#for now embrace the snow brave soldier
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A Gentle Cradle of the Night
Silver twists from the moon,
And drapes the night in its silken folds,
He knows she'll be coming home soon,
And standing in the snow, a promise he holds.
She glides down to the forest floor,
Radiates a warmth that seeps into his heart,
He'd promised they'd stay together for evermore,
United for eternity and never to part.
Their promise unravels as they sway in the night,
He reads her eyes and they hold a tale,
A tale of sorrows and love and delight,
And they dance in the snow as his feet leave a trail.
In small glowing steps she walks upon the air,
She giggles and smiles as he drinks it all in,
Her presence, her light, a sight so rare,
Her fingers skim over his and he thinks what could've been.
If he had held their promise carefully in his hands,
If he hadn't let her go into the dark and the deep,
If he had somehow evaded fate's cruel strands,
Then he wouldn't have been left all alone to weep.
So just like each night, she slips out of his grasp,
Leaving the snow as dead as before,
A tear falls down and rips out a gasp,
Regret eats him up and he shivers to the core.
#why is this so painful#why does this give off levihan vibes#this is such a beautiful winter scenery#winter/ the season when everything dies#love and promises and hope included#but it's okay because he will remember her#summer will come and the breeze will calm him down#it will remind him of her#for now embrace the snow brave soldier#you've been through so much#levihan#levi ackerman#hange zoë#levi x hanji#quillsandblades 🗡️#poetry#levihan poetry
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santa doesn't know you like i do; trent alexander-arnold blurb
summary: he would always have a throne in your heart. was it okay to see blurry lines?
warnings: none just fluff, reader and trent are dumb
note: FINALLY I WROTE FLUFF BRING THE CHAMPAGNE — venus 🫂💐🫧
Trent had claimed a permanent residence in your heart, an undisputed ruler of your daydreams since your teenage years.
Despite attempts to move on, dating other guys, and even enduring his tales of romantic conquests, your soul continued to ache for the one thing it craved the most—his love, a fragile hidden secret handled with discomfort in your mind as if it was an uninvited guest.
But the balance was neutralized by his hypnotic ways of keeping that worship of him in your brain: moments when his comments stick out details about you would come with a deepened voice, his pupils dilated at your presence, and the magnet that pushed your bodies to get close every time you were in the same place. Actions that left you wondering if those gestures were genuine or just part of his flirtatious nature.
The melody of his laugh painted shooting stars in your night sky carving it in your mind if the reason behind were your jokes. And you could recall the times he found in your chest a place when he could let go of the pressure and his tears. You were too late to intend to hit the brakes now.
Laughter echoed within the living room walls, the faux snow in the tree placed in a corner resembling the snowflakes falling outside. You had invited Trent over to help you decorate the house.
He held the ladder for you, even though you didn't need it, but you had asked him to make you feel more secure as you placed the Christmas baubles and the star on top of the tree standing on your tiptoes, finishing up the decorations. He began applauding accompanying your celebrations when you had finally completed your task.
He stepped away from the ladder to let you descend, and you hugged him, running your hands over his neck, catching a whiff of his cologne. He wrapped his hands around your waist as he welcomed your embrace. “Thank you,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“You're welcome, my love.” The once comforting and typical nickname, now sparkled a new connotation while he caressed your temple as he looked at you with appreciation in his eyes, building a new pathway in an indecipherable labyrinth, confusing you even more.
Sometimes you considered giving up, settling down in the middle of the road, leaving everything in part to your convenience, because if you admitted that he may be hiding the same things that you were experiencing you would be afraid to face the consequences of turning your most cherished friendship into something that could go anywhere.
You sat on the couch, hot coffee cup in your hands, protective blanket over your bodies against the winter chill, Home Alone played on the TV, you laid your head on his shoulder, admiring how beautiful the house was with the Christmas spirit imprinted on it. Love rushing in your veins.
You looked up at him discreetly. He was focused on the movie while sipping the hot chocolate in his mug, and for an instance, the soldier in you ignited, putting braveness in your shoulders.
“Trent,” you called out, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he gazed expectantly at you. Yet, as you pondered the words in your heart, you shook your head gently. “You're the best friend I could ask for,” your voice lowering, a wistful smile on your lips. Holding back your feelings once again as an eternal hostage.
You wondered if someday, the courage to express them would find its way to you. And Trent would think that too.
Each cell of your bodies acting like spectators waiting for you to materialize the scenes entangled in your minds. “You mean a lot to me, love.”
#trent alexander arnold x reader#trent alexander arnold imagine#trent alexander arnold x you#trent alexander arnold fluff#football x reader#football fluff#trent alexander arnold blurb
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ik gojo is the clingy type. but like how clingy??? i’m sure dyf!mc gets overwhelmed because she def seems the type to not be used to affection.
how clingy? wouldn’t u like to know lmao. just know he’s clingy AND whipped in dyf au
you are right in the sense that she isn’t used to affection, but know that i’ve written dyf!mc to be very very very very very touchstarved. which is also why u don’t see her complain much/at all when being touched by the main 3
It’s cold. You need to wear more layers.
You feel shivers start to trail down your spine, your undershirt suddenly not feeling quite enough as Gojo wrapped his own uniform blazer around you.
His extremely chilly, cold feeling blazer.
Unrelenting and refusing to let you out of his hold.
“Satoru…” You’re trying not to push him away, the cold radiating from his body AND his snow covered jacket making your chill resistance even lower.
“Could you let me go?”
“Nope!”
“But you’re really cold!” You’re now struggling against his grip, trying to get off his lap and his arm unlocked from around your waist. So that you can free yourself from his scarily glacial chill. Why does he run so cold?
“And? You feel really nice and warm. Like a little warm water bottle! He smushed his cheek against yours as you struggled to push him away, squirming around.
“Nwooo, stop!” You shove his imposing cheek away with a glove-clad hand. “You’re too cold!”
“I think you’ll look cute even with a little bit of frost bi-“
Suguru has saved you, flicking his partner’s forehead hard enough for him to let you go.
You act quickly, lunging into Suguru’s open and waiting arms instead, ensuring that the fluttering jacket didn’t touch the ground as you hung it on your arm instead.
“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver!” You whined, reaching pulling your muffler on properly from its disheveled state.
Gojo really was a walking fridge.
“Noooo-! My personal heater!” He grabbed at the air as he dragged himself forward, aiming to grapple you into his deathly embrace of ice and teeth chattering.
Geto quickly swerved, dodging him and maneuvering you as Gojo stumbled on his feet.
You let out a sigh of relief. Another few minutes of guaranteed non-Gojo heat.
You’ve thought you’ve escaped. Thought.
“Thank you and all, Suguru but…” You start to panic a little as you feel his arms tightening around you.
“Could you perhaps let me go now?”
He simply smiles down at you, eyes closed in what seemed like bliss as he continued to hold you.
“Nope.”
Goddamn weather.
“Suguryunnnnn, make way for me!” You shuddered at the expanse of incoming freeze when you felt Satoru wrap his long arms around the both of you.
——
“Then all you have to do is look at him like I taught you, okay?” Shoko reaffirms, holding you by your shoulders, determinedly looking you in the eye as you stare back at her.
“Wha-“
“Target spotted. Into action, brave soldier.” You’re immediately flung outwards, a strong chest catching you as you rubbed at your nose, looking up at the ‘target’.
“Satoru,” You began, your hands nervously twiddling with each other as your eyes surreptitiously peeked back at Shoko hiding behind a wall, flashing you a thumbs up.
Time to put the mission into play.
Your eyes met his smiling face.
“There’s a new crepe shop that-“
“Yes.”
You’re taken aback. “I… Didn’t finish my sentence?”
Gojo hummed, hand sweeping out snowflakes from your hair.
“You ran out of allowance money right?”
…
…
“I was right, wasn’t I?” He squishes your face in his cold hands as you struggle to think of a retort. You can’t give away Shoko’s plan so easily, even if he was right!
“Awwwe, don’t worry.” He now pinches one of your cheeks, before wrapping you up in his arms.
“I’ll buy you as many crepes as you want!”
masterlist
Notes:
Suguru and Satoru were actually going to head off to the crepe shop together for a date.
They were thinking buying back some for you and Shoko, but since you so cutely asked Satoru, they simply left with you.
You invited Shoko along.
The crepes tasted strangely sweet when you all ate them together on a bench at a nearby park.
You want to go again soon.
Gojo got strawberry, Geto had chocolate banana, Ieiri matcha.
Regardless of what you picked, Gojo had stolen a bite of yours, you willingly gave Geto a bite of your crepe whilst he fed you back his own, and Shoko and yourself shared crepes with each other.
#gojo x reader#geto x reader x gojo#geto x reader#jjk x reader#dyf au#gojo satoru x reader#whalewrites#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru#satosugu x reader
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With Darkness comes Light IV
A Feysand x reader fic
TW: 748 words of angst (vivid description of death)
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Both the citizens of the Night Court and those beyond it, thought of Cassian as a simple brute, who happened to be a General. He was certainly a good fighter, brave and handsome, but many people thought that beyond that there was nothing to be seen. You knew better. Cassian knew better.
Throughout his life, Cassian came close to dying too many times. Throughout his life, he has seen too many die. He recognises the feeling now. Before one moves on, there is a shift in the world, and a tug deep in one’s bones, right before Death grasps you. He knows that that last moment could be the most painful one, especially when you are cradling the person you love most in your arms.
He thought he would have to experience it only once in his life. The feeling of blood and life slipping through his fingers as his sister, Alodel, lay dying in his arms. Hundreds of years later, he still lies awake at night, remembering the smell of the fresh snow, now saturated with the terrifying scent of her blood. He remembers how the blinding white snow was reddened by the concerning amount of blood. He remembers Alodel fading away, not only her life slipping away, but also her body. There was nothing left of her, she had been taken away by a black mist.
And yet, there you were. Hundreds of years later, fighting bravely. He could never forget that day, the way you fought, and how you died in his arms.
It was barely a decade before Rhysand was trapped Under the Mountain. Most of the soldiers from your camp had left to fight, leaving only the weak, young and old behind. His enemies knew that too, which is why they attacked your camp.
They didn’t account for you, didn’t expect anyone to fight back. At the end, it didn’t matter, you weren’t able to fight against that many experienced soldiers. At the end, Cassian was too late, just like he was with his sister. At the end, you didn’t care, you had accepted your death before he did.
The scene before him was all too familiar. You looked like you were sleeping in a bed of red, in the middle of the snow. He took you in his arms, his memories of the past blending into the present like your blood in the snow.
You didn’t look scared like Alodel, you wore a kind smile on your face.
“There you are,” You greeted him, “Warrior-Heart, I have been waiting for you.” You didn’t beg him to not let you die, like his sister. You didn’t cry, you didn’t writhe in pain. Your death was so different, yet so much the same.
Cassian had tried to reassure you, he would get a healer, before you knew it. You only answered back with another smile for a while, before you said to him that it was your time.
“Don’t fear, Warrior-Heart. This won’t be the last time we meet. But I must first die to get reborn.”
But he couldn’t let you die like Alodel. He could not bear it. He pulled you closer in his arms, begged Rhysand to make haste and get to your camp. He told you stories and called you Alodel many times, before asking for your name. He rocked you back and forth and cried harder than he did in years when you died. He had felt the pull of Death and only embraced you tighter. It could have taken minutes or hours before Rhysand finally arrived, but it had already been too late.
You had already been taken by a black mist.
After all those years, he remembered your face, as if your blood was still fresh on his hands.
That’s what it felt like when he saw you. The Keeper of the Forest, Master of the Dark Creatures, the young girl that died in his arms. The girl he mourned for, as he did for his sister.
You looked different. You weren’t covered in blood. Your wings weren’t ripped apart, they were missing all together. Both of your legs were attached to your body and there was no hole gaping through your stomach. Your body looked fine, but your eyes looked as dead as the day you first met.
He repeated your name and alarm flashed through your empty eyes, before you disappeared into a black mist. This time not because you died, but because you fled.
Taglist: @starryhiraeth @sweetorangeblossom @esposadomd @blackgirlmagicforever
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Made With Crown And Claw: WIP Intro
Original fiction - The Tectomany Saga Book One
Pitch: A Princess ends up locked in a tower, but the dragon is a girl she used to fancy.
Genre: High Fantasy
Word Count: 130k
Staus: Fourth draft complete
Releine Sholt is a soldier who can't find a purpose for her life beyond putting it on the line. She is hand-picked to be the new guard captain for the capricious Princess Almyra Tectus, with one key stipulation - she must never speak to her, on threat of dire punishment.
The Tectus family was blessed by the goddess Ialme with divine magic that can alter the forms of creatures and objects - something Almyra consistently fails at. Her father is determined to find his daughter a worthy spouse to continue that lineage.
Releine and Almyra find themselves embroiled in the scemes of goddesses, immortal witches, assassins, and treacherous nobles while dealing with their burgeoning attraction to one another.
Features:
🐲 DRAGONS!
🐲 Sapphic romance and non-cis characters
🐲 There was only one bed: Hard Mode
🐲 A heist
🐲 World-bending divine magic
🐲 The trans elf anti-pope
🐲 Intrigue, schemes, and mysteries
Content Warnings (CW): Body horror, gore, lifechanging injury, violence.
Character Intros
Releine || Almyra || Jessa || Tenacity || More to come . . .
Setting
The Tectomancy Saga takes place in a bowl-shaped world, with nothing below the rim but swirling mists, and a vast, deep forest spanning the middle.
Hundreds of years ago, the peoples of the world were each blessed by their goddess (or witch, or genius as some like to argue) with a divine magic that has shaped their culture. Now the world is decaying, and a struggle for control over the magics has begun.
Taglist (DM to be added or removed): @indy-gray @sam-glade
First chapter below the cut
For centuries, scientists and philosophers in the Academic Ring of Leirsham vastly agreed that the world was round. The bright lights that decorate our skies at night must be the glimmering lights of far-off cities - the sun lazily circles the interior of this sphere, loyally followed by its lunar companion.
This was the accepted notion until one brave explorer found the edge of the world; high in the mountains to the east, beyond dead and decaying lands into which humans rarely dared to venture, she saw the truth - the world is a vast bowl.
Blue mists boiled and churned far below, creeping around the sheer cliff edge as the brave explorer dangled her legs off the edge, frozen in wonder and fear, sure that any moment she’d tumble down into their greedy embrace and be forever forgotten, left to the mysteries below.
Not far from where the explorer had sat, nestled away in the mountains, a stream bubbles up from under the ground. It bumbles its way through the valleys where snow Alfar purportedly made their home, and through the rocky tundra that hosted sturdy mountain Droichs. From there, it rages and rumbles through the plains - a fork of it taking a detour to trundle through deep forests in the middle of the bowl, past the territory of the elusive forest Alfar and into the dense, tangled, and gloomy places where Beastfolk roam. The first branch becomes the River Ilt; it thunders once more, through hills and farmland, before depositing itself into Lake Simul, where humans chose to build their capital city.
Across the bridge, to the hill-island in the centre of the lake. Up the cliff, through the great stone rings of the city; the guard outposts; the residential district; the merchants’ and artificers’ marketplace; the Guilds’ and the Academic Rings; the military barracks; the homes of the rich and the noble; and lastly, the palace.
In one courtyard, in a corner of the palace walls, in a line of steely soldiers and mercenaries, Releine Sholt was staring at a slightly smug statue and trying very hard not to move.
❖
The previous night, she had slammed her fists into the commander’s desk and growled; “This is a ridiculous idea, Sir. I didn’t join up to hold umbrellas and open doors for the King’s brat.”
Hidrim Grant had levelled a tired gaze over his reading spectacles and put his quill back in the ink-pot with his meaty, scarred hand. “Careful, Sholt. You’re talking about the Princess of our realm, heir apparent. And all that. Shouldn’t talk about her disrespectfully, I suppose. Besides, she’s older than you.”
“No, sir”, Releine had complained through clenched teeth. “But everyone knows she’s a brat.”
“Hmm. Well, don’t look at it like that. This is an honour, soldier - most people would kill for this opportunity.” Grant had blown the ink dry on the hastily-scribbled missive in front of him and dropped it into a grimy ‘out’ tray. “It’s easy work for an officer’s pay.”
Releine had clenched her fists as her mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times. “Officer’s pay . . . ?”
“Yup.”
“You’re taking pity on me.”
Grant had rubbed the wrinkles of exhaustion from his brow. “I won’t lie. I know your family situation, yeah. That’s not all there is to it though.” He had gotten up and moved closer to her, perching on the edge of his desk companionably. “You are the best this company has. You’ve excelled in your training, you’re a smart lass, you’ve seen combat - well, some combat. Enough. Most importantly though, you exercise discretion and you know how to keep your mouth shut.”
Releine had said nothing. Grant had studied her expression - cold, deep eyes peered out over an arched nose. A scar graced her freckled cheeks from the corner of an eye down to her heavy jawline. Her thin lips were pursed, and her forehead creased between her dark eyebrows. Grant had known the kid since she was knee-height and knew that this look meant: “I’m trying to appear defiant in a poor attempt to hide the fact that I’m considering it.” In many ways, she hadn’t changed much.
“Look,” Grant had pressed, “It’s only a selection anyway. There will be at least a dozen other soldiers there from the other companies. Probably some from the mercenary guild too. It’s not like you’re signing on the dotted line just by going to the thing.”
The forehead-creases had deepened.
“It’s worth a shot, no? Just see how it is.”
Muscled arms had folded over her chest.
“Don’t make me order you.”
Grant had breathed an internal sigh of relief as the girl’s tall, awkward frame collapsed backwards onto a creaking wooden chair. Maybe this would work out after all. “Fine”, she had sighed with resignation, “I’ll do it.” Hastily she had added “Sir”, after a moment’s pause.
Lamplight had flickered over the pocked oak panels of Grant’s office. “Good. Well. That’s settled then. So let’s go over the rules.” Releine had raised an eyebrow as Grant continued. “The King is very particular about the conduct of the Royal Guards, so listen closely . . . ”
❖
With the commander’s advice circling in her head, Releine had arrived at the palace this crisp late-spring morning. Vouched for by commanders and guild leaders, the soldiers were ushered through the lush grounds by hushed staff, leaves crunching under heavy leather boots and clanking sabatons.
Releine craned her neck at the palace; this was the first time she’d seen it up close. It rose from the crest of the hill like a great patch of mushrooms, seeming not built, but grown. A statue in front of her was similarly hewn out of the ground, not atop the flagstones, or embedded in them, but part of them. The stonework betrayed not the impact of a chisel, but the touch of a fingertip. New styles of magnificence had been added over the centuries according to the occupants’ tastes, creating a grandiose hodge-podge of clashing columns, balconies, arches, and windows, all fighting to dictate the overall style - which ultimately was that this was the residence of a group of people with far too much time and money on their hands. Releine enjoyed thinking that all that investment hadn’t stopped the place from being ugly.
A tense silence had fallen over the lines of soldiers - she assumed that they had all had similar lectures from their superiors to what Commander Grant had given her last night. With this knowledge, there wasn’t even an uneasy shuffling. Nobody muttered. Nobody twitched. Barely anybody even dared to chance a breath.
The rule of utmost import that Releine held steady in her head right now was this: “Do not speak in the presence of the Princess, not even if you’re spoken to. Don’t react to her in any way other than to follow her commands. For all other purposes, you are a plank of wood. You got that, Sholt? She’s going to try it on with you, you know. She wants that reaction. Don’t give it to her. You don’t want to end up like the last one.”
Grant had not specified what had happened to the last one.
Whatever the reason for this arcane rule, it would apply to Releine throughout her service here, should she be lucky enough to receive job of personal guard to Her Highness Princess Almyra Tectus, heir to the throne, darling of the city, beloved of the people, and spoiled royal extraordinaire. It made sense to Releine, quite suddenly, why she was only ever seen waving from a distance, stood behind her daddy on some balcony, or trapped behind a carriage door; for whatever reason, the King would not allow his daughter to be sullied by hearing common voices. The money, she thought, had bloody better be worth it.
Almyra Tectus flounced into the courtyard on the stately heels of her father, His Majesty King Ifys Tectus, the thirty-second king of Humankind. Releine barely acknowledged King Ifys Tectus and his many titles being smoothly announced by an unassuming herald. Her response to the man himself was purely automatic - ankles together, back straight, salute held at a perfect angle, entirely at attention - the muscular mercenary-looking woman next to her didn’t do quite so well, taking a moment to react and awkwardly toss a salute into the air. Releine’s eyes flickered briefly over the King - to be fair, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who intended to hold anyone’s attention for long. For all purposes, he looked more like a guild money-keeper than royalty. He wore a stuffy grey suit, a shirt with ruffled sleeves, and a blue cravat - for that splash of colour to show he could be fun, she supposed. His thick ceremonial cloak was draped messily over his shoulders and very much looked like it didn’t want to be there either, but we have to make this work, Your Majesty. No crown was atop his graying hair - an understated silver circlet hid above his furrowed brow. An awkward half-smile peeked through his goatee as he scanned the courtyard of people before him. If he’d offered them a cheeky wink, Releine wouldn’t have been surprised.
But Releine’s fleeting glance at the King was eclipsed by her. Almyra Tectus was a woman of about her age, though the way she skipped through the courtyard was reminiscent of a child at play. She had a wave of ginger hair and bright, round green eyes that sparkled below a jewelled tiara and above full pink cheeks. A purple shawl was tied in a pretty bow over the puffiest, most ruffly periwinkle dress she had ever seen, with the hint of some very impractical shoes going on somewhere in the explosion of petticoats below. And she was short - Releine decided that whoever had sculpted, painted, or otherwise portrayed her royal visage had been carefully instructed to add a few inches to her height and just that bit more classical goddess-archetypal beauty, thank you. Her scan of the courtyard differed from her father’s - she blew hair out of her face and fiddled with her necklace as her eyes flickered from person to person. Her father’s half-smile said “absent-minded”. Almyra’s said “This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me all week and I’m ready to get into some mischief.” Releine stared at her, probably for far too long, as those green eyes flicked over to her. Snapping back to reality, she quickly turned her gaze directly ahead and pretended she had always been looking at absolutely nothing, not even the stones in the wall ahead of her, a technique known and practised by most soldiers for exactly such ceremonial occasions as these. Hopefully, she thought, it hadn’t been too late. This occasion was already stressful enough without any mischief. The King cleared his throat generously and spoke in a plummy voice. “Ahem. Hem. Good of you all to be here on such short notice, my compliments to your commanding officers. Unfortunately, my daughter’s previous personal guard was quite suddenly lost - a fine young warrior such as yourselves - and the position is quite essential to fill. We shan’t take too much of your time.” He turned to his daughter. “Any one you like, Myra, my dear.”
The Princess began to pace between the rows, hands clasped behind her back, a carefully-chosen mock scowl with one raised eyebrow on her face. The heavy silence was broken only by the sound of the King fumbling through his robes for a rolled cigarette and the hiss of a match being struck. The hair on the back of Releine’s neck prickled as Almyra passed behind her, the clack of her heels stopping briefly as she said to the men behind her, “Hmm. No, not you. Or you. You . . . Maybe. Oh, this one won’t do at all.”
Almyra made her way back to Releine’s row and she mentally recoiled, expecting any second to hear the Princess arbitrarily dismiss her too. It wasn’t that she even particularly wanted this job. Her plan had always been to support her mother and younger siblings either through her military wage, or from the payout that her death in service would afford them. Grant had been right that her family situation was dire and that the higher pay afforded to the relatively peaceful life of a royal guard would be an enormous boon to them. It just didn’t feel particularly right to Releine - she felt that she belonged on the battlefield, where her life would at least be of use to someone. Still, to her frustration, she wasn’t quite ready to feel the sting of rejection from her royal highness. Fortunately, the Princess passed right on by and stopped at the mercenary to her left who had struggled with her salute earlier.
Staring up at the statuesque woman with her hands on her hips and feet set apart, Almyra cocked her head, inspecting her face-paint, the polished battle-nicked spear, and the somewhat battered leather armour. A beat of time went by, before the Princess smartly rose a foot and brought her heel down on a sandal-clad foot, hard. The mercenary yelped what was quite clearly the first vowel of a curse, before stemming it down to a pained growl. She flashed a thunderous glance of rage down at the Princess with gritted teeth. Almyra herself was squealing with laughter, which terminated in a short snort. Wiping a tear from her eye, and still speaking through giggles, she said to the mercenary, “Oh no, I’m afraid that’s too much. Papa wouldn’t approve of that.” The King’s cigarette shifted from one side of his mouth to the other as he shook his head gently. Releine wished that she’d told Grant more firmly that she didn’t want to be here.
The merc’s shoulders sagged. Almyra continued down the rows for her second lap, this time occasionally stopping in front of someone and pulling some similar prank. The Princess had no concept of personal space and absolutely no boundaries. Releine could feel the mood of her fellow soldiers sour as the Princess was displeased with either the overreaction, or lack of reaction from each one. Faces were pulled, cheeks were pinched, armour plates were unclasped. One waifish young man from another company was beckoned to put his ear down towards her. Whatever she whispered had the boy gasping for air between stitches of laughter. The King rolled his eyes.
It was on the Princess’s fourth lap of eliminations that she finally stopped in front of Releine. Almyra reached a finger up, under her chin. “Well, look at you.” Almyra murmured softly, guiding her face to turn this way and that. “Where did such a handsome face get a scar like that?” Soft fingers traced down the reddish-white line that ran from the corner of her eye to her jaw. Releine maintained her nervous silence, though her heart jumped into her throat. Her eyes turned down towards the other girl’s and she reluctantly realised that she badly wanted the Princess to pick her.
In front of her, Almyra’s attitude, playful and somewhat mean, had melted away. She had asked with genuine curiosity; the warmth of Almyra’s hand on her cheek, a glint behind her eyes, the way her lips had pursed out of their menacing little grin - Releine understood what she’d been trying to achieve. Nobody beyond her father and select individuals had ever spoken to her, and nobody ever could without feeling the force of the King’s wrath. She pictured the King’s steely eyes and shaking head as Almyra had sparked too much of a reaction out of each one. She needed to speak without speaking, let her know there was someone else in here who she could connect to. Seized by an urge to reach out to the girl, Releine waited. The moment seemed to last forever as Almyra’s hand left her cheek and the King took a long, lingering drag on his cigarette. As the Princess looked set to turn away, he slowly let a column of smoke spiral into the crisp morning air, and Releine rapidly blinked twice.
The flutter of her eyelashes turned the Princess’s head back towards her, eyebrows raised. She staggered back, off-balance on her heels, and set herself in front of Releine once again.
“Papa! I’ve chosen. I want this one.”
The King casually put out his cigarette and tossed the smouldering butt to the floor. He sauntered through the ranks towards his daughter, and put his hand upon her shoulder, looking Releine up and down. “Hmm. Decent enough choice. Good muscle on her. Name, soldier?” Releine’s mouth parted slightly before slamming closed again as she remembered the rule. Not even when spoken to. Not even by the King. The stark moment was followed by the King muttering, “Very good, very good. Well done.” He turned to his daughter. “Alright. Would you like to do the honours, my darling?”
Almyra shook her head, her cheeks flushing even pinker with embarrassment. “Oh, no. I’m still not quite - no, not yet.”
“No matter.” The King reassured her “We’re working on it, aren’t we my girl? You’ll get there. Step forward, soldier.”
Releine stepped forward and witnessed Tectomancy for the first time - the divine, royal magic that could reshape the world, held secret by the royal family for a millennium.
The King’s hand drifted to her company insignia where it was pinned to the left strap of her leather breastplate. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he gently stroked the metal, tracing its engravings and shape. An ethereal blue-and-white glow spread across its surface, accompanied by a low melodic hum, like wind whistling through a tunnel. The metal began to bend and deform, folding over itself, churning, until it settled into a new shape. Fresh engravings scored themselves into the surface as she found herself wearing the badge of a captain of the royal guard.
The King straightened up. “Take the day. Go and see your family or friends, and bid farewell to your company. It may be a while before you next see them. Arrangements will be made for you - present the badge at the palace gates at seven sharp tomorrow morning. Until then, Captain.”
The King ambled back towards the courtyard’s exit. Almyra regarded Releine’s face one moment more before she too turned away and caught up to her father, the cheeky grin having returned to her face. Soldiers and mercenaries filed out, casting dark glances her way and grumbling to one another in low tones. As the final one wandered past, Releine’s frozen, flabbergasted form finally jolted into motion and she marched stiffly out of the courtyard and away from her new home.
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A soldier and fear - how can those two things go together? You can put me to the proof.
Once upon a time there was a soldier that had fought years of war without despair or complaint. He fought well and bravely stormed the front lines whenever his general called upon him, and when peace had finally been achieved; his general called upon him one silent night and said:
¬ It is finished, our country shall finally know rest and men and women and children shall speak of peace for centuries come. You and I have done well, and so have all those that have departed. Now you and I are free.
¬ Free? What do you mean?
¬ Now that this land is free from war's chains, we are yet again ordinary men, and ordinary men choose their own obligations. Your sword you shall now wield for your name and yours only until you see fit, and your blood shall no longer flow as part of this country's heart. Freedom is a reward as much as it is a burden, and it is up for you decide which form it shall take.
Now it so happened that the brave soldier had no home or family to return to. So to the general he had fought together with for years, he had asked:
¬ Then where shall I go?
With his sword strapped to his back the soldier went forth into the world, taking along with him what was left of his provisions and the sack of gold that was given to him as a reward for his service. By foot he decided to head south, towards the country where it was said that spring thrived all year long.
¬ What spring is I shall endeavor to learn, for all I have known is the bite of the winter snow.
But no sooner than he had left the borders he encountered a hound on its lonesome, shivering from the sheer cold in a hovel. With haste he stripped himself of his mantle and covered the poor animal with it, and with bandages he made a small cot.
¬ What I would do to give you a warm bed and a roaring fire, little one, ¬ but alas! Forgive me, for this is all I can spare.
Now the soldier continued to travel in this manner until he had come to a point that all his provisions he had given away to the animals he took pity on in the wild. Finding respite in a frozen glade; he sat down on the roots of a large tree and began to think over his fate.
¬ I have walked for days end and all I have left my sword, a map, and a sack of gold; ¬ a village is near reach, but how bitter the cold grows! ¬ Perhaps I shall not learn what spring is, after all.
All at once there was a rustling, and when the soldier had stood in full attention a strange person stood tall before him, dressed in a robe of a deep dark green with its hood covering the draping over the person's face. The strange fellow said:
¬ Listen well, for I shall tell you what I had seen for days end: there was a soldier who had given away his mantle and bandages to a shivering hound when he could've wrapped his wide back and frozen knuckles with them; ¬ a soldier who had given away his jerky to a skulk of foxes then a herd of deer when he could've skinned all their fur for warmth and roasted their meat; ¬ and a soldier who had given away his herbs to a trapped wolf then a struggling cub when he could've used them for his blistered feet and chapped skin. ¬ Now you shall tell me what I see before my eyes, ¬ I see a foolish man before me, money and sword he has but close he was to drifting off and catching himself into the winter's cold embrace. Do you agree?
To this, the soldier replied:
¬ The soldier you had seen for days end and the foolish man before you are one and the same, ¬ money and sword he has, but freedom he also possesses. ¬ The bite of winter I had learned to accept during my days and nights, ¬ so it is no skin off my back, to help such creatures in their plight. ¬ Were I to be captured by the winter, it is then I am a true fool; ¬ for years of war had not claimed me, but simply sleep had become my lure.
The strange person laughed so hard that their shoulders shook violently, causing the hood to fall away from their features. The soldier had been talking to a man; a man with long hair the color of the night and sharp eyes a strange pinkish hue; like the flesh of a pomegranate. The stranger laughed and laughed and when he had gotten his fill, he said:
¬ Is that so? Very well! ¬ Then look behind you.
The soldier did as he was told and he saw a large bear approaching the glade, growling and baring its large teeth.
¬ Let us see what will take ahold of you first.
— bearskin. | 1815
1: post-reading notes here! 2: tl;dr: bearskin is about a soldier who encounters the devil when he was in despair what do with his life. the devil challenges the soldier's bravery, and in response the soldier kills a bear that was about to charge at him. with the bear dead, the devil is satisfied and offers the soldier as much riches as he wanted, as long as 1) he would wear the skin of the slain bear over himself, 2) he would not shave, bathe, cut his nails + hair, change clothes, say the Lord's prayer, and 3) he would do all this for seven years straight. thinking this to be a deal that would not do him harm, the soldier agrees; and thus his moniker over his years of wandering, bearskin.
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst silver#drabble.txt#aha didn't make it to 5/5 shame but oh well here it is#i'll publish everything for this collection..... just not on time aha#anyway since post-reading notes are there lets talk about silver aka SOBS HIS DORM CARD DIDNT COME HOME IN A 100#the screech i let out when i saw his dorm card groovy was the same screech i let out when i lost the 50/50 to#............... dorm card jack SOBS LOUDLY#spoilers: it was a not a good sound
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everything happens for a reason part 6 - zuko x fem!reader
The thing about forever is that it's a fucking lie
part 5 | masterlist | part 7
a/n: you all know whats coming lmao i got nothing to say for myself
wc: 3.5k
warning(s): pakku's usual sexism, typical siege of the north stuff, mostly angst but a lil bit of fluff in there
chapter title comes from forever is a lie by bea miller!
“I can’t believe that your tribe doesn’t teach waterbending to women!” Katara fumed, the snow beneath her feet packed tightly from her continuous pacing. “I mean, how can they even do that? Master Pakku’s all about ‘his culture and his teachings’ but his teachings are completely sexist!”
Y/N just nodded along as she listened to Katara — Master Pakku had refused to teach Katara, and after a disappointing healing lesson she had found Y/N to rant. “Yep. It’s unfair, but there’s not much we can do about it.”
Katara frowned and stopped in her tracks. “Don’t you want to learn how to fight too? I love being able to heal and help people, don’t get me wrong, but healing isn’t all I want to do.”
A shaky sigh fell from her lips and she shrugged, adjusting her position on the platform of ice she had made to sit on. “Well… yeah, I guess. I know a couple of martial moves, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know more. But Katara, I—”
Y/N was silent for a moment as flashes of the past played behind her eyelids. “I’m not like you. I’m not the kind of person to challenge the rules. Not anymore.”
Katara shook her head, already back to her pacing. “I think you’re selling yourself short. I saw your healing during your class — you’re really talented, Y/N, and I know that skill will transfer over to fighting.”
“Thank you, but— but it doesn’t matter how good we are. Master Pakku is just as stubborn as he is talented, and I think he’d rather die than be a decent person. It’s a shame though. I’d really like to see someone knock some sense into him.”
“Yeah…” Katara sighed. “Hopefully Aang is having a better time than I am.” She looked up at the sky then fixed Y/N with a wry smile. “Speaking of Aang, I should probably get back to him and my brother. Sorry for talking your ear off the whole night.”
Y/N waved her hand around nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. You have my permission to rant to me any time you want while you’re here.”
Katara grinned and offered her hand, which Y/N took with a small smile as she got up from her ice platform. With a slight movement of her hand she bent it back into the ground, and the two girls began their walk back to the city. “I just wish I knew how to get Pakku to let up.”
“You’ll think of something,” Y/N reassured.
-
Katara did indeed think of something. Y/N’s wish of Pakku getting some sense knocked into him was granted when Katara challenged him to a fight, which was quite possibly the best thing that Y/N had ever witnessed. Though she ultimately lost, he still decided to take her on as a student — and in a move that Y/N would forever be grateful for, Katara had gotten Pakku to take her on as well. Katara made history that day, and she felt a shining sense of admiration for the girl for shaking things up.
And now, her days consisted of early mornings spent training, afternoons in classes, and nights doing homework, as well as fitting in time to hang out with Yue — it was a miracle she had any free time at all.
Lately though, it seemed like all Yue could talk about was Sokka. She liked him just as much as he liked her, but Yue was good — no matter how much she cared for someone, her tribe would always come first.
(“Did I hear that you and Sokka have a date later tonight?” she teased. “Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” Yue was silent at her attempt at humor and Y/N frowned. “Yue, are you okay?”
Silence lingered in the air for so long that Y/N almost thought she didn’t hear her, but finally the princess spoke as she pulled down the collar of her jacket to reveal an engagement necklace. Y/N gasped.
“It’s from Hahn,” she said quietly. “He proposed an hour ago, and I accepted.”
“You what?” Y/N cried, prompting a slight grimace from Yue. “Hahn— you can’t stand him!”
“Y/N, please,” Yue sighed. “He’s not that bad — he’s handsome, I guess. And he’s the son of a noble, and he’ll be really good for the tribe.”
“Yue, you’re the one who has to deal with him. He proposed to you, not the tribe — Spirits, half the boys in this tribe like you, why him?”
“It’s best for the tribe,” she repeated, her words an attempt to convince Y/N as much as herself.
“But what’s best for you?” Y/N countered.
Yue hadn’t answered, and had made up some half-baked excuse that she had to be somewhere. She had watched her go sadly, hoping that she would figure something out with Sokka.)
And it’s not like she wasn’t happy that her friend had found someone, it was just…
Y/N was upset that someone wasn’t her. And she didn’t know how to deal with that revelation.
But one morning, while making idle conversation with Katara as their lesson came to an end, a matter much more pressing came to hand.
Black snow. Soot raining down from the sky, tarnishing everything it touched.
A feeling all too familiar brewed in her chest as she met her friend’s eyes, and one thing was clear.
The Fire Nation was coming.
-
The air was even more frigid than usual with the knowledge of an imminent invasion, and Y/N had parted ways with her friends once they reached the town hall to be with her grandparents. The tension in the air was thick as Chief Arnook stepped up to address the people.
“The day we have feared for so long has arrived — the Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe, but they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence, I call upon the great spirits. Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us! I'm going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Sokka stood up. “Count me in.”
Her eyes widened as she met Katara’s from across the room, and she looked equally surprised. “Sokka…”
“Be warned: many of you will not return.” Several other men stood up after Sokka, including her grandfather. Despite his age he was a skilled fighter, but that was no comfort to Y/N. She reached up for his hand and shook her head almost desperately, but he smiled sadly and squeezed her hand, a sentiment to express words unsaid. “Come forward to receive my mark, if you accept the task.”
As he walked forward to join the line, she found the only solace she could in her grandmother’s open arms, burying her face in the fur of her jacket. “He will be okay,” she soothed. “He’s just as strong as he is brave. You have to have faith.”
She hoped that her grandmother was right. She couldn’t handle another loss.
Once all the men had received their marks, they left to confer about the battle plan. Y/N found her way up to the stage where a tearful Yue sat. It pained Y/N to see her in such a way, and when she sat down and offered her hand the princess immediately took it.
“I saw that your grandfather volunteered,” she said after a beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. For Sokka.” Y/N adjusted her position so their shoulders were touching, and she sighed heavily. “I can’t stop thinking about my village. My father.” She met Yue’s eyes, her own beginning to tear up.
“What if it happens again?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t— I can’t do it again.”
Yue let go of her hand to wrap the girl in a hug, the warmth of the embrace managing to chip away at some of their hopelessness. “You won’t have to do it again,” she stated, the reassurance seeming like the truth when coming from her. “You’re not alone this time.”
She finally pulled away from the hug as she wiped the tears off her face, and Y/N nodded. Yue somehow always knew exactly what to say. “What would I do without you?” she asked, her voice slightly watery.
“You’re never going to know,” the princess smiled. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” That got a laugh out of Y/N and the two of them stood up as Yue gestured outside with her head. “I think I saw Aang and my father out there. It’ll help to talk with them — I think you need some fresh air anyways.”
Y/N nodded and the two girls walked out hand in hand, a small reprieve from carrying the weight of the world.
-
Things were so much worse than she had been anticipating.
After a short talk outside the hall with Katara, Aang, and the Chief, Yue had been transported somewhere safer as Y/N steeled herself for the front lines. After all, as a student of Master Pakku, she could fight damn well — it was just a matter of putting it into action.
But a line of warriors and children alike were no match for the strength of the Fire Nation from afar, and the first few fireballs had done their job at disrupting both the fighters and the wall — Seeing her home get destroyed hurt nearly as much as constantly getting thrown around.
After Aang had taken off on Appa and Chief Arnook took a section of his soldiers off for a different plan, the work on the ground began. The fleet of ships seemed endless , and the same went for their artillery — the fight went long into the day as Y/N worked with various other waterbenders to stop fireballs and repair broken parts of the city’s infrastructure, but just as the full moon began to show, the attacks stopped coming. Limbs heavy with exhaustion from their work in the field, Y/N and Katara met up with the princess back at the balcony of the palace.
“They’ve stopped firing,” Yue noted as they all gazed off into the distance.
“Thank the spirits,” Y/N muttered as she worked out a knot in her shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept going.”
Just then, Appa came into view and a grin spread across Katara’s face. “Aang!”
He landed below them and the three girls hurried down to meet him. Aang landed on the ground, exhaustion clear in every part of him. “I can’t do it,” he muttered as he placed his head in his hands. “I can’t do it.”
“What happened?” Katara asked as she ran up to him, Yue and Y/N close behind.
“I must’ve taken out a dozen Fire Navy ships, but there’s just too many of them!” His large grey eyes were full of hopelessness, and Y/N’s heart ached for the boy. “I can’t fight them all.”
“But— you have to!” Yue pleaded. “You’re the Avatar.”
“I’m just one kid,” Aang countered wearily. He buried his face in his arms and Katara kneeled next to him in an attempt to comfort him. Y/N could almost forget about the pain in her body at that moment, feeling an odd responsibility to this boy as she looked down at him.
“Aang,” she muttered, following Katara’s example and kneeling next to him. “You’ve already done so much for us. Just by being here, you’ve inspired hundreds of people — you’re a beacon of hope all on your own! We don’t expect you to take out this whole navy by yourself. As long as you’re here, fighting with us? You’re helping us more than you know.”
He managed a slight smile at that and he took her outstretched hand, getting pulled back to his feet with her help.
“We’ll have a better view from up there,” Katara noted, pointing back up to the balcony. “You can help us keep watch, Aang — in case they start attacking again.”
He nodded and the four of them began the walk, the Avatar in slightly better spirits.
“The legends say the moon was the first waterbender,” Yue said once they had reached the balcony, all of them gazing at the sky. “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.”
“I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night,” Katara mused, causing Y/N to hum in agreement.
“Our strength from the spirit of the moon, our life from the spirit of the ocean,” she said. “They work together to keep balance.
Aang’s expression brightened at her words as he popped up from the ground. “The spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!”
“How can you do that?” Y/N questioned.
“The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World,” Katara explained excitedly. “Aang can talk to them!”
“Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win this battle!” Yue exclaimed.
“Or maybe they'll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” At that, all three girls met him with strange looks. Aang coughed and straightened his posture. “Or wisdom. That's good, too.”
“The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident,” Katara said with a frown. “How are you going to get there this time?”
Yue’s eyes lit up and she looked at them with a smile. “I have an idea. Follow me.”
-
A few minutes later, they were standing in the Spirit Oasis, the most spiritual place in all of the North. Yue, Y/N, and Katara all shed their coats as Aang walked around, marvelling at the beauty.
“I can feel… something,” Aang said as he sat down, getting into a meditating position. “It’s so tranquil.”
Soon enough, after a few moments of silence, Aang’s eyes as well as the arrow on his head began to glow.
“Is he okay?” Yue gasped.
“He’s crossing into the Spirit World,” Katara reassured. “He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Y/N whispered, astonishment etched into her face. For as much as she had been taught about the ocean spirits, she wasn’t well-versed in the Spirit World as a whole — she was thoroughly fascinated by every part of this.
“Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested, still on edge as she took a few steps away from the gate.
“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him. Besides, I already have some help here.” She smiled at Y/N, a sentiment that she returned happily.
A deep voice, almost mocking, broke the silence as it echoed throughout the oasis. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now? Even got yourself a little student.”
The three girls all whipped around to find the source of the voice, and Katara’s whole body stiffened. “No…”
“Yes. Hand him over and I don’t have to hurt you.”
Y/N immediately eased into a bending stance along with Katara as the princess fled to get help, but her confidence faltered when she took the time to focus on their assailant.
She almost didn’t recognize him — it had been nearly four years since she had last set eyes upon the boy, but it was as if he had become a completely different person. His head was shaved completely save for a ponytail, and blues and reds marked his skin in various cuts and bruises. His eyes held an anger she had never seen before, an expression only heightened with the addition of a large red scar across his left eye.
“Zuko?” she breathed, her chest tightening up beneath the weight of the revelation. Katara stared at her in bewilderment — she had no idea that Y/N knew the prince that had chased them halfway across the world, but Katara supposed that she had no reason to ever suspect she did.
His eyes flashed with recognition as they ran over her, and it seemed as if he had a similar epiphany as he staggered backwards. “I… I thought you were dead.”
“You’re with them,” she muttered, blood turning to ice. “Your nation is invading, and you’re helping them— you’re after the Avatar? What are you doing, Zuko?!”
The momentary surprise was replaced by steely determination as he shifted his weight forward and kicked up his leg, sending a blast of fire that she barely managed to dodge. “You know nothing!”
Y/N fell back into position next to Katara, but the newfound knowledge was like a fog over her mind. “Whoever he was when you knew him, that’s not him anymore!” Katara yelled as she bent water out of the pond and blocked his following attacks. “He won’t hesitate to hurt you, so you can’t either!”
“O-okay!” she stammered. This was the moment she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? After training with both Katara and Pakku, her martial skill had increased tenfold, and she was desperate to try it out — she only wished her first opponent didn’t have to be him. But another fire blast snapped her out of her paralysis, and she jumped into action.
The two girls worked impossibly well together, one stepping forward when the other fell back, the bending between them nearly seamless. Any fire that the prince sent their way was quickly extinguished, and with two against one on home turf, Y/N and Katara were able to hold him off with relative ease.
Y/N bent another jet of water up from the oasis and shot it at Zuko, the force of which knocked him several feet back. Katara took the opening and froze his feet to the ground, then began to move her arms about as she formed a ball of water around him — one more movement and it was frozen solid.
“You little peasant,” he growled. “You’ve found a master, haven’t you?”
The orb of ice began to glow, the air around them becoming hotter and hotter until it melted around him. Blasts of fire were flying at them as soon as Zuko hit the ground, and they were forced to retreat back towards the oasis as they grew more intense.
Y/N drew up a shield of water, extinguishing the flames on impact. Zuko dodged around them, his fingers inches away from Aang’s collar. Y/N propelled the water already at her fingertips towards Zuko with a grunt of effort, which sent him flying into the shallows on the other side of the oasis. She conjured up a large wave and sent it towards the prince, sending him up the side of the wall and trapping him once Katara froze it.
She breathed a sigh of relief and let her arms fall, a part of her wondering how they were still connected after the tediousness of the earlier battle. But this, one on one in a fight with real stakes? It was as exhilarating as it was nerve wracking, and she had never been so thankful that Katara had gotten her in with Master Pakku. Y/N felt intensely guilty over the pain she had inflicted on Zuko, but she tried her best to push it out of her mind — like Katara said, he would’ve done worse if she hadn’t fought back.
��You fought well,” Katara smiled. “I told you that you were talented.”
She chuckled and shrugged, cheeks heating up slightly at the praise. “It’s not exactly my first fight, just… the most intense.” It reminded her of the early mornings and late nights spent sparring with Zuko, a memory that only twisted the dagger in her heart even more.
The two girls smiled at each other as they began to walk back over to Aang — it seemed the boy was undisturbed by the fight by virtue of his glowing tattoos and closed eyes — when Y/N found herself squinting from the rays of light filtering in.
“Huh,” she mumbled. “The sun’s out. The sun’s out— Katara!”
Y/N turned to find the prince free from the ice, and the pair barely had time to draw water from the pond to shield themselves from the impending flames. But it was too little too late, and the power of the blast sent them back several feet. They slammed into either side of the gate, the force of it immediately knocking Katara out.
Y/N gasped in pain as she tried to push herself up, but the fight combined with the impact of her landing had taken a toll on her and she collapsed once more against the gate. When the smoke from the fire cleared, Zuko was there with Aang’s collar in his grasp.
“You rise with the moon,” he muttered, his face tinged with the slightest bit of guilt as he met her eyes. “I rise with the sun.”
The last thing she saw before her consciousness faded out was the boy she loved escaping with the Avatar.
-
why did i make yue and y/n like this when i KNOW what i have to write next omg i hate myself
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ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895 @ilovespideyyy
atla: @marianne1806
#zuko x reader#zuko x you#zuko x y/n#zuko x reader fic#zuko#zuko fic#avatar#atla#avatar the last airbender#atla fic#avatar fic#avatar the last airbender fic#avatar x reader#sadie writes#ehfar#i already had this chapter half written so thats why its out so soon lmao#SOMEONE doesnt know how to hold their chapters and wants to release them as soon as she finishes them#its me. im someone
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Ok, hear me out
We all had our qualms with Steve going back for Peggy, even if it made sense in some way for Cap and he was happy, it was bitter sweet and Bucky didn't get his happy ending. I can go two routes, angst and getting better with his new boyfriend, Captain America, AKA; Sam (Which I'm 1000% fine with, thank you The Falcon and The Winter Soldier) OR, we give both our old timers closure, so here's my new Endgame ending. (Side note, if Bruce's theoretical time travel doesn't apply to Peggy, Bucky is immune too.)
The night after Tony's funeral, Bucky and Steve are spending time together, possibly for the last time before Steve has to go and return the stones and Bucky admits, he regrets never getting to really apologise for what he did to Tony's parents, and now he's gone and he'll never get to. Steve of course tells him, it was Hydra, he would never do that, that it took years to fully brainwash him and that's so hard to fight.
Of course they hug because God, I didn't see nearly enough of that. And then Steve is visibly wandering in his mind so Bucky sighs and dares to ask; "You're going to be with her, aren't you?" To which Steve pauses and continues to think. Before he can speak again, Buck smiles and tells him "It's okay. I know you're sick of this place. Too many screens, not enough face to face. I'm old too" he says, content with Steves decision. But Steve is undecided.
Cut to the platform.
Now of course Bucky is nervous. He's got to say goodbye to his best friend, the person he loves most, his partner, fellow passenger on their crazy ride that is life. And Sam and Bruce are there too, ready to see him off and take the stones back. Bucky braves it. Smiles and makes small talk with Bruce and Sam and makes eyes with Steve. His Stevie. And then he's confronted by him. The hug he knows he has to make the most of, the last embrace he'll have of the man he loves most. And it's far too breif. As all their hugs are.
"Sure the world won't need a Captain America?" He asks with a smile, but as usual Steve sees through him. 'Won't I need a Steve Rogers?' As if he's begging him to stay with his eyes. But Steve knows what's going to make them both happy. And if he doesn't owe that to the man who took him in and nutured him when his parents passed, to the man who dragged and fought off all his bullies and problems, to the man who held him through every asthma attack, under the roof he paid for and in the bed they slept in. He owed him his heart. And he'd give it to him any day.
"We'll be okay, Buck" He says with his usual bright smile.
And with that he steps onto the platform. Of course Bucky can still feel him, smell him, see him till he doesn't and then-
He's just gone. Sam turns and he's gone from where he stood but a minuet ago. Bruce frowns and calls for him, but they get no reply. Sam begins to panic, until, he sees on the bench, there's an elderly man with snow white hair and a brown jacket. "On your left" he calls. And his eyes go wide. Sam approaches slowly and it's him. He's sure. Steve is just sitting there watching the water. "There he is." He smiles at Sam. "There's my old jogging buddy." He beams. Sam is in disbelief and he's frowning. Did something he do to the timeline...take Bucky. He starts sputtering out questions. Where he went. What he did. Why he did it. And Steve only chuckles.
He turns his head over to the left to a car, with another old man leaning against it looking elsewhere. Until his eyes catch Steve. Sam almost doesn't believe it. His gray hair, his wrinkled face. He's not close by but Sam knew where Bucky went. He waves, not knowing what else to do. And with a fleshy left arm, he waved back, a ring glinting in the sun. And Sam starts putting all the pieces together. Steve, even if he's barely recognisable, looks all the same when he smiles. He then leans over to a large leather bag...and he unzips it. Its holding the sheild. "I've thrown this around enough. 'Bout time someone else had a go, don't you think?"
Sam gets the Sheild, that isn't negotiable. He holds it and thanks Steve, and he has so many questions. He points to the ring on Steves hand. "So you two...finally?" He smirks. Steve laughs a wheeze and wipes his eyes. "Gonna talk about that?" Sam asks.
Steve starts to get up, Sam offering a hand to his former friend in his older age. He puts a hand over Sams, shakes it and looks him kindly in the eyes. He looks back at Bucky, who's now getting back into the car and into the drivers seat, the engine turning on. "No" he smiles, letting go of Sams hand, following the walkway to the car. He waves behind himself, a pink and bony hand, so much more frail than Sam could imagine. "I don't think I will."
#stucky#buckybarnes#stevebucky#steve rogers#captain america#winter soldier#marvel#fatws#sebastian stan#chris evans
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Swaddled in a Midnight Sun
Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda
Words: 2785
Relationship: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/ Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Additional Tags: Canon Era, Alternate Universe: Angels, Angel!Lafeyette, fluff, snowstorms, near-death experiences, horses
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The wicked winds blowing in from the north had frozen the earth, frost-bitten the air, and brought the world to a standstill. Those who could took shelter within their homes around the hearth, waiting for the seasonal celebrations to bring relief from the permeating dark and cold of winter. The world was peaceful in its icy, permeating silence, almost beautiful, too.
Still, there was a war that needed to be fought and won.
There was an elephant among the ice and snow of the Patriot’s camp. The conversations were hushed, threatened by the violent weather whipping around them and tension so thick it could be sliced through with a bayonet.
“Do you think the war will be over in time for Christmas?”
“Doubt it. If we’re lucky the redcoats will get us before we freeze to death.”
“I just hope we don’t run out of rum before then…”
“Ay, I’ll drink to that.”
John Laurens had had enough of the morbid, idle chatter the soldiers distracted themselves with. The war could be won before Christmas, and the British wouldn’t even know what hit them. Even though the chance to turn the tides in their favour was just within reach, apparently no one had the balls to brave the elements and bring a message to Washington. It was only a little blizzard, after all. What’s the worst it could do?
With a sharp whistle that pierced through even the howling northern winds, John’s trusted steed came trotting over to him in an instant. He mounted the spotted chestnut in one swift motion, and barely a moment later they were galloping off into the dark December night.
“If you want something done right, you do it yourself.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
��Though he was gripping the reins with all his might, John could no longer feel his fingers. His cheeks were stinging and reddened from the frost-bitten whips of wind lashing at his skin as he rode onwards. Even the forest path offered little relief from the relentless blizzard, and his steed’s heavy breaths were like a smoking gun in the sub-zero air.
“Just a little longer, girl, we’re halfway there.”
In truth, John didn’t actually know how far they had gone. With the frost on that was threatening to freeze his eyes shut and the heavy cloak of snow and darkness he could barely see ten feet ahead of him.
Despite the deep-set chill in his bones, he fought off another shiver and forced himself to focus on the way forwards. His efforts didn’t work as well as the soldier wished. Though it was just for a moment, his vision faded and his senses dulled.
In that little sliver of time, John missed the splintering of frost-bitten wood as a great fir succumbed to the season’s savagery.
John swore with a shout as his steed reared up with a shrill cry of a whinny, “Sunny- Steady, girl!”
It was no use. There was no calming the mare’s frayed nerves against the shock of adrenaline the near-death experience caused. John barely had enough in him to stay awake, nevertheless, fight for control of his horse. His frozen fingers released the reins and with a swift kick from his steed he was sent crashing into the snow.
Winded from the impact with the frozen ground, John gasped for a breath of icy air as he pushed himself onto his knees. He could only just make out the sound of the mare’s swift hooves clambering through the snow before she too was lost to the darkness.
He never realized that the cold could burn worse than the brightest of blazes. His military coat was useless against the winds that rocked him to his very core and sapped whatever was left of his strength.
“Gotta stay awake,” John whispered through chattering teeth as another shiver wracked his body, “There’s a war we need to win, people we can’t disappoint.”
But John was fighting a losing battle.
The frost of numbness that had taken away feeling from his extremities begun to permeate his whole body and mind. He tried to fight against it, and though his will to survive was strong, the winter was stronger.
For a moment, John no longer felt so cold, only tired. So tired that he could sleep forever should the opportunity ever present itself. His body ached for something to rest upon, somewhere to lay his head, and through bleary eyes, the snow beneath him looked to be a good bed for until the storm passed.
He let himself relax, slowly unravelling as he began to fall into his deathbed. He expected to feel the soft diamonds of the blizzard’s wake to meet with cheek. He expected to slip into an eternal sleep as heavy frost froze his eyes shut. That moment never came.
*~*~*~*~*~*
John wasn’t sure when the frost finally released his thoughts, but he didn’t care either. In his moment of lucidity, he focused on the secure, welcoming embrace of another. He shifted closer to them with an unintelligible sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed himself into their chest for every bit of warmth they had.
He whined when he felt them shift, crowding more into their space to keep them from slipping away. He felt their chest vibrate with a quiet laugh before a pair of soft lips graced his forehead.
John finally peered up at the one holding him so dearly, only to gasp at who he saw, “Gil!”
“You gave me a good scare there, mon etoile,” Lafayette spoke, and though his tone was sweet he couldn’t hide the crystalline tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Sil tu plait, for both our sakes, never do something like that again.”
John couldn’t help but laugh at the request, though it seemed his smile brought more relief to the Frenchman than he could’ve imagined. He laced their fingers together and cuddled closer, enjoying the company of his foreign companion.
“I am just happy I managed to find you in time,” Lafayette continued with a small sigh, brushing a few of John’s curls from his face. “You do not always make my job easy.”
“Gil, what are you on about?” He frowned, unable to make sense of the Frenchman’s words.
For a moment John wondered if Lafayette was real or just a trick of his mind to turn his final moments into a pleasant dream. This realization terrified him and sent his rational thought spiralling down a rabbit hole of paranoid panic. He didn’t want to go like this, he didn’t want to be another casualty to the warring weather. He wanted to survive. He needed to survive.
“Deep breaths, mon etoile, what is the matter?”
“This… This can’t be real. You can’t really be here.” I’m dying!
John pushed himself out of Lafayette’s grasp, stumbling back into the snow before managing to get himself on his feet again. He teetered under the force of the whipping winds, a deep chill seeping into his core as he tried to make sense of his reality. It was dark, it was cold, he was lost and he was alone. I should be alone…
Unable to make sense of his situation both John’s body and mind began to crash. He lost his balance, falling into the snow as he once again gave in to a wintery grave. In an instant, he was in Lafayette’s arms, held so tight he felt like the singular reason for the Frenchman to be on this earth.
“John, you mustn’t move so suddenly!” He admonishes, though his tone was undercut with sorrow as he began to cry, “If I could not bring you home safe… Mon Dieu, I would not know what to do with myself.”
There was a distinct pang of guilt in John’s chest as he stared dumbly up at the Frenchman, watching him cry. He swallowed thickly, reaching up with a shivering hand to cup Lafayette’s cheek in an attempt to calm his grief.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay,” He whispered, making Lafayette focus back on him and not on what could have been, “I just don’t really know what’s going on right now…”
A silent question hung in the air, one John was sure would break both his and Lafayette’s heart if he ever put to words. Thankfully, the Frenchman seemed to understand as he gave a solemn nod and a sigh before he next spoke.
“Be not afraid, mon etoile, you are well and alive,” He began to explain, placing his larger palm over John’s hand as he pressed a kiss to his tender, frozen skin, “And I am real, though I have not been entirely honest with you…”
“Whatever it is, Gil, you can tell me,” John reassured, though he could not stop the shine of fear in his eyes. It was hard not to worry about what Lafayette would say next when he still couldn’t make sense of what had already happened.
“I am not supposed to do this, but…” The Frenchman hesitated only to shake his head and find his resolve again. “It is best if I showed you.”
John opened his mouth in a question, but Lafayette only hushed him with a gentle kiss before covering his eyes with his hand.
Though he could not see, John felt the shift in the world around him. It was silent, the howling winds put to an end by only Lafayette’s will. He felt a single snowflake land on the tip of his nose, tickling him with a moment of cold as others fell in slow-motion onto his golden-brown curls.
Then, Lafayette pulled his hand away to allow John to take in the newly calmed environment. It reminded them both of how beautiful a winter’s night could be, but John was still left with so many questions. He looked to the Frenchman for answers, only to be stunned into silence from what he saw.
Shining like a midnight sun with beautiful hues of blue and speckles of gold were a pair of angelic wings resting behind Lafayette in relaxed arches. They pulled close to his body as the Frenchman gave a sheepish smile and a tilt of his head in response to John’s reaction.
“Surprise?”
“Of all things, Gil… I never thought you were this,” John trailed off as he reached to trace his fingers along the edge of one of the Frenchman’s wings, quietly admiring their delicate strength. “I guess it makes sense, though, I always thought you were too perfect to be human.”
Lafayette couldn’t help the warm, bubbling laugh that escaped him as he brought John to his feet, leaving a wing draped over his shoulders like a cloak. “It makes me happy to see you are still well enough to flirt. Come, let’s get you home.”
John could only laugh along with the Frenchman as he took his arm like a lady accepting a dance at the Winter’s Ball. He wasn’t sure if they could make it back to camp by the morning, but with Lafayette by his side, John didn’t care.
Before they could begin their hike the galloping of swift hooves sounded in the distance, sending both the angel and the soldier on high alert.
They expected to see British calvary darting through the trees ready to take them out, but instead, they were familiar, always welcomed face.
“Sunny!” John beamed at the spotted chestnut’s appearance, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes… Didn’t think I’d get to see you again so soon.”
But the mare wasn’t the only one who approached. Following close behind was another horse, a familiar-looking bay with an even more familiar rider.
Alexander barely allowed his steed to properly halt before he leapt off its back, rushing towards John and Lafayette for a desperate embrace. “You scared me half to death! Don’t you ever going riding out into a blizzard like that again, I don’t care if your life depends on it!”
“It’s good to see you too, Lex,” John replied with a weak laugh as he ruffled Alexander’s hair.
Still, as Alexander continued to ramble on John couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to Lafayette. He looked up at the angel in question, absentmindedly running his fingers through his feather down as he leaned more into the warmth of his wings.
There were so many things John wanted to ask, about Lafayette, about what this meant, about everything. He couldn’t find the words to begin, never mind the fact that the adrenaline-filled need to survived had dissolved into the calm night, leaving a sluggish fatigue in its place.
“Hush, mon petit lion… Save your sweet nothings for the morning,” Lafayette suggested with a soft smile, placing a hand on the small of each soldier’s back. “Let us get back to camp before sunrise, oui? I believe a good night’s sleep would do us all some good.”
Despite the huff that Alexander gave in response, he still couldn’t help but grin at the Frenchman’s words. He gave John and Lafayette one more squeeze before slipping out of their embrace to mount his steed once more.
Lafayette kept John under his wing as he led him over to the spotted chestnut. He let John mount first, though as the Frenchman settled behind him it was obvious he’d be taking the reins. John didn’t entirely mind, he knew that Lafayette was a good rider and frankly he was grateful to be able to spend more time swaddled in angelic feather down.
Alexander led the way home, keeping the pace at a gentle canter. Feeling safe and secure with Lafayette behind him and Alexander only a few feet away, John allowed him to slip in and out of sleep as they rode onward.
Who knew a near-death experience could be so exhausting?
“We are home, mon etoile,” Lafayette cooed quietly as he shook John awake, “As sweet as you look while asleep, I can’t imagine a saddle would make for the best mattress.”
“It’s only a little worse than the cots they give us,” John mutters with a small laugh as he slipped off of his steed’s back.
Alexander was by his side in a moment, playfully jostling John as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Said the guy who nearly took a nap in the snow. C’mon, we’ll push our cots together so we can cuddle up, it’s the best way to avoid hypothermia.”
“Be honest, petit lion,” Lafayette chided softly as he ruffled Alexander’s hair. “You are just jealous that John has been swaddled without you.”
“So what if I am? It’s not like everyone gets to be in love with a literal angel.”
As the two other soldiers shared a laugh, John began to space out from the conversation. Having an answer to one of his many questions made him remember the original purpose of his journey; a message for the general to tip the scales in their favour.
“Wait,” He murmured, stepping out of Alexander’s and Lafayette’s hold as he stops to think. “I gotta- I gotta see Washington, there’s information from the south he needs to know!”
“Hey, Jacky, take it easy,” Alexander spoke as he took John’s hand again. “His Excellency already knows, a courier came through as soon as the snow stopped. It’s all gonna be okay.”
John couldn’t quite describe his relief at the sound of this news. He let out a sigh, the last few tensions finally leaving his body.
“That means the only thing left on the agenda is a good night’s rest,” Lafayette concluded with a small smile. “Come, my tent is not far.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
John was sure it was sometime near dawn when he blinked open his eyes. He rolled over lazily and pulled the blankets closer to him, only end up sneezing as his nose was tickled by soft feather down.
He smiled, feeling Lafayette shift next to him as he fixed a few feathers that had been ruffled by sleep. The Frenchman murmured something unintelligible in sleepy gratitude as he pulled John closer.
On Lafayette’s other side, Alexander was being held the same John was; a strong arm holding him close and a wing around his scrappy frame to keep him warm.
John closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax once more in Lafayette’s care. Even in the middle of a deadly winter and a losing war, the three always found these little perfect moments when they were together. It made sense now, and knowing that he and Alexander would be safe no matter how the war went was a peace he never thought he’d know.
Who knew all it’d take was a little blizzard to feel so safe and warm.
#hamcember#Hamcember 2020#my writing#hamcember prompt 16#Snow Angels#Hamilton#hamilton: an american musical#Alexander Hamilton#John Laurens#marquis de lafayette#Lafayette#canon era#snowstorms#Angel AU#near-death experience#fluff#laflams
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Okay so prompt for Charlie and Rosie: “please don’t shut me out”
“Charlie?” She spoke up softly.
Charlie continued to wash the dishes and face away from her, staring out into the cold and drizzly weather outside. The snow melted and turned to muddy mush. It looked more akin to late February or early March than December. How ironic for the first day of winter to melt snow rather than bring it.
“Charlie?” She tried again, stepping closer. He still ignored her. The only response she received was the ice showering down the roof from outside, the soapy water running and filling his sink, the sweet Palmolive wafting the kitchen, and Antiques Roadshow blabbing about the worth of random, old and often beautiful objects in the living room. She could understand why Charlie enjoyed that show. He liked old things. She liked old things too, hence why she got into it when he exposed it to her and why she liked him in the first place. His old fashioned and vintage appearance ignited something inside of her that drew her to him. She knew she had found her prince, her gentleman, her lover...
But if he’s all of those things, why did I treat him the way I did?
“Charlie, please talk to me...” Her voice creaked again. Warm tears filled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. Her cheeks and face felt hot from all of her crying upstairs. Her stomach and heart felt tight and heavy. She hadn’t meant to be so rude to him... she was grouchy and took it out on him...
Just like Cassie did to him... no wonder he feels this way... he put up with it already for so long from her... and I don’t normally act this way... she damaged him, so he’s hurt in a different and deeper way than most couples normally would feel in this situation... how could I be such a stupid and selfish bitch?
She tugged on his navy blue chauffeur coat, streams of tears pouring down her rosy cheeks and reflecting in the light above the sink. He paused, turned the sink off, wrung his hands, and proceeded to dry them, finally turning to look at her with a cold look, yet one could tell there was a softness to it, like he hated she was feeling this way and he hated this was even an ordeal in the first place. She looked like a child who had been scolded and sent to bed early, and the child came downstairs to apologize for their actions to their parent who was too mad to even look at them. The difference was, they were not father and daughter, but lovers. The vampire had this experience with his own daughters on the rare occasions they misbehaved, but he never had this experience with a woman. Cassie would never back down from a fight or admit she was wrong, and she would especially never look as remorseful or sad as Rose did.
“Charlie... please don’t shut me out...” she burst into tears and all at once wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing into his fuzzy back.
Surprisingly, he pulled her close to him, and she wept into his chest now. He rested his chin on the top of her head and stroked her back. Finally, he spoke up.
“Do you think I liked yelling at you like that, Mignon?” He said sternly. “Do you think I liked making you cry like that? I didn’t want to make you cry like this. I never wanted for us to divulge into this fight and bring it to this level. I hate it when you cry. It makes me sick to my heart.”
“I hate making you cry and making you feel hurt,” she sputtered. “Especially after what she did to you... I never, as long as I live, want to ever be her. I would rather die than ever become a monster like her and hurt you. I should’ve considered your feelings and how she made you feel, and how that in turn makes you feel and what feelings it brings back on top of that. Please, baby, I love you so much and I’d never hurt you intentionally like she did. I worship the ground you walk on, and I... I’m so sorry, okay? Please, forgive me. I was acting like a grouchy brat, you came home, I thought you were being a dick to me, you actually weren’t, and it got out of hand. Please...” She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of her nightgown.
He sighed through his nose and kissed her on her warm, wet cheek. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you and made you cry too. I’d never want to hurt you intentionally either. I will always love you, even when I’m hurt and furious with you. That’s why if you ever became just like Cassie or if you cheated on me... I would be destroyed. I forgive you and understand. Let’s move past this. I feel better now that we’ve made up and I’ve had time to deal with my feelings alone.”
She smiled and buried her face in his embrace. “I feel better now that we’ve made up too and we could talk again. I should be more sensitive of your feelings, I always really try to be because it’s the right thing to do, but especially since you’ve been hurt in a way years ago that you really shouldn’t experience ever again. You’ve been through that pain enough. You’re like a brave soldier who’s been through so many wars, and he doesn’t need to fight again because if he did, it could damage him in a way that would be catastrophic. You’re strong, Charlie, and you’re really brave. You deserve every good thing that could ever come to you, not the same horrible shit, but on a different day. I don’t want to be your mom or Cassie.”
“Oh, Rosie...” He kisssed her forehead. “You could never be Cassie, or my mother... don’t you ever think of yourself that way. I know in my heart you’re not. Let’s just move past this, okay? Let’s snuggle on the couch, watch people show us their beautiful objects, drink some eggnog, and eat some cookies.”
She giggled as he picked her up and carried her into the living room.
“I love you, Charlie-Chip.”
“I love you too, Rosie-Posie.”
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Birthday Gift
Part three of my Found Family Overwatch self-insert series. This time staring @r1pwitch, with a special guest appearance by @syalin-deerfox
Part 1
Part 2
In which the family is all together for a birthday party
Cross fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted huff and they slunk into the soft cushions.
“Oh no, you are NOT done.” I turned to them, holding handfuls of torn apart wrapping paper, confetti and glitter filled my hair as I glared down at them.
“Aw come on, just a little break,” they said, voice squeaky, “I’ve been emptying balloons for hours now!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle as I threw a wad of sparkly unicorn paper at them. The blocked their face and laughed like a mouse.
The house was a wreck, as three year old’s birthday parties tend to leave homes. Ari, the birthday girl, was currently sitting on the stairs with her old brother, Jojo (7), playing with her new toys.
A knock to the door drew my attention away from cleaning. I glanced at Cross, expecting them to offer to get it, only to see them inhaling yet another balloon.
“I’ll get it.” I chuckled a bit at them, stuffing the torn up wrapping paper in a trash bag before making my way to the door. Did someone leave something?
Outside my door stood a bounty hunter, short but efficient, with a bow across his back and a longhorn skull as a helmet, green tufts of hair poked out to barely cover his eyes. To a wanted man, he was intimidating, he meant life behind bars, if you were lucky. Though to me, he was
“Zayne!” I cheered, more than a little excited to see my best friend. I jumped a bit to hug him, just to pause, my excitment waning as I noticed something in his arms.
“Uh... Who’s... kid is that...?” I asked, a small girl with racoon ears and a tail clung tightly to Zayne’s side, avoiding eye contact.
“Uhm.... yours?” Zayne said with a smile and a tone to indicate that was meant to be funny, but not exactly a joke.
“A trash can?!” I tried not to raise my voice as I paced around my living room. Zayne nodded, sipping his tea on the couch beside Cross.
“I couldn’t believe it either. I was chasing down my arch rival,” some archer he fancied with a massive bounty. Zayne says they’re rivals, but the way he talks about him, they sound more like lovers, “when I stumbled upon her...”
I glanced down at the child, who’d been sitting quietly with Ari on the confetti covered floor.
“She got a name?” Cross asked the smart questions yet again.
“Not that she’s told me.” Zayne shrugged, “I figured you two have taken in two random street rats, what’s a third?”
“A lot. A third’s a lot.” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck as I glanced down at the kids. Ari was doing her best to get the anxious little Racoon girl to play with her.
She came from Busan, Korea... I didn’t like Korea very much. They’d gotten too comfortable with younger soldiers over there. Orphans were typically raised to join the military. Even if she wasn’t Korean by blood, if we took her back, that’s certainly where she’d end up.
I nodded, patted my cheeks, and knelt down to the little girl.
“Hello, my name’s Emile. You already know my friend, Zayne, and that there’s Cross,” I started introducing each of us slowly, “This is my daughter, Ari, and my son, Jojo.”
The girl glanced around at everyone, then gave a shy wave, holding onto the sleeve of her shirt.
“Do you have a name, sweetie?” I asked gently.
She shifted, a soft M sound escaped her lips.
“M?” I repeated, encouragingly.
“M...moss...” She mumbled out, glancing up at me, “Moss..”
“Moss? Well it’s very nice to meet you, Moss.” I smiled, sitting cross legged next to her, “Can you tell me about your family, Moss? Your mommy or daddy?”
Moss shifted a bit, looking down at the ground as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She then gripped her sleeve, slowly pulling it up.
“wow!” Ari leaned over Moss, staring at her arm, “You’ve got a lot of owies, Moss!”
A deep, overwhelming sadness filled my heart at the truth my daughter spoke. Moss’ arms were covered in bruises, old indications of cigarette burns, blueish-black marks showing where they’d been forcefully grabbed, held tight, dragged, and hit. It all made me feel sick.
I clenched my fist, then took Moss’ sleeve, gently covering her arm, “Thankyou, Moss. You’re a very brave little girl.” I pat her head, then looked to Ari, “Ari, sweetie, why don’t you show Moss all the new toys you got for your birthday? And share them, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy!” Ari saluted and giggled, then excitedly took Moss’ hand, dragging her upstairs, Jojo following close behind.
Zayne got up, grabbing his bow from the side of the couch, “I’ll find her parents.”
“You don’t have to-” I started.
“I’ll find them.” Zayne spoke in a tone, making it obvious he wasn’t finding them for our sake.
I nodded, then glanced to Cross, “You ready for number three?”
They stared at me blankly, then took another shot of helium, “I don’t really have a say in the matter, but of course.” They squeaked.
Zayne didn’t get to stay long. He was hot on the trail of the “rival” of his, and had to get moving before the trail went cold. Of course that didn’t stop them from taking multiple pictures of the snow covered village.
After he’d gone, Cross got out of cleaning by offering to make dinner, which isn’t really an offer, as I would burn the house down attempting to cook.
I stood alone in the living room for a moment, sweeping confetti. I stared at our wall of family photos. Pictures of the Shimbali brothers and sisters, Mondatta the day I was blessed with meeting him, Cross and I in front of the house, Ari’s many baby photos, Brother Zenyatta and Genji the day of Genji’s surgery, a full photo of the then full family, Cross, Ari, Jojo, and I. It’d need to be updated with Moss.
A ruckus caught my attention, Ari came barreling down the stairs, toy airplane in hand, Moss and Jojo in line behind her with their own little planes. They all made flying sounds as they zoomed around the living room.
A warmth filled my heart as I knelt to the ground, “All suspended aircraft, please begin your decent. Dad’s loving embrace airstrips are clear for landing.” I spoke in a radio announcer voice, holding my arms open.
Ari slammed into my chest like a bullet train, Jojo excitedly slung his arms around my neck, jumping up and hanging from me. Moss hesitated, holding onto her sleeves as she stared at me.
I smiled at her and extended a hand, “It’s okay, it’s just a hug, I promise..”
She shifted, then slowly walked closer. I hugged them, my three wonderful kids, tight in my arms. It was warm, and safe. I felt like I could hold them forever, so nothing could ever hurt them, so they’d never know the danger of the world around them.
But dinner was ready, so I had to let them go.
As I watched them race into the kitchen to get to their seats, I found myself left with a smile, and a few tears.
I can’t wait to see them grow up, I thought.
I can’t wait to see the amazing people they become.
I’m so happy I can be a part of their lives, see them grow and change.
I can’t imagine what I could have done to deserve such a gift.
The gift of three amazing, brilliant, wonderful kids.
#Emile's Arts#TW implied abuse#This one gets REAL#REAL FULL OF LOVE#Moss was like 'Yeah my backstory is I ran away because I was being abused'#And I was like 'Yeah OKAY you're three'#Anyway#This one is fun and nice and cute#And also sad and yet also really warm#Thankyou Zayne for letting me write you in as well#Because then I can make it canon in this AU you're kinda homoerotically rivals with Hanzo#And that's all I wanted#So next up is the last bit of a quick aged-up fic#In which everyone is their real life ages with a few tweaks#Cause I accidently made Marianne much older than Milo and Moss#I haven't really explained the rooming situation? But it's pretty simple#Cross works and sleeps in the basement#I have the smaller of the two second floor rooms#Moss and Milo share the larger of those two rooms + a bathroom#Marianne's room is the attic#I really do enjoy writting this it's kinda relaxing and cute#My lovely lovey kids#I'm realizing now Jojo didn't say ANYTHING this chapter#My b#She'll be more talkative next one tho#Milo and Moss are 'Twins' because they were adopted the same day btw#So it's not their actual birthdays we celebrate but their adoption days
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Winnix and 11. (Kiss prompt.)
sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy 💋 (accepting!) 11. when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more
Lew takes him by surprise.
It’s not the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last... but Dick is no less prepared, when his best friend’s hand suddenly pulls him back.
He turns, mouth open in question, but there’s no real chance to ask. Lew doesn’t make another movement, but his face screams everything Dick needs to hear. A wistfulness, a desperation, all clouded over by fear too visceral to form anything but a chain. It binds Lew in place, binds his feet on the ground and his hand on his wrist — turns every muscle to stone, and the wanting in his eyes is the only thing that wavers.
If it weren’t for Lew’s open eyes, Dick might believe time had stopped entirely.
He imagined that, sometimes, in the head of battle — especially during the Bastogne barrages, with explosions lighting up the night and shrapnel raining like deadly snow on all sides. What if it all simply stopped? He imagined the bullets frozen in midair, a man’s scream suspended halfway out of his lips, weapons raised to shoot but never able to fire. In his dreams, he wandered through it all — through the statues of his men, the shadows of his enemies, all paralyzed just so the world could have a chance to breathe. Like toy soldiers on a carpet battlefield… and how often, when he was a child, did he wage elaborate wars across the living room floor, maneuvering each one into place?
Fear isn’t visceral on a tin soldier’s face, however. He’s reduced to the smallest fraction of himself, barely two inches upright, and that tiny body can’t contain the true horrors of war.
Real soldiers hold it all. Everything they feel, everything they see… all that they were before the war, and all that they could be after. It gets locked away inside, buried like a time capsule deep down, and the rules of the US Army state you can’t dig that box up until armistice day.
Lew has claimed a section of Dick’s footlocker for his own, hiding away treasure upon contraband treasure… but here’s one thing he’s never been able to close the lid on. He is unapologetically himself, even in the middle of war. He wears his emotions like a harlequin mask, shameless and flamboyant in ways that sometimes scares Dick. He could never imagine looking at someone the way his best friend looks at him now — eyes wide and reverent, laying himself completely unshrouded before him.
Lew looks afraid now, but not of himself.
Afraid of… what? Of him?
“Lew…” Like an exhale, the word passes his lips to hover in the air between them. His friend flinches, but he doesn’t pull away.
Slowly, Dick turns in place (like a wind-up soldier toy) to face him. While Lew’s grip on his wrist remains steady, nothing else about him seems to be. Only his gaze doesn’t flinch, eyes like dark coals, and penetrating as ever. Dick fights the urge to meet his gaze head-on. Instead, he reaches up to where their hands meet. His free hand finds the inside of Lew’s wrist, and those steady eyes flutter shut.
“What is it?” he asks softly. Lew swallows hard, throat bobbing with it, and shakes his head.
“You really have to ask? C’mon, Dick — give yourself more credit.”
Dick has never held his own powers of deduction in high esteem, especially when it comes to Lewis Nixon… but he gives Lew every credit in the world. If anyone understands things without trying, it’s the man in front of him. Such a sharp mind, Dick has often thought, must be both a blessing and a curse; sometimes, Lew simply knows too much.
“You’re the intelligence officer,” he says simply.
Lews eyes open again, and something in them flares. “You’re — you’re —“ The flame sputters. His grip tightens. “Unbelievable.”
“If you say so,” Dick replies, and somewhere in the back of his mind realizes they’re drifting towards each other. Like two magnets caught in each others’ polarity… he could probably pull away now, if he tried, but no part of him wants to.
Lew is still afraid — the tiny crinkle at the corners of his eyes betray him — but he looks brave, too. These moments, Dick adores him the most… when Lewis Nixon stands fast against the world, and doesn’t falter, even though he can’t see what lies ahead clearly. For someone who makes a business of knowing things, not knowing has to sometimes be worse… but Lew never admits he’s frightened. Not out loud, at least. He’s brave, in his own impossible way, until the very end.
He might be the bravest man Dick knows. He realizes it in the split second before the gap closes between them and Lew’s mouth slams into his own.
For a minute, they’re breathless. Chapped lips, hot skin and eager hands, a subtle gasp that chokes in both throats… every sensation has been reduced to touch, to feeling, and Dick feels it all with an intensity that leaves him floored.
Lew looks about the same way when they pull apart for breath. Both their chests heave, breaths ragged in throats suddenly too tight to support them. Dick has never seen his best friend’s eyes so wide, or vulnerability so plain on his face, like an open wound.
“I —“ he murmurs, and pants another shallow breath. “I’m sorry, I — I shouldn’t‘ve, do you —“
Dick cuts him off by pulling him back in.
This one is different. They’re not fighting against each other; there’s no sense of desperation. After a moment with his body drawn tense, brain whirring so loudly that it’s almost audible… Lew relaxes into the embrace. His body goes slack all at once; Dick holds him, even though he feels like he could go the same way. This is a line they never thought they’d cross, but now that they have, it feels right. They were skirting around it for so long — as though it were a giant hole in the floor, with both of them trying desperately to pretend it wasn’t there, until one finally fell through and took the other down with him. Falling feels inexorably right… and if it means falling for Lewis Nixon, Dick thinks he could tumble forever.
When they pull away, Lew is grinning; the emotion on his face is so raw that it gouges Dick like a blade. He feels it too, a warmth spreading through every part of him… and while the part of him that will always be a soldier wants to force it down on instinct, he dares give himself up to happiness instead.
If the lingering burn of his lips proves anything, it’s how wonderful it is to feel.
#winnix#yeehaw boys#richard winters#lewis nixon#today is a winnix day i fear#i... dont know why i enjoy writing dick's pov so much but he really is fun
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The Queen of Winter (RWBY AU Snippet)
Note: This goes with Dragon.
X X X
For ten thousand years, or so it was said, Atlas stood unbroken, hidden behind its walls of ice and a storm that never ended. Safe in the eye of the storm, its people prospered, and any Grimm that ventured too close fell prey to the ice, the wind, and the snow.
But the storm weakened, for it was born from the blood of ancient dragons, and the dragons were all gone. Little by little, year by year, it weakened. And the walls of ice that never melted began to thaw one by one. Atlas had stood unbroken for ten thousand years, but nothing lasts forever.
X X X
Weiss dreamed of stormy skies and endless drifts snow. She dreamed of a land where it was always winter, and the sun gleamed off glaciers that had no end. She dreamed of wings that brought blizzards and of breath that froze oceans. She dreamed of fangs and claws and scales as white as freshly fallen snow.
Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could hear something beyond the howl of the wind. It sounded almost like a dragon’s roar.
X X X
When Weiss was four, she awakened her magic. Her father looked at the ice creeping across the floor and the frost on the windowpanes, and he shook his head.
“Not strong enough.”
And Weiss looked beyond him to the towering walls that had stood unchallenged for as long as anyone could remember, walls of ice as sure and certain as the dawn. The walls were melting, and what use was one child’s magic when the kingdom needed a dragon?
Not strong enough. The words echoed in her heart, and something burned in her chest, something cold and almost cruel. It felt like winter clawing through her veins.
X X X
Weiss became a prodigy. By the time she was twelve, she was the finest ice mage the kingdom had known in centuries. Day and night she laboured, searching for a way to strengthen the walls and the storm that protected her kingdom. Many were the nights she slept surrounded by open books and tattered scrolls, and always the answer was the same.
Not strong enough.
And yet, was her father any better?
She had delved deep into the history of her people, she had learned the stories of their greatest kings and queens. Her father was no great king, though he liked to style himself as one. He was quick to assign blame, but even quicker to take credit, and his magic was weak.
He was no caller of storms, no bringer of winter, no weaver of ice and snow and glacier.
And the stronger she grew, the angrier he became.
“Not strong enough,” he would growl. “Never strong enough.”
And for all that he was right - Weiss still wasn’t strong enough - he was hardly any better.
X X X
When Weiss was fifteen, her father sent her from the palace. The great walls of ice were still melting, and the storm was growing ever weaker. More and more Grimm dared to approach Atlas, and the people grew afraid. There were whispers of his weakness, of how his magic had not slowed the failing of the walls or the fading of the storm.
There were whispers too of Weiss, of how perhaps she might succeed where her father had failed. And so he sent her away, but he would soon regret it. For Weiss distinguished herself in battle against the Grimm.
Assigned to one of the kingdom’s outposts, Weiss and those she commanded won a great battle. The Grimm assailed them in great numbers, but Weiss called tearing winds and bitter cold, and the Grimm were driven back with heavy losses.
Queen of Winter they called her.
“No,” she replied. “I am only a princess.”
But still those she led merely smiled and shook their heads.
“Queen of Winter,” they insisted.
And the title spread throughout the land.
X X X
When Weiss was seventeen, she died.
Her father sent more men to the outpost, a blessing she’d thought at first, an acknowledgement of her good work. She should have known better. On a scouting trip that passed a lake, they planted a knife between her ribs and flung her into the icy waters.
She sank quickly, embraced by the cold and the long, lingering dark. Her last sight was of the black depths of the lake below her, and the trails of red spiralling up toward the surface and the cloud-strewn skies above.
An old prayer filled her mind even as water and blood filled her lungs.
X X X
My scales are white And my blood is ice My teeth are swords And my claws are spears My wings are the winter wind And my heart is the soul of the frozen north I was a dragon once And I will be a dragon again
X X X
Weiss died, and winter had its queen again.
X X X
“What have you done, father?” Winter hissed.
The king looked back at her, and she realised for the first time that the man she had called father had died long ago, slain by pride and jealousy. “What I had to.”
“To have Weiss - your own daughter - assassinated! Have you lost your mind?” Winter reached for the sword at her side, and the royal guard seemed torn between stopping her and merely standing aside.
“I am the king!” her father bellowed. “Your sister was going to usurp me! I know what they called her! Queen of Winter,” he sneered. “Queen of nothing! I am the king, and there will be no other ruler while I still -”
He stopped there, for throughout all of Atlas, bells had begun to ring. The Grimm had come.
“We will speak of this again,” Winter growled as she turned on her heel. “Someone has to defend this kingdom.” She snarled and tossed her last words over her shoulder. “Though I wonder if it is even worth defending if its king is so craven as to murder his own daughter and then huddle inside his palace while others, braver by far, fight and die.”
X X X
“The outer walls have fallen!” Winter cried as she rallied what soldiers she had left. “Retreat to the inner walls! Only death awaits us here.” Beneath them, the great wall of ice shuddered, and the chunks of it ripped loose and tumbled to the ground. The howl of the storm was little more than a whimper, and Winter blinked back tears as she looked upon the end of Atlas.
A black tide of Grimm marred the snow, and vivid splashes of red marked where the kingdom’s brave defenders had fallen. Like a verminous wave, they clambered over the cracked and breaking walls, and their cries of rage and hate filled the air with a symphony of malice. In the skies, winged Grimm shrieked and bayed, no longer kept back by the tearing winds of the storm. Now and then, they dove, tearing brave soldiers from the walls or spewing vile poison upon those unlucky enough to be caught out in the open.
For ten thousand years, Atlas had stood unbroken. No longer.
“Your Highness,” one of the soldiers said, all but dragging her clear as the wall began to collapse. “You must retreat to the palace. We cannot hold the outer walls, and the inner walls will not last much longer either. At least at the palace -”
“No!” She shook herself free of his grasp. “I am no coward. If I die, it will be on these walls defending my people. Let my father huddle in the palace. Once the walls fall, the palace will be little better than a tomb. A thousand years from now, if our people still endure, I will not have it said that I ran while my people died!”
But despite her brave words, Winter trembled. Death was close at hand now, and she could feel its icy touch upon her heart.
And then, when all seemed lost, a cry went up. A soldier on the southernmost section of the wall saw it first and then another and another, and their shouts spread over the din of battle and the wails of the dying.
“Dragon! A dragon has come!”
Winter turned her eyes to the south and saw they had spoken truly. A dragon had come, a dragon straight from the Old Days when a dragon in mortal form had founded Atlas and built the walls and birthed the storm.
Scales as white as fresh snow shone in the winter sun, and eyes like blue fire blazed with murderous intent. The dragon bellowed, and the sound of it tore the air. The dwindling storm roared in reply, and the weakening winds became a howl that threatened to wrench soldiers off the walls and tear buildings from the ground.
A wave of cold washed over them, so intense that it all but stole Winter’s breath away. Above them, the dragon opened its maw and let loose a blast of ice that would have shamed even the deepest of winters. The skies froze and the Grimm with them, and Grimm fell to shatter upon ground. With a sound like a hurricane, the dragon dove, and frost followed in its wake. The Grimm upon the walls and those pouring into the city were frozen where they stood, and the dragon rose once more.
Beneath them, the walls shook. Fresh ice restored them. Around them, the storm raged. The Grimm were slaughtered in droves as ice and hail rained down and snow swept them aside.
And then the dragon descended, and where a dragon had been, a princess now stood.
“Weiss!” Winter cried with joy in her heart.
Weiss turned to look at her, and for a moment there was something so ancient, so unspeakably old, in her gaze that Winter could barely move. But the moment passed, and Weiss’s gaze shifted to the palace at the centre of the city.
X X X
Jacques trembled as he looked upon the dragon that had once been his daughter.
“Seize her!” he ordered his royal guard.
Not one of them moved.
With each step Weiss took, the ground beneath her froze. Hoarfrost clung to the trees and the sculptures that dotted the courtyard. Gone were the mage’s robes she favoured. In their place was a mantle of frost and robes of woven snow. And upon her brow, gleaming like a star, was a crown of ice.
Weiss stopped not far from him and cast her gaze around the courtyard. One by one the royal guards knelt, not to him but to her.
“I am a dragon, father,” Weiss said, and her lips curled. “Perhaps I should thank you. A life for a life, father, isn’t that what the gods teach us? A princess died, so a dragon could be born.”
“I…”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Weiss asked, and her smile was so cold it burned.
He did. Atlas had been founded by a dragon, and only a dragon could truly rule it. But all the dragons were gone… until now.
“I do.”
Weiss did not move, but her shadow stirred, and the vast, presence of a dragon filled the courtyard. “Then kneel.”
X X X
Author’s Notes
Weiss’s situation is somewhat different from Yang’s, which is fine. It lets her be an absolute badass.
If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.
You can find my original fiction on Amazon here. In fact, I’ve just released a new story, Attempted Adventuring. If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check it out.
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The Winter Sun
Summary: You stand by Theon during the Battle of Winterfell, protecting the young Bran Stark. In the midst of the battle, you remember moments spent with the love of your life Jon Snow, fighting with him on your mind until the very end.
Pairing: Jon Snow x Female!Reader
Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, major character death, angst.
Word Count: 2,226
A/N: I’ve been writing this on and off for a couple weeks, and I’m very rusty, so bare with me here. Hopefully you guys like it, anyways.
The sound of thick boots treading through the snow was the only sound above a whisper, the men surrounding the young Stark boy breathing to themselves as carefully as they could as to not show fear in the face of death. Every man had anticipated they’d be brave, but the circumstances were different staring out into the blank night, shapeless figures in the opposing darkness. Lady Y/N didn’t anticipate to be this afraid, though, standing beneath the tree she’d prayed to so many times before, standing now with a longsword in her grasp, her heart was tight in her chest.
“We’ll make it.” Theon said as he held his bow, his attempt to comfort Y/N only going so far before she looked at him in the eyes, his roughened face not being able to hide the fear behind it. Y/N simply nodded in return, raising her sword beside him, her heels digging into the snow beneath her, knowing that they wouldn’t yet make it past dawn.
“Y/N, go down to the crypts. You’ll be safe there.” Jon pleaded. He squeezed her hand, the hand of his first love in as a boy, holding the hand of the woman he’d so quickly come to realize that he’d always loved She looked back at him, her grip loosening to let go of his calloused palm as she pushed past him, grabbing onto the hilt of her father’s longsword.
“Y/N stop!” He’d finally said as she came upon the door of her chambers, ready to push it open and face beyond.
“Go down to the crypts. Please.” Y/N held Jon’s eyes, the King of the North begging.
“Make me.” She replied tight lipped, giving Jon a half smile that held a greater sadness than her words. The two henceforth embraced, Jon pressing his forehead to hers as they silently prayed for one another, prayed they’d be safe.
Y/N thought to herself about their course of action, what would happen to her and Theon’s men when the dead overtook them. If anything was certain, she knew that if this was to be her hour of death, she’d be fighting not for own sake, but for her home, for her people, and for her brothers who fought alongside her. There they all stood now, the night shrouded in silence, all preparing themselves to die.
And when the fighting started, many of them did.
“Here they come!” Theon had the voice of an uneasy leader as his and Y/N’s men faltered with their bows.
“Steady now, lads.” He added, arrows drawn from the fire as the ominous growls far in the forest grew closer in might. Lady Y/N raised her sword, her back toward Bran as she readied herself for attack. She wondered about Jon for a moment, but dismissed him from her mind as quickly as she had conjured him, the shrieks of dead men inching closer.
“Over there!” One of the men yelled, his bow aimed in front of him as he searched for the enemy in the black distance. He shouted once more, his hand extended and finger pointed out before him. There was waiver in his voice as he spoke, all of the men around him drawing their bows back further in the anticipation. Theon looked once more at Lady Y/N before his eyes returned to the darkness, watching her as her lip trembled ever so slightly. It was only seconds then before the dead charged on them, the front lines of their defenses crushed in one fell swoop.
Fire engulfed their bodies as they were hit, one by one falling to the ground with arrows embedded deep in their chests. Theon was a good shot, and so were the men surrounding him. He knew, though, that soon enough his men would dwindle as his arrows, and not even one hundred dragons could subdue the wights then.
Y/N had never seen a wight until then, soldiers of decaying flesh and bone with weapons of steel slaughtering everything in their path. She had asked Jon once about them, when he had returned thus back to the North. He said little, a pained look on his face as he remembered the fallen the Night King and his army had taken, remembering dread in his body as he saw them walk back on two legs, his now. “I only pray you never set eyes upon one.” He had said. Yet there Y/N stood in the thick of a battle, her eyes ever stained with the image of them, her body scarred with their lashes, her ears bleeding with their wretched screams through the long night.
The sound of screams roared in the hall as the men chanted, over and over again, their message clear.
“The King in the North!” they proclaimed, Jon standing there at the center of the table, a leader and different man than he was before he took the Black, before he had died.
Lady Y/N stared on at him as she approached the table, her eyes still pretty as when he’d left. Jon hadn’t the idea what to expect of her character now, years after his departure. He was the King now, elected by the men of the North who’d thought him to be worthy, but the only opinion that had mattered to him in that moment was hers.
“The King in the North,” she’d muttered in a hushed tone. “Do you mind if I still call you Jon?”
Before long, bodies piled up leading to Bran, Theon and Y/N the only two standing in the way of the young Stark and certain death. Y/N screamed with ferocity as she struck down the undead one by one, Theon by her side. The strong swing of her sword took toll on her body as the dead pressed on, the bubbling feeling of adrenaline in her chest fueling her in her fight, and aiding her as she ignored the presence of pain in every crevice of her body.
The space around the tree was filled with heaving of Y/N’s lungs as she attempted to regain air and energy for the perceived next wave of attack. The night absorbed her heaving as the sole source of sound around them aside from her heavy heart beating against her rib-cage. Then, too late to act, she had realized how quiet it was, her eyes torn from the bloodied snow at her feet to the tree line. Theon seemed to realize too at that moment, the dead standing in formation in crowd, their bodies then moving aside to allow for something to pass. For someone to enter.
There, he loomed behind the fire.
Death.
“Oh, you’re not gonna die you crybaby.” Y/N mused, forcing Jon to sit on the stool in front of her. He sighed as she pulled out the needle, pulling his shirt down to expose his arm.
Jon swore slightly as she wove the needle into the lash in his shoulder, stitching up the wound quite nicely.
“Death might be better than this.”
“You’re a good man.” Theon danced on the edge of tears as his little brother told him the one thing he’d ever wanted to hear, content if it was the last thing he ever would.
The Night King walked proudly toward the Weirwood, a tired and worn Theon Greyjoy standing beside Y/N L/N in front of Bran, protecting him. Protecting his brother. Theon held his ground as he approached, gripping tightly onto the spear held in his grasp. He waited for the distance between them to close before he lunged with the spear, a guttural yell escaping his lips. The man was afraid. Afraid as he lunged, afraid as he missed, afraid as the Night King split his spear in two. Theon watched as the spear he once yielded in defense was used to plunge into him, as the world around him faded so horrifyingly. He thought back to Bran’s words, and back to Sansa’s, thinking now in his hour of death of his family, and how he was finally home.
Y/N cried out for Theon, her eyes filled with tears as she looked at his body, still shaking in the dirt.
She held the sword tighter, feeling her fingers ache around the hilt of the blade. Night King a semblance of a smirk, knowing of his promised victory as he walked straight on for the young girl. In an instant, he withdrew the icy sword from his back, his frame tall and only inches from her.
Y/N swung her sword fiercely, the contact of their blades echoing through the wood. The Night King was swift and moved like water through the air, Y/N’s movements rough and precise as she tried to knock him down and plunge her sword through his filthy heart. The wights stayed in their place as the two fought, witnessing the battle play out as Y/N was nicked in leg with his sword, earning a pained gasp from her throat. The movement caught her off guard, the Night King slashing down at her hand, the sharp sting releasing the sword from her hand. He kicked her in the abdomen then, sending the young girl to the ground where she’d imagined him seconds prior.
The Night King walked again, striding up to her as she writhed in pain, her hand bloodied, grasping her stomach. He extended his hand down toward her, yanking her body upward by her hair. The smirk appeared again, and with the victorious plunge of his blade, the Night King buried his sword deep inside of Y/N, her body falling backward to the ground. The Night King stepped over her, proceeding with his mission.
Y/N could feel a thickness in the air as she fell, her body numb as her back glued itself to the ground. Her sight was on the stars now, not acknowledging when the dead fell around her or when Arya entered her vision. She was still crying when Arya kneeled beside her, the girl worriedly pressing her hands down on the gaping wound.
Arya swept her up into her arms wordlessly, Y/N feeling her hands press down harder onto her wounds as she stammered. In that moment, Arya tried to sling her arm over her shoulder and move her, yet the hiss behind Y/N’s teeth made her set her back down onto the snow, her eyes now searching frantically for someone, anyone, nearby. What would Jon think? Arya thought, her breath starting to pick up. She cursed herself as she let go of Y/N, standing now.
“Please,” Y/N voiced as the darkness started to close in around her eyes. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Arya frowned.
“I’ll be back, okay? You’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be back, Y/N..” Jon kissed her on the cheek as the snow fell, the two of them alone in the dark of the cold night as he prepared to leave for the Watch the next day. He was already decided, making peace with his choice before he’d laid his eyes on Y/N once again.
“Stay here with me. Please.” Y/N pleaded, her eyes welling over. Jon shook his head, turning from her. She would cry out for him, but Jon promised himself that he would not turn around, not for anything. Not even for her.
When Arya returned minutes later, she returned with her brother. Jon had dropped his weapon when he saw her, running up beside the girl since Jon was a boy suffering angered stares by Catelyn, and Y/N was a girl getting in trouble for running around with the bastard boy.
“Jon,” Y/N smiled, willing her hand to the side of his face. He smiled back as tears trailed down either side of his face, watching her as she did her best to conceal her pain. He grabbed her head in his arm, bringing her closer to him.
“I should have been here.” The King of the North did little to mask the sobs that defied his smile, his love perched in the crook of his elbow. The rose of his heart was withering away as the daylight peaked over the white plains. The sun crept onto the leaves of the Weirwood tree, placed so carefully in Y/N’s vision. Y/N reveled then in the reality that she had been wrong, Jon’s tears rolling onto her face. Jon cradled her as Bran and Arya watched, he felt himself let go as she blinked ever so slowly, Jon pleading with her - with the Gods old and new to let them be.
“I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since I was a boy.” Jon cried, his tear plopping down onto her face as he held her close.
Y/N simply laid there in the arms of her one love, her voice escaping her as the sound of cries lulling her into a dreamless sleep. Jon’s lips gently met hers, his hand tightly grasping hers.
Y/N felt her mind flurry with every moment she’d spent with Jon, every hour of every day she’d loved him flooding her memory. With her eyes met with her love’s underneath the winter sun, Y/N willingly surrendered herself into the embrace of death.
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haute couture
“What is magick?”
A familiar silence pervaded the auditorium. Kuzhuk smiles as if on cue; this too was part of the act. Confusion as lubrication.
“Magick is aether plus intent. The interaction of the two is what makes everything from Thaumaturgy to Astrology possible. For a powerful enough magus, intent alone is enough, but for most of us? We require pathways.”
He walks up and down the isles as he speaks, moving his hands about, animated with passion as he starts to shape the metaphor.
“Think of it like... Traveling Coerthas after a heavy snowfall. It takes a brave caravaneer to blaze the trail and carve out the snow for others to follow. But such pioneers do more than show us the way. They give us the confidence we require as well too; the Faith that our efforts will not be wasted which bolsters our morale, reducing travel time, enhancing the profitability of the trip. And the more Faith there is, the deeper the grooves, and the easier the journey.”
He guides their thoughts; makes them picture a snowy field after a blizzard gradually unraveling to normalcy. His words are a spell unto themselves; the magick of communication.
“There are problems that come with sticking to the path however. Shortcuts that we cannot see. Sometimes, bandits lurk over the crest of the hill. They know exactly where to hide; the path informs them too. This is much the same in the realm of aethershaping. Thought terminating cliches arise naturally, deadening your spells. Your magicks weakens when you go through motions rather than truly embracing the ritual. It isn’t enough to invoke, one must call forth the forms from the wellspring within us all.”
And now to bring them home, he tells himself. Give them the inspiration they require to... feel inspired. To fool themselves into thinking that they learned something today.
“Make your spells yours. No man looks as splendid in a mass produced soldier’s uniform as he does in a finely tailored officer’s coat. Status is only part of the trick. Personalization closes the loop.“
***
One by one they filter out of the room until the space that once held two Xaela and countless Hyur and Elezen only holds its darkscaled visitors. Kuzhuk turns his back to the danger, bends over his lectern, and starts to gather his notes in performative obliviousness. The dagger slips from its sheath and he draws a breath into his tight chest then looses it smoothly, “Can I help you?”
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