#he died protecting you. he can’t protect you anymore. the title of The Strongest falls onto the shoulders of a nervous seventeen year old

[getougender]

ok enough time has passed that it’s started to sink in and i’m sad about gojou now

[olliestcne]

TITLE: CALAMITOUS LOVE AND INSURMOUNTABLE GRIEF. SETTING: John and Sharon Stone’s residence aka Oliver’s childhood home. DATE: August 27th, 2020. PREMISE: John Stone has something important to tell his three children and his wife. TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH AND CANCER.

Death has never been a thing Oliver has fully comprehended. Everyone in his family was present and beaming, oozing a kind of everlasting life that most would beg for. Sure, his grandfather died when he was young, but that to him always seemed inevitable. When you’re old, you pass. You go somewhere nice as you’ve lived a full, happy existence. That’s as far as Oliver’s brain can manage the concept of death or loss. It was simple. Simple but naive.

He gets a text from his father early in the morning. Something about a family meeting. Urgent. Oliver takes it with a grain of salt, as do his siblings, as usually it’s about where they were going to go next as a family and what they were going to get mom for Christmas because she was a kind but picky woman.

Oliver shows up at around 5pm.

“I already got mom the little Pandora bracelet last year. I can get more charms. She likes those, right?” Oliver says upon arrival, plopping down onto the armchair in the living room. It smelled like his father and always has. This entire home smelled like his childhood. Like his mother’s favorite vanilla lotion, like the smell of popcorn on family movie nights. He would feel empty without this space, that much was certain.

Charlotte, John and Sharon’s youngest, barks out a laugh. “No way. We need to step it up this year. Maybe some diamond earrings.” Charlotte had just given birth three months ago, her husband was home with the baby. A new little bundle of joy welcomed into the Stone family. They couldn’t be happier. 

Thomas, John and Sharon’s oldest, arrives right after Oliver, tossing his coat on the back of the couch. He circles into the kitchen and grabs a water for himself before sitting down beside Charlotte. “Dad already got her diamond earrings for a birthday one year. That’s weak, Char.” He says, unscrewing the cap to his water and taking a generous sip.

“Where are they? Are they late to their own family meeting?” Oliver says, leaning over the arm of the chair into the hallway just behind him. “Hello! Your children are here!” Oliver, forever suffering from middle child syndrome, was always dramatic. Looking for attention. Hence the theatrics.

Sharon walks in nervously then, her expression fallen. This alone was jarring, especially since they were the most chipper family known to man. Yet, Oliver tries not to jump to conclusions. His mother was always the harder of the two, coming from a bad childhood and a family who basically disowned her. She was a survivor, a warrior. There was nothing to worry about.

But, then comes John, seeming tired and, of course, nervous. Just as Sharon. The living room goes a little silent, none of them expecting such a strange and unsettling entrance from their parents. Charlotte’s brows furrow, watching as her parents sit on the other couch located beside the fireplace. “What’s...going on?” She asks, knowing Oliver and Thomas were thinking the same thing.

Oliver suddenly feels the rhythm of his heart increase. He has to swallow hard to contain himself. He was already dealing with a plethora of problems within his marriage, he didn’t need more. What could this be? Were they just messing with them?

“You’re getting divorced, aren’t you? Is that it?” Oliver says on the brink of tears already, nervously balling his hands into fists. “Oh my God, you’re getting divorced. Oh my God...I guess one of you can stay with me and Eli for a while and I-” Always dramatic, this one. 

Sharon shakes her head, reaching her hands out, “No, baby, no.” She says, interrupting him before he falls into the deep end. “We’re not, never.”

Thomas, always the more noble of his siblings, sits back, preparing for what’s about to happen. They all know it’s not good but it’s as if Thomas was in the front of the trenches, protecting his siblings from impending doom. 

“Your father has something to tell us. I don’t even know, actually...” Sharon says, earning  a strange sound to come from Charlotte. It’s a noise of shock and confusion, all four of them now looking to John. 

A few moments pass. Nothing comes. Nothing comes until it does.

“I have lung cancer. Stage four.” John rips the bandage off and creates a new wound. The room goes so silent you could hear a pin drop. It earns a ringing to sound in Oliver’s ears. His eyes dart back and forth between his mother and his father. John’s expression remains still. Tired, sad. And Sharon looks shocked into silence, just as her children.

“You —” Thomas says, being the first one brave enough to break the silence that blankets them. “When did you —” He’s holding back, Oliver and Charlotte can tell. It was odd to see their older brother struck like this. Usually, he was their protector, someone they can go to when things were tough. But, they were all in this together now, sprung into a state of confusion and hurt.

It’s then Oliver realizes he’s started crying, hot tears silently streaming down his face. This can’t be happening, is the first thought that pops into his head, this can’t be fucking happening.

“We — Well, we have to get treatment. We have the money, we can —”

“No,” John says, interrupting his wife. Sharon is instantly taken back by this, eyebrows knitting together in a way Oliver has never, ever seen before. 

But then he registers what his father just said. No. No? He wasn’t getting treatment? This can’t fucking be happening.

“What do you mean no?” Oliver says, or perhaps spews, out. He doesn’t mean to sound harsh but it all comes spilling out of him. It doesn’t pair well with the state of his face, decorated with tears still streaming from his blue eyes. Charlotte’s begun to cry too, silently, just like Oliver. Her breath hitches for a moment before her face is buried in her hands. This was something she did even as a child, a way to calm herself when she became anxious. Their mother would usually rub her back then or sing to her when this happened. But, now, Sharon couldn’t do a damn thing but stare into the face of her husband. 

“I don’t want you guys to see me like that. Losing my hair, throwing up. I want to go as I am now. As a man who loves his family.” John, understandably, gets choked up as he speaks. John Stone doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want his dignity stripped from him either. Oliver wasn’t aware that his father was such a prideful man until now. Something about that earns pain to surge throughout his body. 

That same silence blankets them once more, each of them too rattled to say a damn thing. Oliver feels as though a scream is perched just under his chin, a combination of sorrow and anger beginning to brew inside his stomach. 

With that, something inside him swerves, like a car on ice. He loses track of his emotions and they go flying around his mind, everything all at once. “What the fuck?” He finally says, moving to stand, “You’re gonna just — you’re gonna just...die?” It’s not what he wants to say, not at all, but he can’t find the right words anymore. It earns a sob out of Charlotte, her head still in her hands. Thomas reaches over to touch her back. 

“Ollie, this is what I want. I know it’s hard, but...” John says, looking up at his son with glossy eyes. Oliver was still crying himself, his bottom lip quivering as he opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out, just a pathetic little breath. Sharon up and leaves the room and her children watch as she does so. Sharon Stone was not a crier. Never has been. She was the strongest and bravest woman Oliver has ever known. If anything was going to break her, it was this, and she still didn’t want the world to see her in that state. Oliver understood that.

Oliver looks to Thomas, who was also sporting glistening eyes, before allowing his gaze to land back on his father. “Can you say something, please? Our father’s lost his fucking mind.” Thomas sighs before speaking after Oliver, “You need to get treatment, dad. You can beat it.” Stage four was a hard thing to beat, they all knew that, but the Stone family has always been endlessly optimistic no matter what the circumstances were. 

John remains quiet.

Charlotte stands, grabbing her things and heading out the front door. It’s slammed behind her as she makes her way to her car, shaking as she shoves the keys into the ignition. Charlotte had never contemplated death either, that much was obvious. 

John’s head moves into his hands, rubbing over his tired face with his palms. Thomas looks down at the carpet, his body and face turning to marble. He was still, like a quiet sea. Meanwhile, Oliver was an ocean with violent waves. 

“I can’t believe this..” Oliver trails off, looking down at his shoes. Then to the carpet that was still the same from when he was a child. Everything was the same. Except for this. This feels like a nightmare in a perfect place that threatens to spoil everything. 

By a sudden stroke of impulse, Oliver inhales sharply and walks out too. He follows the same trail his sister left, slamming the front door behind him as he makes his way to his vehicle. He slams the car door too, looking out towards his childhood home one more time before pulling out of the driveway with tears in his eyes. In truth, he tries not to sob, though the lump in his throat was growing larger by the second. 

His hands tremble violently as they grip the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road as that sheltered sob finally rips through his throat. 

Oliver arrives him at 9pm. He had to stay late at work, he’ll say as an excuse. He kisses his daughter’s head, his son’s cheek, and his husband’s jaw as they sleep. He stays up for the rest of the evening into the morning, staring at the carpet in his living room. This wasn’t happening.

[musubiki]

Mochi & Lime Lore/Overworld dump post

➞

- Mochi and lime live in an earth alternate, so like, humans, but not EARTH earth. still working on the name of the continent/region/world they're in, but its gonna be like a botw expansive map with a bunch of different climates and stuff all spread out

- it's probably also a modern-style monarchy. so their gonna have modern technology and stuff but its an excuse to maybe include a royal family (think hmc style ish??). but i don't think the story will delve into politics at all. let's just assume that the gov and economy is ok in this story LOL

- magic and fantasy creatures exist EVERYWHERE, but they hide from most humans and as a result mostly live in forests and such

- the power of magic came as a gift from the stars. the stars are like. i guess what people worship i guess?? so the stars are like the ‘gods’ here (i didnt wanna get into religion too much in this story either, but some plot-relevance will most likely involve some religion-like aspects like priests and whatever)

- technology was developed only because the power of magic essentially disapeared to humans. if witches were always integrated into society, tech probably wouldn’t be a thing

- witches are female only. at the origins of magic, it used to run in both sexes, but the only male with magic ability became insanely powerful and evil and the magic in males died with him. (big backstory, we dont have time to unpack that)

- there's an extensive history (same backstory) of witches not being accepted/feared in society despite being mostly human, so they live WITH humans, but don't expose themselves. 

- (the most valuable spell is the memory replacement spell, which works kind of like that app where you can erase whole people from photos. ie, it takes parts of the rest of your day or similar days to fill in the deleted memory with similar memories, so instead of seeing mochi battling it out with some masked dude, you think you just went to school and came home)

- witches in society caused a bunch of social problems. they had events similar to the salem witch trials and whole plagues started when a witch was discovered. (that crow-lookin plague mask WILL show up in this story i dont care. that shit looked cool and evil and i want it to show up)

- there are some witch ‘haven’ villages: small secluded villages that hide a witch or two within its walls, and don't get many visitors. these villages usually don't have much technology, as they rely on magic. (one of these places is the ocean village where Mochis grandmother lives, and another is where Mochis secret hideout is in the northern mountains)

- there are a bunch of urban legends of witches, bedtime stories, holiday tales, etc. but no one really believes they exist anymore. they just seem like cryptids or superstitions.

- the magical community power scale pretty much looks like this:

...with the cat at the top, followed by the crow/snake, then the spider/toad, and the rest of the witches are more of less equal in power, and then below that are the mages. the psuedo-magic is placed in its own box because it comes nowhere near true magic

- because of this power balance, all the ‘normal’ witches and mages are extremely jealous of the top five (sometimes theres even jealousy within the five)

- ‘mages’ are a broad term of magic users, which can range from humans, to fairies and mermaids. i think the familiars may fall into this catigory too, as they can use a small degree of protective magic.

- mages can be a lot of things, fire mages, water mages, ink mages, paper mages, etc. theres a LOT of them, mostly descending from ancestors who were given power by witches a long time ago, or maybe the offspring of a human and a spirit. long story short its a REALLY broad term.

- every witch, at some point during their magical maturity has to chose a successor. its usually their daughter, but not in every case. once their successor turns 15, together they conduct a ritual to begin the power transfer. (i havent decided if the ritual is when they get their familiar, or if theyre supposed to have them since birth?? probably the former)

- during the power transfer, the magical ability is slowly ‘drained’ from the old witch into the new witch over a period of time, usually about a year or so, and the old witch teaches and trains the new witch how to use magic and potions.

- however this is also the most dangerous time, because as the power slowly transfers, the old and new witches respective power levels are slowly decreasing and increasing respectively, and at the equilibrium (50/50 transfered) the strongest witches power roughly equates to the power of a normal witch 

- (which is especially a dangerous time, compared to say, at a 70/30 balance the old witch is still strong enough to defend the title)

- and due to the jealousy problem within the magic-user circle, this is the ideal time to steal the power of a witch. in Mochi’s case, the cat is highly sought after by other witches and mages, and because of this, cat witches are trained early on to be VERY good fighters, and usually have a few. like. ‘bodygaurds’ so to speak (ie. Lime)

- in rare cases, the power of psuedo-magic is enough to kill a witch at equilibrium as well

- if you kill a witch, all her magical affect on the world (potions, spells, cursed objects) disapears, and the power will either pass to the victor (if she dies by the hand of another witch/mage) or will return to the old witch (if she dies by accident)

- if a witch dies by accident, and she has no remaining female family, the familiar will wander the world in search of a new and worthy witch

- because of the female-only thing as well as the jealousy issue, witches try to only have one daughter, as to not deal with sibling jealousy. especially if they have a son first, and then a daughter, the boy usually sometimes ends up with resentment that they can’t have the same power

- a lot of witch-siblings end up joining the coattails

- for humor and story purposes, im making it so for some idiot reason no one else can figure out where Mochi lives and/or are too dumb to do the obvious plan of attacking her in her sleep or something. so they usually get attacked on the go.

- also maybe everyone understands that high school sucks enough as it is, so they also rarely attack during school hours

- every familiar is a different being, and they stay with their witch throughout their whole lives. they always retain the ability to talk, even after the witch no longer has the main power. after a witch dies, their familiar loses their voice, and either dies with them, or leaves to wander the earth forever

- after a witch loses her power to her successor, she can only do low-level magic and make potions (small levetation spells, foliage growth spells, etc. nothing big)

- there are also a lot of powerful spirits (they roughly fall into the mage catigory) that wander the earth and protect certain sacred places. a subcatogiry of spirits are the cosmic serpants, chinese dragon-looking things that rest in shrines and travel the skies during the night, bringing the elements with them (theres a cosmic wind serpant that protects the forest next to Oscars house, and its always pretty windy there)

- locals pray to the spirits for good weather, healthy crops, etc which the serpants are happy to give them with offerings

- theyre kind spirits, but also very firm and protective of their lands. if they sense any ill-willed trasspassers they WILL destroy them. they only reveal themselves when they want to, but most have mad respect for the witches. 

- mochi gives oscar a medalion with a witches seal so the spirits know not to fucking merk him on his ghost-hunting adventures

- another type of spirit are the forest gaurdians (like the little things in this picture) which care for the forests and animals there. they like oscar because he brings them little snackies like funyuns. 

- spirits are naturally attracted to magical energy, so when mochis around the spirit activity hikes up (que ominous wind gusts during spooky story telling at oscars house) 

- the 5 top witches are pretty well known throughout the magic/creature communities. even if Mochi hasn’t met them yet formally, her name travels fairly quickly that by the time she visits somewhere and introduces herself, they know shes the cat witch

- also, in the top 5, each witch kind of has their own little attributes that makes them, by nature, most suitable for their position. for Mochi, as the cat, she has the biggest heart (cares the most for people, has the most friends). the crow is has the most intellect, the spider is the most creative/detail oriented, etc.

- different regional areas grow rare ingredients, which most of them i will 100% make up since i dont know a lot about actual earth plants, so mochi and lime will travel to all different parts of the world for foraging. everyone kind of teases them about how ‘oooh youre just gonna live in this little city your whole life?? boring!! get out there!!’ and they just kinda look at each other 

[charmingturkeysandwich]

On Series Finales

(I need to get this out of my head)

(I have so much to say about narrative structure vs. audience opinion)

People always have very strong opinions on series finales. Obviously. It’s the culmination of years of investment in something. Because of this you’re never going to make 100% of people happy. Each of us is invested for different reasons; we connect with different characters. What we “like” is always going to differ. 

That doesn’t mean that calling something a “bad” finale is all about taste or who you ship or stan or what have you. Sometimes the episode simply fails the narrative it built. Being disappointed in something because of a narrative failure can’t be written off as “you just wanted a happy ending and that was never going to happen.” Especially with modern dramas, bittersweet is the happiest we can really hope for. Even comedies usually have some painful episodes leading to the end. I don’t think anyone is expecting TV shows these days to end like Disney movies. Hell, Disney movies sometimes don’t end like Disney movies anymore.

Anyway, enough babbling. Here’s the thing: in fiction - as in life - expectations are everything. Many writing choices the writers, directors, and producers make will set up these expectations. When they’re not met, people are cranky. And for valid reasons.

1. Where you start a story is important. 

An often ridiculed series finale is How I Met Your Mother. The pilot focuses on Ted falling immediately in love with Robin. And the “twist” is all “oh, that’s not your mom; that’s Aunt Robin!” But there’s a reason it started there. Yes, technically, you can argue the reason is because Ted ran into the mother at Robin’s wedding, so meeting Robin was important. But they chose to continue to focus on Robin/Ted the whole fucking series. So technically it made sense narratively for him to come back to her in the end. Somewhere along the way I tweeted the show and said it should be called How I Met Your Aunt Robin, because it truly was more about her than the mother. So, yes, people were pissed when she died and it was “all for nothing.” But despite the title... it was never really her story. So in this way, I defend the ending. It fit the story that they told. They began with Robin. They continued to focus on Robin. Why wouldn’t he “end up with” Robin?

2. Pacing matters - and heavily influences expectations

In How I Met Your Mother, you have a day-to-day, usual kind of sitcom for 7 seasons. Then all of a sudden, a 48-hour span of time is spread out for an entire season! This was jarring and I found it to be tedious. Jack Bauer is not here; the world is not at risk. We do not need a minute by minute account of these two days. In this way, I think the whole last season is a disappointment. 

It also served to adjust our expectations. OK I just watched 20 episodes of how much Barney loves Robin - this must mean something. NOPE! Divorced in one episode. An episode, mind you, where they flew through years of their lives. After drawing out two days. For a whole season. They put a couple decades in, like, a half hour. In this way, How I Met Your Mother failed narratively. The pacing sucked and it made us expect something different from the finale. In this regard, I fucking hated that show and want my time back.

Pacing is super important to Game of Thrones, AKA the reason I can’t get series finale essays from running through my head. You’re set up in a world that is medieval-esque. There are no airplanes and Ubers and the magic doesn’t seem to have evolved into teleportation or the like. Everything was slow in the beginning, for many seasons. Conversations were at the forefront. It was  a social game. It was about the people, first and foremost, even though the stupid sword-y chair was important, too. That was the plot. Likewise, in the beginning, people weren’t protected by plot armor. Remember, GoT so fantastically shattered our collective expectations for a show, but in the most organic, realistic way. We were carrying the expectations of other dramas with us and projecting them on this show, assuming Ned was “safe” because he was our lens - at least, more so than anyone else. He was the protagonist! He might be tortured, but he surely wasn’t going to be beheaded. Wrong! He was. That and its fallout allowed us as viewers to fully commit to a whole new set of expectations.

But then as time went on, travel just kind of... happened. Things that should have taken a whole season happened in a scene! And with no kind of acknowledgement. Additionally, that initial slowness built us up to have HUGE payoffs. Think of all the tiny things that led to the disaster/amazing episode that included the Red Wedding. They built us up and they met that slow burn hype. In later seasons, they have ridiculous outward hype over the white walkers and Night King, over confrontations between Cercei and her potential killers (Jamie, Arya, etc.) The pacing led us to believe that these things would conclude in a deep and meaningful way that justifies the time we spend watching and theorizing on our own. When you suddenly hit fast forward through the good stuff, it’s jarring! And you lose character development.

And, oh, the plot armor thing. We were led to believe this show wasn’t like other shows. No one was safe. So someone please explain to me how exactly half (or more) of the named characters survived the battle with the undead?! Sam was basically crying in a pile of bodies. Jon was hiding behind a rock from the Ice Dragon who had just blue-flamed down a giant fucking wall. Brienne and Jamie had been on the front lines of that second wave. But their (and others’) plot armor was simply too strong. We were betrayed by the “new” expectations that I, for one, deeply respected. Gore is not my thing - I often had to look away and hum through certain scenes over the seasons - but to know that there were always consequences and that the stakes were always high and unpredictable... that’s what made this titty-fest bloodbath worth it! Take away its uniqueness from all other shows, and you’re just left with some really violent almost-porn. 

3. We watch your show for characters, not shock value

OK, yes, some people enjoy the big reveals and that’s kind of why they signed up to begin with. My brother cannot get over some of the CGI scenes and battles, so I get it. But for the most part, every story is rooted in the characters. You could take the most exciting story on the planet, in the most intricate world, but if you put boring ass people in it, no one will care. We’re invested in the characters and we want them to be consistent. And if they change... well they better change slowly, the way that actual people usually do. Redemption arcs are common in fiction - more common than in real life, sadly - and they can really pay off. As can whatever you call the opposite of that. Falls from grace? I’m not sure. Either way - slow is key here. Drop hints. Build it into their character. It’s a gruesome comparison, but if a frog jumps into boiling water, he jumps back out; if he’s in cool water and you gradually heat it up he will eventually boil to death. This is how falls from grace should occur. The character doesn’t just jump into boiling water. It doesn’t hold up.

Dany is obviously the big one here. I’m not arguing that it would be possible for her to become the Mad Queen and torch King’s Landing. But I’m saying that maybe at least a time or two before her little tolling bells meltdown we should see her saying “fuck the innocent people.” We should have seen her violence spreading beyond people who deserved it. The writers should have presented us with more moments that signaled she cared more about power than actually breaking the wheel. Her character was too consistent for too long (go back to pacing and expectations and where the story began) for her to have a turn like that and for it to be satisfying and accepted.

Similarly, Jamie’s abandoned redemption arc didn’t make sense to me. Drop us some hints that he’s still hateful above all else, maybe, before you have him just up and revert at the mention of Cercei dying... a thing he clearly had to realize was coming well before that moment.

There were complaints about this same thing with Barney from HIMYM, along the lines of “seriously we sat through a season of him redeeming himself (and truly, he started before that) just to watch him go back to banging any under 30 with daddy issues an episode later?” Honestly, that one makes a little more sense. He was problematic even at his best! And they did show that he tried to not be that guy - he and Robin were married for a year or two (offscreen, of course) before the divorce. The biggest problem with HIMYM wasn’t the characters - it was the pacing! It changed our expectations and left many disappointed. 

And finally, For God’s sake you don’t always need a crazy twist.

And maybe this falls to the producers and not the writers. They want viewers. They want coverage. They want listicles on Buzzfeed. And both HIMYM and GoT got them! But at what cost? The reason we didn’t get any lead up to Dany turning is because they wanted to shock us. The reason that they didn’t have some of the strongest theories come true is because they wanted to shock us. Shock has been used well in this series to this point. Masterfully, even! But this wasn’t masterful. This was the showrunners playing God instead of letting things happen organically. Some twists make sense after you look back and notice the buried hints. Some twists make sense because there were things that you as the audience didn’t know yet. But other twists are only shocking because they’re out of character, unrealistic, or just plain dumb. We didn’t get much after the twists except some speeches that honestly sounded like the showrunners themselves speaking to defend their choices. Awkward.

Another series finale that disappointed many fans with its twist was Lost. I never watched, but, I mean, if I watched a whole series just to have it never have been real, I would have been pissed. I was terrified that OUaT was going to do that - that in the finale we’d find out it had all been a dream little Emma was having at a group home or some shit. Fans are invested in long-running series - especially those with supernatural/sci-fi words - and to pull the rug out from under them like that is just... rude. And massively disappointing. You mean we speculated ourselves to death for nothing?! 

What people want from a series finale is an ending of this chapter of the characters’ lives that honors the past and acknowledges the future. There’s a reason that series finales often do something to bring it “back to the beginning.” It’s satisfying! I love that the last thing that we saw the Friends do is go get coffee together. That’s how it started! But after that coffee, they were off to the next part of their lives. I love when they get a little self-aware/meta in the last episode, like when Cory says, “Boy Meets World, now I get it.” And then he and Topanga were moving to New York City. Back to the beginning/the roots... but also going somewhere new.

My point in all this is simple: usually when there’s a massive uproar over a series finale, it’s not just petty people being mad their fave didn’t get the ending they wanted. It’s usually a sign of a problem in the writing, whether it be the writing of that last episode or of the series in general. 

Everyone’s opinions are valid and their feelings are real. But when the writing is bad/lazy/shoddy/too focused on a few scenes they’d clearly imagined before writing the finale/clearly leaving certain plot holes or opportunities for spinoffs even when it doesn’t necessarily make sense... people notice.

(And, oh, do they let you know it.)

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Rise Up

Chapter Ten

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count:3989 Warnings: painful memories of blood and battle and death, swearing

Song: Porcelain by Marianas Trench

You scrubbed your hand over your mouth, forcing back the bile rising up your throat.

“(Y/N),” Tony’s hand settled in the fur of your cloak. “We need to know everything. How the Valkyrie fought them. How you destroyed them. Everything.”

“Tony, I…” You wiped your mouth a second time, fighting down the urge to be sick. The smell of death was thick and with it came memories of battles, of bloodshed, of the screams of dying Valkyrie and Pegasi. “I can’t…”

“Tony,” Steve warned, apparently feeling the wild beating of your heart.

“Shut it, Capscicle,” he huffed. “We’ve all been there, done that, bled on the t-shirt. We need to know this shit, and she’s the only one who can tell us!”

“I can’t,” you gasped softly, the grip you had on your sword tightening like it was a lifeline. It kept you present in the here and now when the wave of unrelenting sorrow tried to swamp you. “Not now.” Not when you felt like you were drowning in death and swimming through a fog of memories.

“Hey, we’ve all seen our share of death. You’re going to need to suck it up and speak, your highness,” he grumbled, his grip tightening on your shoulder.

The snarky remark and use of your title snapped what little control you had left. “You want me to speak? You want me to talk about it, Tony? You want to compare your years of experience to mine? To the centuries of battle I have living in my head? What do you want to know first? How they took us unawares?” you asked as you turned on him. “How they slaughtered hundreds of my sisters before we managed to fight them back? Would you like to know what it sounds like when a Valkyrie loses her soul? When a Pegasus screams as his insides are torn out? Or how about what it feels like to slog your way through blood and body parts?”

“Baby.” Steve reached out to you, but you jerked away from his hands.

“I could tell you what it smells like when you light dozens of pyres to burn the bodies of your fallen sisters. How the scent of burning flesh… lingers on the air with the smoke. You can scrub your skin raw, bathe a dozen times and that smell just won’t… won’t come out!”

“Sweetheart… that’s enough.” Steve stepped toward you, arms out as if approaching a wild creature.

You had no idea how wild you looked, how desperate, and frantic, and close to breaking you appeared. All you knew was the pain of losing thousands of sisters in those months of unrelenting battle. “Not enough,” you said with a shake of your head. “Never enough. I wasn’t enough. I watched them fall. I watched the Sjeletyv reach out,” you reached out toward Tony, curled your hand into a crone’s claw, and jerked it back as if shredding flesh from bone, “and rip the very life out of my companions. And then they turned… oh, gods… they turned four of my sisters, and I still don’t know how. And they walked uncontested into camp… and killed a dozen of us… before I… before… before I…” You dropped the sword in your hand like it burned you, and lifted shaking metal-clad fingers to your mouth. “I killed them… I killed them all. I killed them… and the Sjeletyv screamed…”

Steve lurched toward you, but you were already running. You couldn’t escape the smell. Every step laced with the screams of the dying. The blood once soaking your hands seemed to drip from the ends of your fingers and burn your skin. Even as you ran, you rubbed at them, scratched at your flesh. It wasn’t there, you knew there was no bright red viscous liquid on your hands, but you could feel it, still, as if it was only yesterday you’d taken your sword to the necks of your soulless sisters.

When you’d told Matty she wasn’t his Elektra anymore; you hadn’t been lying. You’d been speaking from experience.

You hit the stairwell door at a dead run, barrelling through to almost fall up the stairs. The scent of blood filled your lungs. Smoke wanted to choke you. It was all in your head, but that didn’t make it any less real.

Your legs burned as you took the stairs three at a time. You needed out. Out of the building. Out of the stench. Out under the stars where the wind could dry the tears from your face, and you could stand beneath Máni’s light and pretend Freyja was watching over you still.

Slamming through the door, you stumbled and fell to your knees, breaking down under the weight of your regrets. The sobs shook you, and every face of every one of the fallen flashed through your mind. The ones who’d looked at you in fear as they fell beneath the claws of the Sjeletyv. The ones who’d cried out for you to save them when you couldn’t. When you were helpless to reach them in time.

And the four who’d looked at you with black eyes. With dead eyes. With no recognition.

Your hands closed on your temples, on the metal of your helm and you wrenched it from your head to chuck it across the roof. The wind hit your face, stole your breath, but drove away the scent of death with crisp, clean, fall air.

You covered your face with your hands as the pain grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger until you lifted your head and screamed out in anguish.

“Baby…” Steve’s arms wrapped around you as he settled to the ground behind you, knees spread to cradle your hips and pull you back into his chest.

“I killed them… I killed them, Steve…” The memory poured through you like fire, scalding you with the shame. “I killed them… I was the only one who could.”

He rocked you back and forth in a soothing action. His arms were tight, hands warm. He tucked his chin over your heavy fur collar. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You did what you had to do.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. So many died, Steve. We weren’t ready. We weren’t prepared. I was their leader, and I was… I was… helpless!”

“You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know what you were walking into.”

“It was bad, Stevie… it was so bad…”

As your shaking slowed, he shifted your positions to pull you into his lap and tug your cloak up around his shoulders.

His hands began to brush up and down your back. “You want to talk about it?”

With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder. “We went in five-hundred strong, more than I ever thought we’d need, but when an army attacks an entire world one can never be too careful. We were the elite of Asgard, Odin’s chosen force, and when we flew over, the Pegasi spreading shadows over the land… people cheered. Then… cheers turned to screams of terror when the Sjeletyv appeared. They didn’t look like humans, Steve. They walked on these long, thin legs, balancing on their toes and the knuckles of these insanely long arms…” You shuddered, the memory sending a tendril of fear streaking up your spine. “Their armour was dark, an oily blue-black, covered in spikes, and they moved across the ground like… like hyenas, in this strange loping gate. But it wasn’t until we landed that we realized just how deadly they were. They would stand up, almost nine feet tall with a six-foot reach, three-inch claws curved and serrated shredded armour like it was paper thin…”

You paused as the memories pulled you back. “I remember Helga… she fell first. A Sjeletyv soldier just tore out her throat. It was so fast, and it… it screeched this god awful sound, but I didn’t understand right away what it was doing when it lowered its head over her body until I saw it… her soul, Steven… her soul… it just… it just… vanished and she was gone. It was like a piece of myself felt her die, felt her soul die with her. Then others were falling… and we were losing. Us! The Valkryjur were losing!”

Your hand crept up around his neck as your burrowed closer, the horror pouring out and fresh tears falling down your face. “I don’t remember much more from that first battle but the killing. Killing and killing and killing, until I was covered in blood and slogging through body parts. We sent the Pegasi off the field. The creatures were just too much for them, but they wouldn’t listen and harassed them from the air.” You turned your face to Steve’s throat, inhaling his scent to clear the strongest of the memories from sucking you back into that place. “The sound, though… gods, Steven… the sound they made when they died… I can’t unhear it; I can’t unsee their grey and white bodies falling from the sky to crash to the ground in broken limbs and shredded feathers.

Sky-Bjorn, he refused to leave my side, and I think staying on the ground probably saved his life. He was better with his feet than any Pegasi since him, and could put a hoof through a skull with such precision it would pop. He took claws to his wings more than once to save me. When they finally retreated, when I finally got a chance to look at my forces… there was a hundred of us left and half as many Pegasi.”

“Jesus!” he swore softly and tightened his hold.

“More came. Almost the entire Valkyrjur descended on that world to fight them back. They barely let us rest, barely let us honour our dead. If it weren’t for the Pegasi and the smell of them, we’d have been overrun on more than one occasion.” The rawness of your throat and the strain of every word was taking its toll, but now that you’d started, you couldn’t stop. “We’d managed to turn the tide on them, had figured out how to protect ourselves from their soul stealing ways when the first Ijå appeared. It was different, more humanoid than the others. It walked through the ranks with a smile and such an air of confidence it rattled that of my Valkyrie. The power of it, Steve, was immense, but it didn’t come for us. It went for the village. It went for the people we were protecting. By the time I got through its bodyguard…” a sob caught in your throat, “It had killed fifty people and was holding a little girl by the back of the neck. It smiled at me. Smiled as she screamed for me to save her. Smiled when it nicked her… nicked her cheek and sucked… sucked her soul out of an opening no bigger than a paper cut.”

“Baby… baby, stop,” he whispered, clutching you to him as the heartbroken sob shook your body.

“They said… they said I went, full berserker… that I screamed down the heavens and took its head off with nothing but my mother’s gauntlet, but I don’t… I don’t remember. I remember cradling the body of that child. Of coming too with her in my arms and her dead eyes looking back, and I knew, I knew, she was gone. Not dead, but gone,” you whispered harshly. “No rest for her young soul. Just oblivion. Just death.”

“Where was Thor in all this? Where was Loki? Odin? Any of them?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I wouldn’t let them come. The Pegasi could travel between worlds without the Bifröst, but the Asgardian troops couldn’t. By that point I knew we couldn’t let even one of those creatures live, couldn’t let them get to the Bifröst should it open, and I had no idea if they could take Thor or Loki or any of their souls. I couldn’t risk it! And when they turned my sisters…” You shook your head again and snuffled, using Tove’s cloak to wipe your cheeks. “Asta, Ingrid, Brynhildr, and Vigdís had been missing for five weeks when the four of them walked into camp. They looked rough, beaten and bloody. They said all the right things. They’d been captured, tortured for information, and managed to escape, but something seemed off, and that’s when I realized they had no heartbeats. When Tyra reached for her sword… all hell broke loose, and a contingent of Sjeletyv came out of the dark. The four cut Tyra down, cut down another ten before I managed to get over the shield wall. I took out Asta’s legs to get to her head, put a shield through Ingrid’s throat. Someone else put nine arrows in Vigdís, dropping her long enough for me to take off her head, but Brynhildr, Brynhildr was good, and I was tired. She fought me back, fought me down. I ended up catching her sword on my cloak, took a hard blow to the ribs, a fist to the face, and I went to a knee. I saw my death in her eyes, but I heard Tove’s voice in my ear, reminding me I was destined for more and found some strength somewhere to fight Brynhildr back and win. And then… and then the Sjeletyv… screamed angry we’d killed their new fighters.”

His grip had grown progressively tighter with your recitation. “Fuck… holy fuck…”

“By the next morning, it was clear the world was lost. We’d failed. There was no one left to protect, and we hadn’t saved a single person. The Sjeletyv had killed everything that moved. Everything that drew breath was dead or like them. Odin ordered us home, and he opened the Bifröst long enough to scorch the world. Five-thousand Valkyrie and their steeds set foot on that world. Fifteen-hundred of us came home with twelve-hundred Pegasi.”

He was shaking by the time you finished, both anger and fear clouding his scent. “What life was this?” he finally managed to force out.

“First… first life,” you whispered, holding him that much tighter. “We met a few years later.”

“Oh… god…” His tears soaked into your hair. “You could have died. You could have died, and we’d never have met.”

“I could have, but I didn’t.” You felt cold, frozen right to the bones. Not even his warmth was enough to take the chill from you.

He rocked and held you. Rocked and stroked your spine. “We need to find out more about this Hand.”

“We will.” You shivered and hunched further into his body. “If Elektra wants to play the innocent victim, then let her. She’ll be more likely to say something she shouldn’t. If she’s here for the Hounds… we’ll know soon enough.”

He set you back to free his arm from your cloak and cup your cheek. “I’m so sorry, min vakre skjoldpike. So sorry you went through that.”

You sighed and leaned into his touch. “We’ve all seen stuff, Steve. My stuff is just… different.”

“Still, you don’t need to be dredging up all this because Tony’s an impatient ass,” he growled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Wasn’t Tony’s fault. They were already surfacing thanks to the smell.”

“Smell?”

“You can’t smell her? She smells like death!” You sat up further to stare at him in shock.

“Couldn’t smell a thing other than whatever perfume she uses. It wasn’t disgusting, but it wasn’t my favourite either,” he said, lowering his head to trace his nose along your jaw. “Not like this scent. You always smell amazing.”

“Steve,” you sighed, tilting your head to give him better access.

“You’re so cold, baby. Let me take you to bed and warm you up. See if I can’t help push those memories back for you,” he murmured, lips skimming your skin with every word.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, doll face. I can get you warm. Are you hungry at all, baby? Want something to eat first?”

“I can’t… well… maybe?” Your hand played with the hair at his nape while the other stroked over the cotton of his shirt, finding you were a little hungry after all.

He rocked up on his knees, his arm going beneath your thighs to lift you to his chest. “Then let’s go inside. I’ll take you to the kitchen and make you something. You can have a hot chocolate while I fix you a sandwich.”

“With marshmallows?” you asked, pouting a little and batting your lashes.

A chuckle rumbled his chest. “Yeah, baby. You can have marshmallows.”

“Lots of marshmallows?”

He smirked against your ear and kissed your cheek while you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Yes, I will fill your cup half full of marshmallows. I know how you are.”

“What? I like marshmallows!”

“You’d probably like it if I filled the mug full of marshmallows and poured the hot chocolate over the top, so it filled in all the crevices.”

You pulled back to look at him. “Can you do that?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Only if you want to spend the night on a sugar high.”

It took a little finessing, but you wiggled yourself around until you could wrap your legs around his hips. “Would that be so bad if I got to expend my energy with you… Captain?”

Both of his hands went to the thin fabric of your pants and squeezed tightly on your ass. He pressed you back into the door and stroked the tip of his nose over your cheek to bump and nudge against yours. “Not at all, doll. Not at all.”

“Steve…” you sighed against his lips. Hot breath warmed your cold flesh, and tender kisses lifted your bruised heart. His hair was silky soft when you carded your fingers through it, being careful of you talons over his scalp.

“Let’s satisfy your appetite, then we can satisfy mine,” he purred.

His teeth caught and worked over your lower lip, making you shiver with need. Your legs tightened on his hips, forcing him closer until the weight of him made it hard to breathe. A tug had your lip free of his teeth, letting you dive into his mouth, kiss him with every drop of love you held inside you for the man who was your heart and soul.

He wrenched away to gasp for air when the kiss seemed to last for hours. His panting breath washed over your lips, and you had to touch his, see for yourself just how plump and swollen and bruised they’d become. He nipped the tips of your fingers, rumbles of pleasure echoing in his chest as if he were a jungle cat, purring for his mate.

“I love the way you smell in this cloak. It adds a layer of feral to you as if you’ve taken a part of the wolf into your own body and become a wild thing wrapped in its fur.” Steve tucked his nose in along your pulse, the fur sliding away from your skin to be replaced by the heat of his breath and the softness of his lips. “When Loki draped it over you and set the helmet on your head like a crown… fuck! I wanted to kneel at your feet and howl to the heavens. Mine! My woman. My Valkyrie Queen. Min vakre skjoldpike! All mine. Then you crossed blades and fire erupted…” He stopped to sink his teeth into your pulse and hold there while the pounding of his heart escalated, thudding hard against your chest.

You moaned and stretched your throat out. “Harder, sjelevenn.”

He complied, working his teeth into your skin. There would be a bruise, a nice one, which would last for a few hours and throb deliciously, reminding you just who you belonged to. He rolled his hips forward, sending the thickness of jeans along with the rigid length of his growing erection right into your sensitive core.

“You looked like something out of Norse legends. An angry goddess. A mythical queen. Fuck it was hot!” he snarled, tilting your body harder into his. “Why the cloak, though? Doesn’t it get in the way?”

Only Steve could multitask in such a fashion. He was breathing hot and heavy against your throat, his teeth returning over and over to what felt like one hell of a hickey, but he could still ask the questions running rampant in his brain when most men’s thoughts would have gone south and stayed there.

“It’s… impenetrable. No blade can cut it,” you gasped, clinging to him and rocking your hips into his in rolling a rhythm.

“Baby, baby… don’t…” he groaned, the sound pained. “Damnit! I’m not taking you on the roof when there is a perfectly good bed right down the stairs!”

“You… started it!”

He dragged you from the door. “Then I guess I should end it.”

You pouted and refused to unwrap your legs. “Big meanie.” The swat to your behind had the exact opposite effect it was intended to as you hummed appreciatively and melted into Steve. “Do it again, Stevie. I wike it.”

“Don’t start, frisky kitten,” he grumbled, but damn if he didn’t give you a second swat to the other ass cheek.

“Only for you, Captain,” you purred, nipping his ear, clinging like a spider monkey when he tried to peel you from him. “Nuh uh. I want a ride, and I happen to like this position.”

Steve shook his head, but only jacked you higher with an arm of steel beneath your buttocks. “You’re a cheeky dame,” he continued to mutter as he took quick strides across the roof and bent to retrieve the helmet you’d chucked.

The world tilted, and you giggled, wild and giddy when it righted.

“You alright there, doll face?” he chuckled, plunking the helmet back on your head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I really am.” It felt as if a weight had lifted, one heavy with old guilt and shame. It was less fresh. Muted. Like the old wound had finally closed. “Thank you, sjelevenn,” you whispered, cupping his face. “You’re so good to me, Steve.”

“Always. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll love you forever.”

Tears, again, burned your eyes but these were not of sorrow. As you held him close, lightly tracing his features with your fingers so they would translate to your mind’s eye, you murmured, “Hvis alle stjernene i himmelen var min kjærlighet til deg, de ville fortsatt være en kort.”

“Sweetheart, you slay me.” He rested his forehead gently against yours. “You sound so damn sexy, and my heart kind of flutters when you do that. Tell me what you said?”

“If all the stars in the heavens were my love for you, they would still be one short.”

He gave a shuddering breath and held you like you were glass, precious and fragile. A treasure. His most valuable one. “You say shit like that, and my heart just falls into your hands, baby doll.”

“That’s good, Steve because mine already beats in your chest.”

“Everything I feel with you is so… big. I just can’t with you sometimes.”

“Are you saying I make you speechless, Steven? You? Captain America at a loss for words? I’m shook!” you teased, patting his cheek.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, heading toward the door, “you leave me speechless on a regular basis. And half the time I’m speechless because I’m distracted watching your ass.”

You burst out laughing as he made his way inside the compound. “Well, Cap. You make me a hot chocolate with tons of marshmallows, and you can do more than simply watch my ass.”

“Deal!” he crowed and raced down the stairs.

Next Chapter

[dierwolves]

bran stark; together

request: can you write some bran stark x reader fluff? something like where they’re just lying together and stealing lil kisses and admitting how happy they are together?

 notes: I dunno if this is okay??? But I really love bran so I hope I made him justice xxx

 “Y/N!” You turned when you heard Sansa Stark’s voice call your name. She walked swiftly towards you. She had probably just finished supper.

“Lady Sansa.” You curtsied politely to the Lady of Winterfell. You had grown up in the castle while your mother worked as a maid. As she got old and you turned into a grown woman, you took over her job.

“Could you please prepare a room? One on the first floor, if possible.”

You nodded your head, but you couldn’t not ask. “May I know for who is the room, my lady?”

She smiled sweetly at you. “It’s for Bran, Y/N. He’s back home.”

Your hands fell over her mouth. As a child, you had been the closest to Bran, Arya and Rickon. You were always the closest to Bran ,though. Running around together through Winterfell. Back then, you didn’t understand of titles, nobility or smallfolk, so your friendship was fine.

“So, Sansa and Joffrey are going to get married?”

You nodded your head. You were hiding in one of the towers, looking at people pass by, when you saw Sansa and Joffrey walk together. In front of the royal family, your mother had suggested you stayed away from the Starks, but Bran had found you anyway.

“Do you think I’ll have to leave Winterfell when I get married, Y/N? I wouldn’t want that.”

You shook your head this time. “You are a boy, Bran. It’s girls who move to their husbands castles.”

He nodded, but soon enough he turned to you with a worried expression. “But you’ll have to leave Winterfell then, right? You can’t leave me, Y/N!”

You sighed and shrugged. “If my mother decides that, I’ll have to. But I don’t want to leave you either, Bran.”

You both sat quietly, until his eyes lit up with some idea. “We could get married, Y/N! That way we’ll stay in Winterfell forever.”

You nodded your head vigorously. “We could do that! Although we have to wait till we are older.”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter. I know I already love you.”

You beamed at him and he grinned back. “I love you too, Bran.”

You shook your head, making sure the furs were well tucked in the bed and the pillows fluffed. Your flattering heart and irregular breathing was the only thing you could hear till the door opened. He was there, sitting on a wheelchair being pushed by Sansa. He was covered in furs. He had grown up –just like you– and he seemed lost in his thoughts. You went to launch yourself at him, although you hesitated, as Lady Sansa was still in the room. She nodded at you understanding and left the room. The moment the door closed your arms were wrapped around him. He held your waist with one hand while he petted your head with the other, trying to sooth you. You hadn’t noticed the tears that had started streaming down your face.

“Don’t cry, Y/N. We are both home now. Like we wanted.” He was whispering, trying not to startle you more than you already were, but his words only made you spill more tears. After a few minutes you stood up, dried your tear-stained cheeks and unwrinkled your dress. He was watching you all the time with a small smile on his face. You were about to start crying again, but he spoke to you first. “Would you mind helping me get in my bed?” You shook your head assertively and you did so, meanwhile remembering the few days after he woke up from his terrible fall.

“You are going to be alright Bran, you’ll see.”

“But I can’t walk now, Y/N! I’m just a burden.”

You moved your head from side to side. “Don’t say that Bran. I’ll always be your friend. And your parents and your siblings still love you very much. And Summer too.”

He smiled slightly at this. “Do you still love me, Y/N?” He was hidden under more than a couple of furred blankets that reached his chin, but you could imagine the blush covering his cheeks.

You nodded your head. “Of course I do. You’ll see, when I’m older I’ll be very strong so I can carry you around. That way we’ll always be together!”

This seemed to cheer him up, as you could see his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

He was lying on the bed. Eyes closed and breathing still, but you could notice he was awake. You had known him long enough to know. “Would you care to join me, Y/N? I just… don’t want to be alone.”

You just nodded and helped yourself into the bed. He needn’t justify himself. You had shared a bed as kids, when the summer storms would make the sky roar and you could only hide under the blankets.

You knocked on Bran Stark’s door, and opened quietly, although it cracked anyway.

“What took you so long?”

“My mother was watching my door. I had to sneak under her nose.” You crawled under the blankets and he swiftly grabbed your hand. As soon as a lightening illuminated the sky, his hand tightened around yours and his breathing fastened. You got closer to him and wrapped your arm around his chest, and kissed him on his temple, the same way you had seen Lady Catelyn do with his two youngest sons. You caressed his arm soothingly while he laid his head on your chest. “Do not worry, Bran. Not even the strongest lightening can break through the walls of Winterfell.”

He nodded sleepily, as his eyes had started to become heavy. You closed your eyes too, keeping your arm protectively around your best friend, and neither of you saw Catelyn Stark watching from the door with a soft smile on her face.

You sighed. Here you were, years later, with your head resting upon Bran’s chest. Your mothers weren’t with you anymore to scold you for your mischievous behaviour. In the little time you have been with Bran, you had seen how the light of his eyes had seemed to disappear. But he wasn’t the only one. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, a pair of sunken eyes that you could barely recognise as your own looked back at you. You could see how your face had become sour, with a permanent scowl and frown on your face, always watchful of your surroundings during the continuous times of war.  You tried to separate yourself from him so you can properly see his face, but his arms tightened around you, not wanting you to move.

“I’m glad that you’re back, Bran.”

He kissed you lightly on your head, while he draws random patterns on your back. “I’m glad to be here. I missed you.”

You raised your head slightly, and smirked at him. “I’m sure with all your adventures you barely had time to miss me.”

He huffed. He pecked you on the nose. He seemed to get closer to your lips, but looked at you dubiously, so you got closer to him and your lips met. When you separated his head rested against the pillow, his eyes closed and a content sigh leaving his mouth. You bite your lip, seeing him so relaxed. You start peppering kissed around his face, making him giggle at your affection display. “I missed you every day since you left. I thought of how you always made me feel safe. Of how you always had an answer to all of my questions. I’ve always considered you the smartest out of both of us, Y/N. Every time we were in danger I thought of how you’d probably find a way to get us out of trouble. The first time I had a... vision, or the first time I got into Summer’s head, I wanted to go and tell you. You were the first person I wanted to tell. And then I realised you weren’t there... it made me so sad.”

You pursed your lips, overwhelmed with emotions, trying to hold your tears. So many years apart, you had barely forgotten what it was like to have Bran by your side. The feeling of wholeness and happiness it gave you. You kissed him again, desperate for the contact you had been missing while he was away. “So... should I worry about some wildling girl you met on your trip beyond the Wall?”

His eyes widened, but he relaxed when he saw your teasing grin. “I’ve just told you how much I missed you and that’s all you have to say?” You giggled and pinched him on the cheeks, knowing how much it annoyed him being treated like a child.

“You’re avoiding the question, Bran.”

“Of course I haven’t. I had no time for that. And even if I had, I’ve only ever loved you.”

You nodded, although you had guessed so. None of you had been able to rest while you were away from each other.

“I love you too Bran. I was so scared, thinking you might have died... I got terrible nightmares almost every night since you went away.”

He cooed at you, trying to keep your tears at bay. “It doesn’t matter; we are together now, like we always planned. It doesn’t matter what happens, we always find each other.”

You hummed. You rested in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. His hand run through your hair, and soon you noticed his shaking hands and his unstable breathing. “Hey, are you okay, Bran? What’s wrong?”

“I’m just... scared. What I’ve seen. What is coming our way. I wish we could be together during more peaceful times.

You shift on the bed, moving aside so you are the one lying on your back. You pat on your chest, and he does rest his head upon your chest. You surround him with your arms, like you used to do when you were children, and hold him tight against yourself, hoping that after so many years it still had the same calming effect.

“You just said it, Bran. It doesn’t matter. We stay together Bran. Like we always do.”