwolf she could make out in the distance over Sandor’s shoulder. For a second, she wondered if Lady returned to save her.

But Lady’s dead. It can’t be her. Only the stories and songs are full of ghosts…

When the figured emerged from the shadows, it became clear the beast was not Lady. The creature was Arya’s direwolf, Nymeria. The Hound dropped her to the ground as the wolf sunk her sharp teeth into his leg. Sansa scrambled up from the snow and the Hound fell upon his knees. Another figure came running as the Hound yelled out in agony. Sansa was glad to be free of his grip, but she was mortified by the brutal attack in front of her. Death would never be something she to which she ever could become accustomed.  As she took her eyes from the bloody sight, her eyes were met with the vision of Arya running towards her. She was much disheveled and carried her little wooden practice sword. Before Sansa could say anything, Arya grabbed her by the hand. They ran back to the camp and slept closely to each other, trying their best not to wake anyone.

Sansa turned to whisper in Arya’s ear.

“Thank you for s-saving me. How did you know I was being stolen?”

“Well, Nymeria was licking my face an awful lot, and then I got up to swat her off. When I looked around, I couldn’t see you. Everyone knows that you wouldn’t be out this late, and half the men here and in the other clans talk about stealing you. Don’t be stupid.”

Then Arya turned to sleep, and Sansa leaned over to hold her younger sister by the waist, tears streaming down her eyes.

So close.

In the morning, Nymeria was sleeping at their feet with her fur stained with red blood.

No one said a word of what occurred, but Sansa knew they must have known. Now, the others in the clan looked at her with less pity, but Sansa took no pride in what happened to the men.

As the clan moved on to different places for supplies and food, she stood next to her mother and begged for stories. It had been that way since was a small child. Catelyn tried not to tell her anymore stories, for they were not appropriate for a girl of her age, but Sansa’s attitude perked when she was being told a tale of a southron knight and his lady. Sansa loved those the best, though no one could fathom why. She simply loved hearing of the southron kingdoms below the Wall. They all sounded so lovely and remarkable. So different from this desolate, cold world she only knew.

“Don’t start getting thoughts about becoming no lady, Sansa. You’re of the Free Folk. You must concentrate on being fierce, not manners,” her mother once told her.

Sansa turned pink. “I never said I wanted to be a lady! I just like hearing the stories, that’s all.”

Catelyn raised an eyebrow and turned to face the clan. Sansa did the same and viewed Arya playing with the boys, especially that one large, dark-haired boy she seemed to favor so much, Gendry. She could also see all the girls fighting with one another. They never allowed Sansa to play with them, so Sansa usually stayed at her mother’s side as a result. A feeling of sadness filled her belly as Sansa feared she would never fit in.

In the coming days, Sansa caught a glimpse of the Wall as they strode past it on their journeys. She had never been so far south in her entire life. Her neck caught a strain because of how much she tried to take in all of it before the clan moved past. Once, she had been told that there were castles on the other side where the southron crows lived. Her eyes could not see castles through the thick, dark ice, but she knew they must be there. Perhaps they were made of ice as well.

A castle of snow…how wonderful to see. If only I could.

Their clan was a small but fierce. Men followed her father, Ned, because he was true and formidable at once. He was as cold as the north itself and he even had respect from the crows.

The crows would never bother with them before, but they were apparently under the command of a boy if the new whispers were true. Sansa kept her ears open at these whispers and learned that he was also known to be the youngest son of the south's Dragon King.

“Another one of those fucking dragons,” said one of the men who escaped from a clash with the crows.

Sansa’s heart fluttered at the thought of a prince being so close. She wondered if he was handsome and valiant as the princes in the tales.

Would he also be violet-eyed and silver-haired?

Sansa’s eyes took a break from gazing at the moon and she closed them.  Within a few seconds the peace of sleep came, but the dagger she held to her chest remained firmly in her grip.

The sleep did not last long. Sounds of fighting filled Sansa’s dreams, and she soon realized that the noises were not from the dream world she was immersed in. She got up immediately and tried to see amidst the chaos. The light of the moon could only serve so well while men and women were fighting in every direction.

She did see men in black, though.

They’re fighting the crows.

Then, a voice that sounded like her mother yelled out, “Run, Sansa!”

Sansa wasted no time and obeyed the command. She ran as fast as she could and wished with all her heart that Lady could be at her side once again. Lady would have protected her in such a fierce battle. Sansa knew it.

Her feet were sore and painful by the time she stopped running. She paid no attention to which direction she was headed and collapsed between large hills of snow. Tears trickled down her frost-tingled cheeks.

I can’t go any further. It’s too painful. Please, let someone find me before I die. I swear I’ll never wish ill on Jeyne again. Even when she’s teasing me before the other girls. Please…

Sansa awoke to the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. For a moment she thought it might be one of her siblings, and tried to move the hand away without bothering to open her eyes. Then she remembered the circumstances of last night, and her eyes snapped open. Sansa sat up immediately and looked upon the stranger before her.

He was a crow.

He was tall and handsome with dark hair. His face was long and solemn, but there was a quality that Sansa was thought was beautiful. He must have been six-and-ten if she were to guess.

There was only silence between the two until he asked, “Who are you?”

Sansa paused for a second.

“I’m…Sansa. Who are you?”

The man stood straight before saying, “I’m the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

He’s the prince they spoke of. He does not look like how I imagined a prince. Handsome, yes, but he looks too serious. His hair is dark and he has grey eyes. I thought princes were of more fair coloring like the stories tell, but I suppose not.

As Sansa surveyed the sight, she noticed rough-looking man not far behind from the prince.

“Lord Snow, you got one of those wildlings?” the man said.

The prince turned his face from Sansa to answer, “Yes, but she’s just a girl.”

Soon the man was standing right next to the prince and right before Sansa.

The man looked her up and down before saying, “She’s a pretty one. Must be one of Ned’s followers. Maybe she’s a spearwife. Better to kill her now before she gets any ideas.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “I’m not a spearwife! I promise I won’t hurt either of you. I’m a horrible fighter. My father is Ned. Please, take me back. I swear he won’t hurt you.”

Her eyes became glassy and she turned all her attention to the prince. His handsome face bore a frown.

“Perhaps she is right. I knew a spearwife before, and she would’ve killed us by now. This girl is not a fighter. I would return you to your father, but I believe they’ve long departed.  For now, you can come to the Wall,” the prince said solemnly before putting his hand out for her to take.

The rough man did not looked please as Sansa took the prince’s hand and stood up.

“What are you gonna do with this wildling? And a girl, too!  Gods, you’re a soft one, Snow.”

The prince sighed as the three walked.

“She can stay in Castle Black for the time being. Ned’s clan might be angry, but they hate Tywin’s forces as much as we do. This girl, Sansa, is it?” he turned to Sansa for confirmation and she nodded, “she could help us.”

The rough man merely spat in the snow and said, “Sam’ll be jealous of your new lady love, Lord Snow.”

Sansa turned pink at the words, “lady love.”

Am I to be his lady love? No, don’t be stupid. He’s only taking you to this castle until they can meet your father again.  But perhaps…

Sansa turned her head to gaze once again at the prince’s face and their eyes met. His greys softened at her before his cheeks turned a little red and he fixed his eyes upon the great wall before them.

[kitanoko]

Todomomo Fairy AU Part 2 ~

Here is Part 1

Again, be prepared for long post after the ‘keep reading’ XD ty for the great feedback from part 1 and thanks to @littleroundpumpkin for the Fairy Au art! 

Here’s the link to that masterpiece by pumpkin :)

-Uraraka Ochako is one of the best mages in the Kingdom of Fire that specializes in herbology and would often step foot into the world of medicology as well. But when the resident medic sees the Prince stumbling in her makeshift recovery tent, a fairy in his trembling arms, the muscle in his neck tense from anger, Uraraka stays silent and forgets the excitement that came from meeting a fairy for the first time. Knight Iida and Midoriya are there but quickly gets on their feet when the Prince calls on them.

-”Iida, Midoriya, my father is down for now, weakened. Hurry, go and restrain him.” The knights appear hopeful for a second but they see the mysterious girl as pale as moonlight shriveled in the Prince’s arms, and the Prince’s bloodshot eyes, and decide to leave with only a bow. They wonder what has happened to the fairy that had arrived to the Prince’s aide earlier but does not question.

-Todoroki eases Momo onto the nearest stool and keeps his arm wrapped around her back and Uraraka immediately tends to her. Momo’s groaning in pain, the temporary cloth that Todoroki ripped from his sleeve and placed on her wound drowns in blood.

-Uraraka grabs one of the many colourful potions in her cupboard and feeds it to Momo. The bleeding stops.

-”Prince, I’m afraid I cannot do much other than sustain her in this condition…the potion may last an hour at most…after all she is a fairy….what I know is limited to humans only.” Uraraka hears Todoroki curse under his breath and he bends down on his knees when Momo raises a shaky hand to touch Todoroki’s cheek. Momo pushes away his red bangs and traces a limp finger around his scar and he closes his eyes.

-”Why did you have to save me?” “Because…you’ll be a great ruler…of this land one day.” 

-Todo slams a fist on the floor. There has to be a way to save her and he isn’t going to give up. 

-”The Fairy Queen.” His voice got louder. “I’ll take you back to where you’re from and ask for the Queen’s help. She’ll know what to do, wouldn’t she?!” 

-Momo takes a deep breath and nods. “Maybe…but….you wouldn’t be able to enter the Fairy lands, it’s a rule….and to go to my realm,” she coughs, “will take an immense amount of fairy magic to open the portal ……and I don’t have much magic left.” 

-Momo’s words end more like a whisper. Her wings are transparent now, only a faint outline left behind her and Todo touches them one last time before carrying her with him on his horse

-”Prince, where are you taking her?” Uraraka asks, holding her pointy hat as she runs out and Todoroki answers, “the poppy field in the forest. Some of her magic should still be there.”

-When they get there, Todo sees nothing left on the field, everything either died or disintegrated into ash, except for a small patch of drooping poppies and he lays her down carefully, wishing he knew what else to do (Momo cultivated the plants with her magic when she first arrived to the human world so now that her magic is dwindling, the plants can no longer survive

-Momo reaches for a flower and smiles feebly. Todoroki watches when she chants the magic words to open the gates to her world: “Take me to where the queen gives us life….the snow-hued maidens…the white-robed knights…the land of never-ending sunrise…take me to where the queen gives us life.” 

- Todoroki feels an intense surge of magic fill the air, but just as she finishes the chant, all of the remaining poppies wilt.

-”its not enough to open the portal, as I suspected…” Momo tries to joke and uses the last ounce of energy to rest her head against his chest, “Thanks for relieving me of my curse, I won’t forget you… so don’t forget me too.” Todoroki grabs her tighter as if that’s the only way he knows that she’s still tangible.  She feels the fatigue overtake her body; the last attempt at opening the gates drained her reserve and when Todoroki pulls her tighter against him, she feels nothing. 

-”your wings….no…please…” Todoroki tries to shake her awake but she’s unconscious, body cold but her expression says otherwise as if she was off to a deep sleep. The wings are fading bit by bit, the outer corners of her once-luminous wings turning into dust particles and floating away in the air. The slight draft of wind carries them away and Todoroki feels it through his fingers as he reaches for the golden dust.

-He knows he’s grasping at straws but he heats up his left side and continues to warm her body as much as he could and he begins to mumble in faint memory the chant that Momo just did over and over again, but nothing happens, instead, the sky looks even darker.

-And for a brief moment, the thought of his loving mother crosses his mind. Mother help me. Suddenly, the scar on his face burns and glows a bright silver. Todoroki doesn’t understand what’s happening but like dye diffusing in still water, yellow gates appear out of thin air and opens in front of him. It was blinding and he sees nothing on the other side, but his heart beats fast and with resolve, he takes Momo with him into the portal. 

-They’re inside some sort of palace; every where is adorned with white roses and vines and velvet; he sees a lone woman with wings elegantly spanning across her back and knows right away that it is the Fairy Queen before him.

-The Queen has long curly brown hair and is wearing an elaborate violet gown; she sits poised on her throne. She lifts her head at the intrusion and is beyond shocked when she sees Todoroki there in his bloody robe. “A human?! How…? How did you enter our land?!”

-Her eyes travel down to the girl in Todoroki’s embrace and for a brief moment, the Queen could feel fairy magic from the boy.

-”Save her please,” he pleads. Todoroki had never felt so helpless and the Queen frowns. “I warned her about the human world. I told her that humans were not to be trusted! She knew the risks. This is her punishment and fate!” 

- Todo’s icy glare sends a shiver down her spine but she holds firm and he spats, “If it weren’t for the curse that you cast upon her, she wouldn’t have ended up like this! You forced her to leave her home! This is all because of you!”

-”How dare you talk to the Fairy Queen like this, filthy human?! Or is this because of you and your human woes ? With all your war and suffering? Who is it truly to blame?!” Todoroki hears that and feels like she had slapped him across the face. Out of pure rage, he summons a rapid wave of sharp ice her way and with a flick of her hand the ice reduce to pieces.

-This is when the Queen truly takes a good look at Todoroki and notices his scar. She’s appalled and she ossifies in place, “You’re…you’re the child of Miyuki…” Todoroki has no idea what she’s talking about but the Queen swallows hard and asks him “what makes Momo so special. Why do you want to save her?”

- It took a little while for him to realize that the true name of the girl he’s cradling is ‘Momo’ and he looks at her, smoothing the hair out of her face, cold sweat on her forehead. The Queen waits. He couldn’t answer.

-She sighs. ”The only way to save a fairy is to sacrifice a life.” She looks at him like he should understand what she meant and he does. He nods and accepts the conditions. Todo lays Momo’s head on his lap as he kneels down. The Queen floats over, her magic staff transforms into a dagger and she hands it to him. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

-Todoroki kisses Momo on the forehead and closes his eyes. He pulls the dagger away from him and then with a deep breath, he thrusts it towards his abdomen though all he felt was his own fist against his stomach, the weapon no longer in his possession. The Queen shakes her head and hovers her hand on Momo’s head, fairy magic escaping her lips and just as easy as it sounds, Momo’s face colours again and Todo can see her pupils shifting from behind her delicate eyelashes. He is so relieved all he could do is cup her face with his palms and seal her lips with his own. Momo is stunned at the kiss and when Todoroki releases her, she sees the Fairy Queen beside them and her jaw slacks.

-”Child of Miyuki, you were ready to die for her. Love is something I’ll never understand.” Momo shifts her gaze to Todoroki, slowly registering what the Queen meant, and she notices his mouth purse, eyes determined. “For Momo, I’ll do anything.” The Queen looks at him one last time. “I know. You’re too much like my sister. When I saw the ice and that scar, I knew you were the son of Miyuki.” Todoroki touches the right side of his face and murmurs “my mother is….?”

-The Queen then tells him that his mother, Miyuki, is her sister and the fairy of ice. She’s the only fairy able to control ice and she was adventurous; despite the Queen’s warnings, fell in love with Endeavor, who at the time was the Prince of the Kingdom, and was tricked into being used for her power. Endeavor had wanted to create a strong lineage of fighters in his family and so he lured Todoroki’s mother in and held her captive after the beginning years of his reign. The Fairy Queen was not able to save her as her sister had abandoned the laws of the Fairy World though everyday she still kept her sister in her thoughts. 

-”But I don’t remember my mother…having wings.” “That’s because Miyuki was drained of her energy, and if I’m correct, she sealed some of her fairy magic in that scar of yours.” “My mother…was punished for leaving this on my face. My father had thought she had turned crazy, guards started rumors that she was a witch, but it was….” The Queen finishes his thoughts for him, “all for leaving her magic with you. Knowing my sister, all she would have ever wanted, was to protect you.”

-Todoroki’s speechless and when the Queen opens the portal again for him, she gestures for Momo to stay. 

-Momo squeezes his hand, “Go finish what you started, Prince.” Todoroki knows that she’s too weak to go back to the human world, but a small smile tugs at his lips, glad that Momo’s hands felt warm again, “Yeah. For my mother.” Momo’s gaze perhaps lingers too long and right before he vanishes through the gates he once entered from, he says to her, “I’ll be back to get you.” 

[bts7writings]

BTS When They See You Hungover

Jin

“Did I or did I not tell you to control your alcohol intake” he scolded you, early ing the morning, carefully placing his freshly made soup on the nightstand next to the bed.

You were covered in wet towels as the heat became even more unbearable for you when you woke up. You groan remembering how you rolled your eyes at the warning Jin made yesterday morning.

One drink turned to 3 and those doubled and so on. Your friend, and also designated driver for the night, drove you home after calling Jin over so he could carry you to your apartment.

Jin played along with your antics yesterday night - endlessly dragging you back into bed, insisting that you sleep before you could hurt yourself.

He comes over to lean against the bed frame beside you and puts his arm over your shoulder. You slowly sink into his arms and begin to fall asleep when Jin shakes you a little.

“You know the lady that sells Bungeo-ppang?”

You open one eye to peer at him, “yeah, did you bring me one?”

“No” He smiles and points at the bowl, “drink your soup.” You groan again, but this time in refusal; rolling away from him, but his hand keeps you beside him. “I ran into her while shopping and she gave me some medicine for you,” he sees your eyebrow raise and his laugh begins to form.

“Apparently you went to her shop last night and asked her to set all her fish free.”

You push your head back in annoyance with yourself as Jin rubs your shoulder in comfort.

Suga

He looks over at you still sleeping; you were 5 drinks in when he offered to be your black knight (drink in your place). Fortunately you didn’t put up much of a fight. Unfortunately, 5 drinks was enough to make you a sleeping mess. His alcohol tolerance was fairly good, but after carrying you all the way back home in the cold weather, his memory began to fade.

You shuffle in your sleep and he instantly reaches out to push your hair out of your face.

The action makes you open your eyes slowly to look up at him, “how’re you feeling?” he asks rubbing your cheek.

“Like I’ve been dragged through the streets“

“I may have hit your head in the corners a couple of times.” Your eyes widen at him and he smiles down at you. “I told you when you bought this apartment that the corners needed to be child proof.“

“I’m not a child“ you whine, “How is it that you’re in one piece?“

Before he can answer your question his phone beeps with a text, he takes his hand off of your cheek to get his phone. He looks down at the text really quick before looking up and giving a sympathetic smile.

“Hungover cure is waiting for you on the kitchen counter, babe. I have practice now - call me if you don’t feel okay.“ he gets up to grab his leather jacket and halts to lean over to feel your lips on his.

“Nasty morning breath“ he playfully teases before going in for another peck, “I’ll let myself in tonight so don’t stay up and rest.“

J Hope

“Hyung I think she might be dead” you open your eyes slowly at the sound of Hoseoks voice, “She’s not even mumbling things in here sleep, just dead”

You’ve becomes a black rose since hoseoks tolerance and taste didn’t suit alcohol. You slowly sit up in your bed, putting your hands on your face, not wanting him to see you like this. Your cheeks feel hotter than usual and your throat dry.

“Never mind she’s alive, i’ll call you later then, bye.“

He comes over the bed with a glass of water and some pills “Here you had me worried, i was about to call a doctor over? do you know how much you drank ? you could have gotten alcohol poisoning!” his mouth turns downwards as you sit up slowly and take the pill and raise the glass to your lips.

“Hobi, I’m just tired - I feel like crap“

“I know, I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t have...”

You finally see his tired face as well, he must have stayed up the whole night worrying. A sudden guilt hits you seeing him like this.

“Come here,“ you extend your arms towards him and he goes towards you resting his head on your chest and his hands wrap around your waist. “It’s just a slight hangover, i’ll get over it soon. I’m sorry for making you worry, I don’t think going out for drinks is us.”

“Staying at home is nicer.“ 

Rap Monster

You shuffle around uncomfortably for a few moments before realizing you’re not on your mattress, rather you have your bed sheets wrapped around you tightly inside your bathtub.

“Yah!” you call out, knowing full well your boyfriend promised to stay the weekend with you.

A loud bang followed by smaller bangs assure you that he’s somewhere in the kitchen making his way towards you.

He appears before you in only his loose boxers and messy hair, and it takes you a good minute to remember the position you are currently stuck in, “You awake?” He laughs as he leans in the door frame.

You narrow your eyes at him “Why do you have me here? Why am i tied up?”

“Do you know how stubborn you get when you’re drunk?” he goes over to you, “You kept assaulting me both sexually and physically” he jokes pulling the ties he made with the bed sheet. “I literally had to wrestle the whole way here”

You finish the knots and free yourself with his help from the sheets, “Why the bathtub?” you take his outstretched hand, sheets still wrapped around you, pulling yourself up and out of the tub.

“Babe, you made yourself heavier when i tried to carry you - the farthest i could make it was here.” he takes the remains sheets out of the tub and turns to you.

You see his tongue pass over his lips, your eyes travel towards his face and become immediately trapped by his eyes as you become aware that your are naked under the sheets.

“Let’s take a shower, last night was enough self control to last me a lifetime,“ he jokes.

Jimin

You whine into your sheets as an alarm clock goes off early in the morning, you completely forgot you had a job last night as you drank beer like water. You shove your head in your pillow and kick off the bed sheet to only cover your torso.

You hear footsteps and the alarm shuts off. You wait a few seconds and feel the bed dip down under someones weight, looking up you see your boyfriend leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“I called your coworker to cover the first hours of your shift. What happened last night?”

“I have no idea, i was just drinking and went to close the window and felt my whole body on fire.”

“You drunk called me last night, you know“ he looked at your wide eyes and decided to carry on “You said some pretty dirty stuff baby“ he smirks down at you as you put you head down on the pillow unable to contain the blush coming on your cheeks “said you wanted me to undress you and cool the heat in your pussy with my cum“ you bring your legs together to try and stop the contraction around nothing. “Your drunk logic is beyond me, If anything we’d get each other more heated.“

He gently pushes you head to the side to face him, his breath hitches as he sees your flushed face with mouth slightly open from thirst.

“Jimin“ you whisper as he lays down on top of you, pushing you more into the bed under his weight.

“Don’t look at me like that and not expect some retribution for it.“ He rubs your naked back softly and leans over again to kiss down your spinal cord making you hum happily for what’s to come.

V

“Kim Taehyung” your eyes narrow, not only from annoyance but also from the killer headache. He got home yesterday eager to try out his skills as a bartender.

he made a total of 8 cocktails ready for you to try. you happily obliged drinking all of his inventions and recipes as you finished your assignments and move over to search Netflix.

you didn’t get trough one full episode before you felt your eyelids heavily handing down. the ability to keep them up was forgot and Taehyung ended up with a stiff body not wanting to move and wake you up.

His arms are still around you tightly as you sit on his lap with your head on his shoulder.

“Y/n they’re all virgin - don’t worry” you lower your tone to mimic his voice remembering how you easily feel for his lie.

He gives you an innocent box smile and kisses your forehead, “At least you finally got the 11 hours of sleep you needed.” You cuddle back into his embrace unable to keep your anger.

“Oh no - we’re both going to cuddle properly on a perfectly good mattress.“ You yelp and begin laughing as he carries you bridal style to the bedroom

“Ow my head!“ you cry out from the sharp pain “Taehyung!“ you shout again as he hit your head with the door frame

“I’ll get you some Advil.“

Jungkook

Going out for drinks and chicken was one of his favorite things to do with you. The way you completely brought down your guard and said everything he wanted to hear was his type of fun. He smiles down at you for all the confessions you made to him last night; confessions that he was sure to keep for the rest of his life in his heart…and his computer hard drive once he transferred them out of his phone.

He leaned down next to you and pulled you into his chest not intending to wake you up.

“Remind me never to drink ever again” you murmur into his chest.

“Hangover?”

“The worst”

“You were having the time of your life last night, jagi” you look up at him and scrunch your eyebrows. He smiled down at you and brought his phone above both of you sliding through live photos of you making faces, dancing, and singing horribly. He stoped at a video and played it.

“Jungkoooook” you hear yourself call in the background of the video.

You close your eyes and make a pain expression as the screen turns to you and your sad attempt at aegyo

“I love you this this this much,” your hands spread out knocking over a glass of water next to you, “Did you see that? My love is so strong it knocked over the sea, honey”

“I love you too. Y/N how about we go home?”

“What? No way handsome, call my boyfriend to come pick me up. Jungkook oppa!” you cheer out the his name in the video and you laugh a little at how ridicules you sound.

The last thing you see is jungkook bunny smile ending the video.

“Delete it, Jeon” you sigh and cuddle into his chest, not strong enough to

“Don’t think i will” he laughs putting his phone down.

__________________________________________________

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[butmaybeitwasnt]

slow dumb show

author: emily / simplyprologue rating: teen word count: ~2,000 archive warnings: none summary:  Dean's stuck in his head. Seth is trying to figure out his heart. (Post-RAW 11/6/17.)

read the fic here on AO3 or continue under the cut

“I wanna hurry home to you Put on a slow, dumb show for you and crack you up So you can put a blue ribbon on my brain God, I'm very, very frightening, I'll overdo it”

-- Slow Show, The National

There’ll be a rematch, Dean thinks. It’s one of the many thoughts in his brain right now, a hazy muddle of sensation and feeling and words. There’ll be a rematch, but it’s all messed up with Cesaro’s arms locked around his waist, the canvas under his nails as he tried to claw his way towards Seth while the referee windmilled his arm to a three count. The immediate confusion and the blistering anger, the shouts of the crowd as Sheamus drop kicked Seth in the head. What if he had turned around, what if he had remained in the ring, not gone for a chair?

There’ll be a rematch, but it means nothing when the doctor tells Seth he doesn’t have a concussion, but to lay low for a day or two. A bruise is blooming on Seth’s temple, the first flush of a wound, red and pink and fringing with purple. Thoughtlessly, disgust roiling in his belly, Dean folds his arms across his chest, folds in on himself entirely.

“Well,” Seth mumbles, pressing an ice pack to his head. “Better me than you.”

Dean twists his lips into a silent snarl.

“I owed you one, at least,” Seth continues as they leave the arena, heading towards the car that will take them back to their hotel room. “Hell in a Cell, and that’s just — just the beginning. Or the ending. Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”

Owed you one, Dean echoes inside his head. It gets twisted and warped, becomes a cruel mockery imposed over his memory of last week’s match, his own body supine in the ring after Kane’s tombstone — and then Seth’s warm weight on top of him, his bad shoulder cradled between their chests. The stretched-out seconds of warmth and security, the stinging pain of his elbow and back, then the bereftness, the following fear as Seth was lifted off of him. The reverberation as Seth was slammed down feet from him. Their hands, reaching towards each other blindly.

The tag titles are gone, the Survivor Series match with it.

His head is a shit show, and he knows it, can’t do anything about it right now. Can’t do anything but sit stock-still in the car as it stop-goes in late night traffic, his hands clenching his knees and his teeth clenching in his mouth. If he looks at Seth he think he might vomit, might kiss him, might say those words hanging around in the back of his mouth, the ones he’s been swallowing down for years now, three more words anchoring down into all the chaos inside his head.

Seth sits apart from him, the distance measured in slow breaths and frustrated sighs and stop lights.

He opens his mouth to say something, after nearly twenty minutes of silence — but the driver pulls up to the hotel, and Dean jumps out of the vehicle the second it lurches to a stop. Bags, he thinks. It’s a simple thought, straight forward. Get the bags.

“Hey, are you—?” Seth asks, once they’re in the elevator.

Two keycards. Two rooms.

Seth doesn’t seem mad, Dean thinks. They’ve been sharing a room more often than not, as often as they dare to come close to admitting that they’re not confronting whatever this thing is between them, as red and new and mottled as the contusion on Seth’s face. He wants to kiss it, Dean thinks, a soft brush of his mouth against Seth’s skin. He balls his fists at his side, banging his knuckles on their suitcases.

Take care of Seth.

The door to Seth’s hotel room unlocks with a mechanical snick.

Dean drags in their luggage, leaving it in a haphazard pile near the door; losing his grace, Seth walks heavily, his body dragging along his as he moves past. As if he was shocked, Dean stops, looks up, watches as Seth gingerly lowers himself down onto the bed.

“Your head,” he says.

Seth waves him off, or tries to. There’s an expression on his face that Dean can’t quite place. “Nah it’s — it’s not that bad. I’ll sleep it off.”

Standing there in the half light, he finds himself incapable of knowing what to do with his hands. He rarely thinks about touch; the entire spectrum of it encompasses their lives. There isn’t a moment where he couldn’t describe what Seth’s skin feels like, dimpling under a caress. Or how his body buckles and rolls when it accepts a hit, how his muscles ripple and still as his palm skirts over his chest, a bicep, his thigh.

Seth squints, hands clasped between his open legs.

“Are you going?” he asks, almost cautious.

Dean blinks back at him.

Is he? He realizes he hadn’t thought about that. Even if Seth didn’t want to share a bed tonight, he would sleep on the floor just so he could lie awake, make sure his breathing remained even and he wasn’t bleeding into his skull.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks.

Seth swears under his breath, eyes fluttering closed. Tiredly, he carded a hand through his hair, avoiding the tender side of his head. “Jesus, Dean, why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs.

“Do you wanna stay?” Seth asks.

Discomfort surfaces in his chest in tiny pinpricks. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s been a rough night,” he says with a shrug, trying to appear unperturbed but too exhausted, too weary to carry the act. “I don’t know what you need after rough nights anymore. If it’s a bar, or if you need to call Roman, or hell, if you need to find someone to pour into your bed and be gone by morning—”

“Really?”

Is this really what Seth thinks, after all this time? After five years and then three, and then this summer and then their bodies, crashing into each other in the ring like two colliding stars, their arms around each other for the first time in celestial eons. Entire worlds had been born, and lived, and died as they fought and found their ways back to each other.

“I don’t know, Dean. You’re not exactly giving me much to — the whole night, since the moment Sheamus and Cesaro took the belts off of us, you’ve barely looked at me.” Seth looks down at his interlaced fingers, and Dean startles, realizing that Seth is holding his own hands so that he wouldn’t reach out for him. “You didn’t exactly get into this by choice.”

“Do you think I wanna leave? After everything, after we got the Shield back together, and you think I’m gonna go somewhere?”

“Roman’s been out almost three weeks now, and even in that time everything’s changed.”

That everything hangs heavily between them. No, not everything, he would say if he was feeling more combative. But now, at this late hour, his body caught up in the press of exertion and time zone calculus and adrenaline — he’s truly not. He doesn’t want to fight with Seth. Hasn’t for months now. But yes everything, maybe, if he considers him and Seth a constant. And he does. He maybe always has. But Roman’s sudden illness, and the Siege and Shane McMahon’s violent insecurities, and the continual rippling effects from everything that happened at TLC. Everything else.

“You really think I’m gonna just—”

He can’t just think — but maybe that was Seth’s miscalculation in the first place, Dean thinks, back when they were younger and more desperate to prove themselves. When Seth was thinking six steps ahead, seven, ten, a whole hopscotch board of jumps and skips and throwing stones. Like child’s play, he betrayed them.

Before someone else made everything change.

Dean’s heart leaps into his throat, and again, he feels sick.

“Hear me out. Please.” Please, Seth asks again, with just his eyes. Then, hesitating, he unlaces his hands, reaching out for one of Dean’s, pulling him down to sit beside him on the bed. “I’m just saying that… I know you follow your heart. That’s who you are. And I’m the — the Architect. I never do anything without thinking five steps ahead.” He looks almost ashamed, but manages a crooked grin anyway. “Well, tonight Sheamus and Cesaro were six steps ahead, and we lost. I don’t know where my head is. Especially, since...” With testing fingers, he palpates the edge of the bruise. “Yeah, that hurts.”

Dean takes Seth’s hand, pulling it back down into the space between them.

“So you wanna know where my heart is?” he asks, slowly, so that the words I love you don’t just tumble out after them.

“Yeah.”

Seth nods, looking like a man desperate for something to make sense.

“You really don’t know?”

From his mouth escapes a soft laugh, a low reverberation of his careless cackle. Self-deprecating, and guilty. “No, Dean. Most days I’m not even sure I could pick my own heart out of a line-up. I have complete plausible deniability when it comes to my emotions. I usually rely on you to tell me what I’m feeling.” Dean feels the confusion on his own face, and Seth shakes his head, just barely. “Not… with words. But I know I can follow your lead. You have a good one in there.”

Gently, he taps the pad of his forefinger over Dean’s sternum, eyes earnest and shining in the low light. And that smile, and those teeth, and everything he’s ever loved about Seth when he’s being soft and vulnerable, not hiding behind the veneer of the brash knight, the clever kingslayer.

Dean doesn’t know what to say.

His head’s a mess. It always has been. There are moments, when his emotions run high enough and the stakes are just as high, when he’s in the ring or fighting by his brothers’ sides — there are moments where the words reach around all that he’s feeling and he can get them out, make them neat and orderly, make them make sense.

“I hate myself so much I could be sick right now.”

Seth’s brows furrow together. “What?”

“I let you down.”

“I let you down.” Still gentle, but now firm, Seth frames his face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones as he brings their foreheads together. “We’ve lost titles before. Why does it feel like this?”

Faces so close, he might close his eyes. But he doesn’t. Seth’s face slides out of focus, but he doesn’t close his eyes. The air between them is a careful exchange of breath, their mouths lingering close, but neither daring to move. Not closer, not apart.

He just wants Seth to feel okay. He just wants to feel okay, tonight.

There’ll be a rematch, Dean thinks, maybe next week before Survivor Series or after. But maybe it doesn’t matter, even if it does, because they’ve missed so much together already, punching past landmarks and anniversaries and climbing up and then falling off of cages together. Breaking bones, and brains, and hearts, and he remembers a time where the words did reach, when he could think of nothing but Seth’s destruction and his own, but always together.

Even when he hated him, he stayed.

“We’re gonna burn together,” he says, final. He cups the side of Seth’s head, fingers stroking over his scalp through his damp hair. Holds him in place as he tilts his head just enough to press his lips to the mound of swelling. A breath, more than a kiss.

“But…”

“No. That’s it.”

Don’t you fucking get it? A single thought. A clear thought. He changes the angle, brings their mouths together. A breath, more than a kiss. The skin of their lips cling to each other when he pulls away.

Seth’s eyes are clear; he nods.

“We burn.”