#ive always been a burden to the family and you. i never saw you as a burden.

[xinyuehui]

⸺ Don't be afraid. If you became a demon again, jiejie would become a demon with you.

大梦归离 · Fangs of Fortune · 2024

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[ghostboneswrites2]

Arrowhead Jr ||One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl has baby fever

This was a request on my old blog: "ever since i saw daryl holding baby judith ive dreamt about him having absolute baby fever w reader and after babysitting him pestering reader about one?"

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Profanity, birth, babies, mostly fluffy

        "Check this out." Daryl said excitedly, holding up a camo onesie he found. You were on a small run with a few others in search of some new clothes for little Judith, since she had outgrown most of the ones she had. 

        "This is for newborns." You told him, taking the tiny outfit out of his hands.

        "I know.." He shrugged, taking it back and setting it down. 

        "Oh, god. Don't start." You begged. "Not again."

        You had been with him since the prison, after Woodbury fell. You were one of the many refugees Rick had taken in after the town fell apart, and the archer took a liking to you from the beginning. You guessed it was partially due to your friendship with his morally-gray brother before his unfortunate passing, but it was mostly just because you were you. He loved you for it. However, recently, with the safety of Alexandria's walls, he somehow caught one of the scariest diseases; Baby Fever. Especially after the two of you spent a day watching her so Rick could work and Carl could go do normal teenager things for a change.

        "Not startin' nothin." He mumbled.

        "No, but you're doing that thing again!" You argued.

        "What?" He shrugged.

        "That! The sad face and the--"

        "That place is perfect." He explained. "The--"

        "I know, I know. The big walls and the pretty houses and the people and the--"

        "I see you with Judith. I see how you look at her, how you rub her nose to get her to fall asleep and all them lil songs ya sing when she cries."

        "So what are you saying?"

        "Just that we could." He admitted. 

        "Just 'cause we could doesn't mean we should." You sighed

        "I know that, it's just... I wanna."

        "Well that's easy to say when you don't have to carry and birth a child to get one." 

        "Forget it." He huffed.

        The rest of the trip was in silence, and not the comfortable kind you so often shared. You were both frustrated. Him, because ever since he held Judith for the first time, when he fed her that first meal she ever had and felt the rush of nurturing a crying, sweet little baby, a hole formed inside him and it grew bigger every day. He never could have seen himself as a family man before that moment, but ever since, it was a primal urge he couldn't resist. To love a woman, to father a child, to protect and provide for his own family. He had already achieved finding a woman worth his affections, which was you, of course, but he still didn't have his own family and it ate him up.

        Your frustrations were sourced elsewhere, though. For one, giving birth sounded absolutely terrifying, especially in a world lacking in hospitals, epidurals, prenatal and postpartum care. You could handle a fair amount of pain, but birth was an entirely different playing field. Not to mention the risks. You had heard what happened to Judith's mom. How could you risk that? How could he expect you to? And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What kind of world would this be for a child? What kind of life would it have? Alexandria was always too good to be true, and sooner or later something would happen, and you'd all be running for your lives again. It was only a matter of time, to you. To be pregnant would mean no more runs, no more fighting, none of the things that made you useful. You'd just be a big burden with swollen ankles.

        You didn't speak when you all arrived back home, or during dinner, or after. It wasn't until you went to take a shower, until you had already stripped down and stepped into the steamy stream of water. He had silently snuck into the bathroom, undressed, and surprised you by pulling the curtain aside and joined you. You had your back turned to him, allowing the water to rush over you and wash away your racing thoughts. He grabbed the bar of soap and lathered it in his hands until he was satisfied, then he began to wash you. You loved when he did that, it was one of your favorite affections he'd show. He always started by massaging your neck and shoulders, then your back, then your arms, and he'd turn you around and work on the front. With little explanation needed, that was his favorite part.

        "Can we at least think about it?" He finally asked, eyes and hands stationed on your bare skin as you watched his face.

        "We can think about it all we want but it doesn't change anything."

        "But this place is safe. And there's a doctor here. And-- Hell, this house alone is more than either of us could've given a kid before the world turned to shit." He argued. You sighed.

        "I just can't shake the feeling that none of this is permanent." You confessed. He stopped washing you for a moment, considering your concerns.

        "What else?" He asked.

        "What else what?"

        "The other reasons. What else?"

        "This place could fall."

        "Don't mean it will."

        "The doctor could die."

        "I'll make sure he don't."

        "There could be complications."

        "That's what the doctor's for."

        "I can't help on runs or fight or--"

        "Got plenty of people that can do that."

        You took a breath. Was he gonna have a rebuttal to each argument you made?

        "Well," you said, "pregnancy makes us crazy."

        "You're already crazy." He smirked. You rolled your eyes.

        "What about medicine? Epidural? You need and anesthesiologist for that and we don't have that which means I'll feel everything and it's gonna hurt!" You rambled. His smirk grew into an amused grin. "What?" You scoffed.

        "You're scared." He said.

        "So what if I am? I should be. You should be. I could die. The baby could die. It could die down the line when we can't protect it--"

        "Now you just insult me. I'd never let a damn thing happen to you or that kid." He snapped. You gritted your teeth together.

        "You can't control everything. What about childbirth? Women died during birth when there were teams of doctors and surgeons. What about now?"

        "You wont." He shook his head. 

        "Why would you want a baby with me anyways?" You groaned. "I don't even like kids!"

        "Now that's just lyin' to yourself, darlin'."

        "Is not!" 

        "Might've been able to convince me if you never let me see you with Lil Ass Kicker, but you're a natural."

        "Jesus. Are you gonna give our baby weird nicknames too?" You asked as the two of you switched sides in the shower so you could was him too.

        "Our baby?" He repeated. You eyes widened.

        "Hypothetically." You corrected. "Our maybe, hypothetical, improbable baby."

        "Nah, I was thinkin' Arrowhead Jr for ours."

        You couldn't help it, you laughed.

        "You're insane." You shook your head, massaging his shoulder with the suds.

        "Look," he sighed. "I'm not gettin' any younger and I want a family. I already got the girl, now I need the girl to have my babies."

        "Babies?!" You gawked. "How many do you expect me to have? I'm not a damn fetus factory I can't just spread my legs and pop them out on a fucking conveyor belt." 

        "I was thinkin' two."

        "Two." You repeated, hoping that hearing the word from someone else would wake him up, maybe make him understand how ludicrous he sounded.

        "Mhm." 

        Guess not.

        "Two!" You said again. "Two babies that you want me to grow and birth."

        "Yep."

        "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

        "Yeah." He said, turning around to face you. "I'm askin' you to be the mother of my kids and spend the rest of your life with me."

        "Um, the rest of your life. Women live longer than men, statistically speaking."

        "Then think about it. Make the rest of my life mean somethin'."

        "Ugh." You growled. You really weren't going to win this one, no matter how hard you fought. "If you wanted kids so bad why didn't you find someone who had the same goal?"

        "Don't want no one else. Just you."

        "And a kid."

        "Two kids."

        "Let's start with one." You relented.

        He grabbed your face as soon as you spoke the words and kissed you excitedly.

        "Better start workin' on it then." He said, lifting you off the ground and pressing your back to the wall. Things only got steamier from there, and not because of the hot shower.

----

        "Shit!" You whispered, staring down at the third test you'd taken. "Shit shit shit shit!"

        To say it was panic would be an understatement. It was sheer terror. You guessed you knew this was coming but you weren't ready for it yet. The only solace you found was the fact that Daryl would be home soon, and you'd get to see his face light up when you handed him not one, not two, but three positive pregnancy tests.

        He came home shortly after you wiped your tears and pulled yourself together. You were in the kitchen making him a pot of coffee, one that you'd usually share. Yet another thing you wouldn't be able to do for the next nine months.

        You heard the door open, you heard him kick his boots off and set them by the door, and you heard him greet you as he entered the kitchen.

        "Hey." He said casually as you turned to hand him a steamy mug of black coffee, just how he liked it.

        "Hey." You replied, sitting down at the table across from where he took his usual seat. He gave you a weird look when he sat down. He could read you like an open book, and there was very obviously something going on with you that day.

        "No coffee?" He asked, taking a sip of his own. You shook your head. "You okay?" You shrugged. "Talk to me." He said.

        You decided to let him see for himself as you failed to form the words. You were terrified for a lot of reasons, but most of all your pride wouldn't let you say the words, because as much as you hated to admit it, you were also happy. You were happy to make him happy, and you were excited to have someone else to love.

        You reached in your pocket and set the first test on the table. He stopped blowing on his coffee and stared at it for a moment before looking back to you. Then, you set the second one down. He pushed his eyebrows together, either out of confusion or shock, you weren't sure. Then you slapped the third test down beside the first two. He set his coffee down and stood, leaning over them to examine them. You realized he probably didn't know what a single line versus a double line meant, so you gave him a second to read the tests before he reacted.

        The second it hit him it showed. His head snapped up at you, eyes wide.

        "F'real?" He asked quietly. You nodded once and he rushed over to your side, gripping your cheeks between his hands and kissing you over and over and over. You couldn't help but chuckle as you tried to push him back.

        "Oxygen, Daryl!" You giggled. "The baby needs to breathe!"

        "C'mon. We gotta go tell Carol. And Rick. And Glenn. And Maggie." He rambled on and on, adding names as they popped in his head while he pulled you to your feet and ushered you to the door.

        "Daryl!" You protested. "Wait I need shoes!"

---

        You could barely hear Carol as she coached you through pushing with each contraction. The pain was insane and Daryl's hand was probably broken after you had been squeezing it so hard. Denise, the new doctor after Rick may or may not have killed the last one, was also talking you through, sending encouraging words as the baby's head made an entrance.

        "Okay. Breathe. Breathe. One more big push." Carol cooed to your right as Daryl encouraged you from the left.

        "C'mon, (Y/N), you're kickin' ass." He said. Admittedly he spent most of the time it took you to get to this point silent, shock written all over his face. He had no idea how to help you through this, he realized, but he fed off Carol's energy and began to give small words of encouragement when he heard Denise say she could see the baby's head.

        When the next contraction hit, you screamed in agony, pushing with all your might, just like Carol told you. 

        "It's just like doing a sit up."

        You could feel when the baby was out, but you were so exhausted your head just fell back on the pillow as you caught your breath. It wasn't until you heard the baby cry that you looked down at Denise to see her wiping the baby clean and wrapping it in a blanket. She walked over and set the baby down on your chest. "Skin to skin contact is important." She told you, before looking over to Daryl. "For you too, if you want to take your shirt off."

        Daryl was too stunned, just watching in awe as you stared down at your crying newborn baby with admiration. It took him a minute, and a little nudge from Carol who had walked over to his side, before he snapped out of it and leaned in close to you. He got a good look at the baby before he asked, "Boy or girl?"

        "Boy." Denise smiled. She was ecstatic, having successfully aided in the birth of your child.

        "We have a son." Daryl laughed, although it was more of a happy cry. He wiped a tear from his eye as he stood up and removed his shirt, holding his arms out in hopes you'd let him hold his boy.

        "Yeah, we do." You grinned, giving your baby a kiss on the head before you passed him over to his father.  Daryl was breathless as he scooped the infant into his arms, bouncing him and whispering sweet nothings.

        "Hey, little Arrowhead." He laughed. He had called him that for the entire pregnancy.

        "I was thinking about naming him (name of your choice). What do you think?" You asked.

        He nodded and kissed little (baby name). 

        "Hey, (baby name). I'm your daddy."

[loveroffictionalmen]

Hi. If your requests are still open can you write a familial kate bishop request please where R struggles with depression and Kate helps her sibling through a bad episode?

Nothing Like A Sister’s Love

Pairings: Kate Bishop x sibling!reader

Description: Sibling!Reader struggles with depression and their sister, Kate Bishop helps them through it, day by day.

Warnings: not proofread oopsies, depression obv, maybe some negative self talk but tbh it’s really just a lot of fluff

Words: 644

Prompt: Depression Episode

A/N: so sorry ive been gone for 5ever i kinda dropped off the face of the earth but i am here! I also have not watched hawkeye so im so sorry if this feels inaccurate but i hope it provides you some comfort

Y/n didn’t know how many days it had been since they started feeling like this. Could have been a month, could have been three. All they knew was that they felt so alone and just flat out numb. They didn’t bother to pick up the phone, to make themselves proper meals. They slept all day and stayed up all night. It felt impossible to get out of bed some days. Actually, most days they couldn’t get out of bed. 

So when the doorbell rang that one day in September, Y/n didn’t bat an eye. Probably just some salesman, they’d go away eventually, they thought. But after about five minutes of consistent knocking and doorbell ringing, y/n decided to muster up the strength to open the door. It took another minute or two for them to get out of bed, but when they looked through the peephole and saw their sister, their face immediately crumpled. 

Kate had called y/n nearly everyday since they had moved out, and when y/n stopped answering the phone, Kate took it upon herself to pay her sibling a visit. Y/n couldn’t stop the shame from washing over them, they should have picked up the damn phone. Now, seeing Kate at their door, anxiously biting her lip and knocking over and over again, y/n couldn’t help but feel guilty for worrying their family. 

Y/n unlatched the deadbolt and lock, and opened the door ajar, as to not show the mess of the apartment. 

“Oh my god thank god, I thought I was going to have to call the police!” Kate said, shoving the apartment door open and wrapping her arms around y/n. She placed her hands on their cheeks. “You’re alive.”

Y/n didn’t say anything, but tears pricked their eyes. Kate looked at y/n, then around the apartment, then back to y/n. 

“It’s bad again isn’t it?” She said softly. Y/n nodded, afraid that if they spoke they’d never stop crying. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay,” She smiled at y/n. It was a soft smile.  Comforting. She brought y/n back into a hug and cradled them in her arms. “You’re gonna be okay.”

_____

Kate set up camp in Y/n’s living room, despite their objections. She set up a little bed on y/n’s couch and brought back groceries and cleaning supplies. 

“Do what you can, I won’t push more than what you are capable of doing,” She said. Y/n started to clean as much as they could, but they wore out fast, so Kate finished the job. It wasn’t long before Kate was in the kitchen, cooking their grandma’s favorite spaghetti and meatball recipe. Y/n gave Kate a small smile. But the guilt still weighed down on them like a boulder. 

“You know you don’t have to do this for me,” Y/n said while they sat to eat. Kate shrugged.

“Mom wasn’t going to do it. And I was worried about you. I worry about you all the time. Ever since we were kids, I always wanted to protect you from stuff like this, but I know I can’t take your pain away. So I just try to do what I can to lessen the burden.” Kate explained with her mouth full towards the end. 

“I just-” Y/n tried to say, but Kate quickly interrupted them.

“Don’t feel bad. I do it because I love you. Not because I feel bad for you or anything. You’ve always been there for me, so.” Kate explained. “And I promise I’m going to keep being here for you because you deserve to have someone in your corner.” Y/n smiled. 

“You mean that?” They asked. Kate nodded while slurping up a noodle.

“I mean it. I’ll always be here for you.”

[goatpaste]

I feel like I’m missing something.. what is the eated him incident of 89 I mean I get the premise but I feel like I’m missing like, the first post? I saw the short comic but that’s it and I NEED to know

oh man.. itS YEARS of AU writing iv done its soo fucking indulgent, iv literally been working on this AU since.. good lord April of 2022..

If you wanna go digging (which you can but a warning that theres OLLD ugly art post way back in there lol) its all tagged on my blog under #Pillar Fam

but even then its a lil non chronological

the best i got for that, is forever ago i tried to put the general info in a google doc, but its kinda outdated at this point as well lol

But the general idea for this 'incident' in this AU is simply, Jotaro didnt just kill Dio, Jotaro ate Dio

it stems from a P2 rewrite that ultimately ended up with everyone living for better or worse. Along with Joseph and Suzi having a relationship with Wham. Holly is born under both the Joestar Curse as well as Half Pillar man. Theres a lot to dive into with that, but thats just the bases for the bigger topic of 'Eated Him' which is a silly Nickname to a horrific Jotaro event in my AU lol

Jotaro coming from his half Pillar man Mom, is also part Pillar man. And everything we know of Jotaro and the way he behaves and the fear he had over his own stand he thought to be an evil spirit, all lumped on top of being part 'monster'

Jotaro is afraid of himself because he thinks he is a monster because he came from monsters. From comments from his granny Lisa on how cruel and mounterious his grandfather Kars is. To the way his mother doesn't open up about her own feelings of how she and her family is seen in the eyes of human society (which to her is meant to put on a smile and say nothing wrong in hopes that it can keep everyone happy and not burden anyone with her own sadness)

Then he gets this big scary evil spirit haunting him thats supposes to be from his own soul, and it looks just like his mean, cold and disliked 'monster' of a grandfather kars. Baring Fangs, horns and the works.

Jotaro and his mom in their large house, no husband usually around, or friends who come to visit. Just a large empty monster mansion.

So when it comes to the Dio fight in Egypt and as far as Jotaro knows everyone he cares about is dead or dying and he's back into a corner. Its just

fight or flight, and Jotaro doesn't even know whats happening, and how its so instinctual to him. Something so ancient in him that tells him to destroy Dio absolute.

He kills and eats Dio the way any good Pillar Man would a Vampire.

And Jotaro can never take that back. Jotaro has hurt many people, but always as a human, nothing beyond what any of the others in his new found circle of friends cant do. But this? this is what a monster does. Standing there in the middle of the streets of Cairo, covered in blood that isnt his own, dragging back and the last arm of flesh to his dying grandfather. In his eyes he has become his grandfather.

[nocreativityfornames]

Hello! Um, I don't know how welcome you are to asks but I kinda wanted to bring up this little headcanon I have of Michael that you may or may not find interesting? Iv posted about it somewhere on my blog, but to summarize it, here

Consider the potential of a Teenage Michael!

Hear me out! I just think there is a lot of potential, not only angst wise but also narrative wise.

I just love the idea of the head angel of the celetial relm being this scrawny teenage boy with issues.

Not only is he a teenager with the responsibility of being the mature older brother to the other angels, therefore, having to step up more in the absence of lucifer, but also having a lowkey abusive father who burdens him with religious trauma.

And I just loove the trope where it's like:

The younger siblings stays behind with abusive parents left to take care of the rest of their family because their older sibling left to live a healthier life. And resentment builds because they think their older sibling abomdoned them.

Also considering how I don't think the devs will make him a villian, I think it would make Michael look way more sympathetic if he was on the younger side.

Is this accurate to what the game has established Michael to be? Not really but they've retconned things before. Not that I'd ever think they'd go along with a concept like this.

Anyways I'm writing this at like 11pm so exuse the spelling errors, I'm so tired 🥲.

Ps. I really like your content :D

I actually REALLY like that, and the angst oh boy :")

I mean, looking back to NB S1 (spoilers!!!) with this in mind makes everything so much sadder. Like how he disguised himself as Raphael just to visit the others in the Devildom because he missed them and didn't know how to interact with them as himself. And also him giving Lucifer that ultimatum to either come back or make the Devildom an enemy of the Celestial Realm as a last attempt to bring his older brother and brothers back (even though deep down he knew they'd refuse) because he was struggling to step up and handle things on his own after he left, especially since the trauma of the war was still fresh for everyone (including himself) and he had to look after the traumatized part of the family that stayed, like you said.

Which is... heartbreaking.

Funny thing though: I always thought Michael to be the oldest one (or them being twins) and your ask made me start thinking about how that would play out in this scenario with the og game stuff in mind.

So like, the older sibling carrying resentment while also being happy for the youngest because they got tired of the abuse and had the courage to stand up to their parent and leave to have a happier life when he couldn't because he still feels tied to that parent and that it's his responsibility and duty to stay with them no matter what (think of Dean and Sam from SPN, who have this exact dynamic and a very complicated relationship with their father).

And then there's the whole thing about Michael being the one to cast out Lucifer and his brothers from the Celestial Realm, which only adds to this. It's like: the younger brother stood up to his father and was met with rage, so the oldest stepped up and to avoid something even worse from happening kicked him out of the house himself.

(@luckykittysshowerthoughts has an amazing post about this that has never left my mind ever since I read it and I recommend everyone reading it)

So we fast-forward to years and years later where the oldest is still living with their parents looking after the siblings who didn't leave while missing his younger brother, worrying for him, and wanting to know how he's doing. So he tries his best to stay in contact and know what's happening but since their relationship has been strained ever since what happened (because from the youngest's POV his older brother betrayed him by not taking his side and kicking him out of the house, which I think was how Lucifer felt for a long time before he saw the bigger picture as he got older) the youngest rejects his attempts at trying to contact him and the oldest's only way to know how he's doing is by sending his other siblings to check up on him or contact the people close to him.

Does he do it to the point where it gets annoying? Yes. Is his constant need to know how his brother is doing making said brother feel even more frustrated with him and only driving him further away? Yes. Would it have been better if he had left the brother alone and waited for him to reach out on his own? Yes. But he can't find it in himself to do that because he'd worry too much and miss him even more.

Tbh, I can see both of these scenarios being true together. So younger Michael right after the fall is still bitter and doesn't want to admit that he misses Lucifer and his brothers (he didn't seem to like to hear that Luke thought he missed them when talking to him as Raphael) and later accepting that and leaving a lot of that resentment behind to just be happy for them and miss them, wanting to know how they're doing often, etc.

So I definitely don't see him as evil either, but more of a broken younger/older sibling who wants to reconnect with his family and whose intentions are good but don't translate very well in his method of doing things.

Sorry for going on my own rambling here, lol

And I'm more than fine with asks, I love discussing stuff about the game and the characters <3

[genderstealer2000]

Okay, i know people have already established how overlooked childrens mental health is, but i wanted to put my view and experiences here. TW! mentions of abuse, substance use, sh, ed my childhood was not great in the slightest. i didnt grow up in a good home, it was mostly filled with drug addicts and loads of abuse. my mother was so preoccupied with other things, she never really acknowledged me and my siblings unless she was angry and yelling at us. she didnt care what happened to us. we were just other people living in her house. if youre going to have kids, treat them the way children should be treated. in all of the homes ive stayed in, ive always felt like a burden. ive always been reminded of who im related to, what has happened to me, and who i am. i want to move past everything, but its hard when my guardians (that willingly took me in) are using my mother to guilt trip me. "youre acting just like your mother." "keep acting like that and you know what youll become?" anytime i try to talk to them about anything, they make it seem catatonic. like im turning into this monster when in reality i just need help. my mother did not pick good partners. they were terrible people, and did terrible things to her, my siblings and me. i watched my mother deal with self harm, and an eating disorder, and she was pressing these things on me and my siblings. granted she wasnt in a good headspace at all, and she was always on something, but that is not appropriate at all to show your kids. and its very hard for me to create relations with the people i live with because of this. i never know whats going to happen, if im going to get punished. my foster families just saw me as another mouth to feed, and now that i live with my adoptive mom, she just says im not trying. they call me selfish for having suicidal thoughts, they call me attention seeking for cvtting, they call me disgusting for making myself throw up. what do they want? anytime i try to communicate my feelings i get shut down! my gender identity was formed from my trauma. i dont feel comfortable in a womans body. the people my mother lived with ruined me. everytime i view myself as a girl i get sick to my stomach. "youre not a boy," not biologically im not, but it helps me to view myself this way because i feel stronger. i dont feel as weak as when those events happened. and we're working on it, im trying to explain things to her and mend our relationship, but she doesnt understand. thats why i want to help her understand. so we can both heal. i think parents (guardians) are too scared to talk about their childrens mental health because they think that theyre the cause of it. even if they are a part of it they SHOULD talk! let it be known. communication is the most important part of a family, or relationships. communication is needed. dont treat your kids horribly. its sad that it has to be said, but they need parents for comfort. they look up to you for guidance, for love and affection. dont make your children feel like a burden. dont make them afraid of you.

[marypsue]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on S1 of ST being a tragedy! No main character dies, so I never thought of it that way before

I mean, nobody has to die for a story to be a tragedy (at least, in the modern definition. I'm pretty sure '(almost) everybody dies' is a requirement of Greek tragedies and Renaissance revenge tragedies). But also, no main character dies in season one...if you take season one as part of a series. Which it wasn't originally conceived as.

I am not going looking for copies of the original pitch bible, because I am lazy, and also I only saw them floating around this webbed site. But the show changed a lot from the initial pitch (Joyce had a Long Island accent! Lucas' parents were divorcing! Murray was there and named Terry Ives! Most of what ended up in Hopper's character originally belonged to Mr. Clarke! The original pitch bible is fascinating). And part of the original pitch was a proposal for possible sequels.

The Duffers' proposal for a possible sequel was "It's ten years later, and Eleven is dead".

So that's the setup. Everything that came after season one was made up wholecloth after season one was a hit and people wanted more, but also people loved the adorable little psychic murder child (cue the Duffers shockedpikachu.jpg) and Netflix obviously recognised it would be a bad call to make a new season without her in it. So it makes sense to take season one as a unit, as a self-contained story on its own. You can also take it as part of a whole, but it makes sense to read it first as a complete story. Especially given the thematic drift of later seasons and the way they are...I'm just going to say it, each new season is very much added-on to what came before rather than being built on foundation that the earlier season(s) laid. It is very clear there was never a planned five-season story arc from the beginning. (This isn't necessarily always a bad thing, when it comes to sequels, but it does mean it makes sense to 'read' each season as its own thing.)

Okay, now that we've established all of that. Season one has one very clear goal, one very clear stake for the characters: save Will Byers from the Upside Down. (I like this. It makes the stakes both extremely high and extremely personal, it makes it very easy to understand each character's motivation, it also keeps the stakes grounded in reality. I like this a lot.) And by the end of the season, that goal is accomplished. So at first blush, you're right, season one doesn't look like a tragedy.

But when you start to unpack it a little, you start to see just how many important things were lost along the way. It's most glaringly obvious with Mike and El, with Nancy and Barb. The whole Wheeler family is fractured down the middle, with Mike and Nancy on one side and Ted, Karen, and Holly on the other, and Karen, who's been trying so hard the whole time to be part of her children's lives and understand what's going on with them, is aware of the ever-expanding gulf between them but will never be able to cross it, and will never fully know why. Hopper's finally managed to snatch a kid out of the jaws of death, save a woman he obviously cares about from the pain of losing a child, and Joyce has finally had someone believe her, support her, trust her. But it became blindingly obvious to me on my fourth rewatch that Hopper's plan, from the moment he went to leave the middle school gym, was always to trade El for Will. And that decision (and the fact that Joyce obviously understands that he did something to get the lab to let them go after Will, but she obviously doesn't dare press him on what) has broken her trust in him, and left him with what looks like an equally heavy burden of guilt as what he was carrying before. The lab stays open. The government gets away with everything. No one will ever know the true extent of the hurt they've caused.

And in the end, none of it even saved Will. He's back. He's alive. But he's spitting slugs in the sink. He's permanently marked by the Upside Down, and by trying to hide it from his family, he's putting a crack down the centre of them, as well. They're losing Will, just as surely as they had when they thought he was dead, just without him going anywhere.

And there's still a hole in the world.

The fragile bonds of community, the things that people share in common, the way catastrophe can bring people together and bring out the very best in them, are the major thematic threads woven through season one. Human connection is the only thing that can change what seems inevitable, the only thing that can bring back what's seemingly lost forever.

And it's still not enough to protect anyone from the random tragedy of the world.

The love was there. The love mattered. The love bent the entire course of the world around itself.

And it still wasn't quite enough.

If that's not a tragedy, then I don't know what is.

[kirbycrouch]

living with bpd has to be one of the hardest things i have to deal with. i cant even begin to count the amount of friendships and friend groups ive lost and pushed away because of my unstable emotions and my inability to talk about my feelings and be vulnerable with people. i fucking hate being vulnerable, i hate talking about my feelings. but also i guess its just that i never really learned *how* to talk about my feelings. my whole life i was yelled at and told im "ruining everything" and am being "selfish" or "self centered" or that im a "burden" whenever i talked about my feelings or showed emotion. you see, my family has always been huge on their image and reputation, anything that could possibly make them look bad was seen as a problem, and thats why my family always ostracized me and saw me as a problem. when i got bullied all throughout grade school and high school my parents would blame it on me and would tell me "why is it only you that has these problems?? no one else in the family had these problems!!" and thats around when the first time i attempted to kill myself, but even then my parents tried so hard to hide the reason why i was in the hospital and told everyone its from "allergies" even though i was there for two weeks. sure theyre nicer to me now, but the damage was already done. truthfully though im used to always getting the short end of the stick and losing everything, or having things just. not. go. my. way. on top of me having bpd and being autistic and honestly at this point probably schizophrenic too with how fucking often i experience hallucinations and paranoid delusions, i also found out that i have pcos the other day right before my birthday, which my birthday also sucked but at this point it was too late for me to have a good birthday in the first place. i have to deal with having chronic mental and physical illnesses for the rest of my life that not only affect my personality but affect my physical appearance and health too. im not desirable physically or emotionally. everything i liked about myself is being taken away from me. and it doesnt help that i keep pushing away the people that care about me because of how fucking unstable and stupid i am. i lost everything. and i really cant even be upset because its all my own fault. i just continuously self sabotage myself. but i guess its not only my own fault because how cant i be scared? not that long ago i got banned from a college club, lost a whole group of friends, because i reported my rapist/abuser and they called me a liar. my rapist/abuser was "banned" too but we all know that i was only told that so i wouldnt report the club or "expose" them or whatever even though regardless no one will fucking believe me. when i was raped in high school someone i thought i could trust told everyone and i got called a "whore" and a "slut" throughout the whole 4 years there, not to mention he was in most of my classes despite me fucking begging the school to take him out of my classes or to change my schedule so i dont have to fucking see him everyday. of course they didnt listen, though. why would they? a few weeks ago my therapist literally told me "next time this happens you should keep it to yourself because no one believed you the last two times" and that just. broke me. but i cant even really be upset because shes right. no one believed me, and if it ever happened again still no one would believe me. no one ever takes my side, ive been alone and lonely my whole life, but its mostly my fault that im like this so who am i to get upset over my own actions. i dont know how much longer i can handle any of this, i thought things were getting better for me but i feel myself falling down the hole again. i really want to end it all. i dont have hope for things ever getting better for me. some people are just given a bad set of cards and theres no way they could ever win, and i think im one of those people, so i should just give up.

[jackoshadows]

GRRM deleting this little bit where Arya dreams of Jon smiling sadly and them both saying 'Winter is Coming' made me curious about the house Stark motto, how frequently it comes up and who says it in the books. Surprisingly very few characters, mostly all Northerners, including Theon Greyjoy. Non Northerners who mention it are Tyrion, Littlefinger and Renly. Ned says it twice in a Catelyn chapter, however it's absent in his own POV chapters. The 3ER says in in Bran's dream. It seems important in the context of the North and the Starks and yet it's possible GRRM downplays on it a bit in the middle books when the Starks are defeated and on the run.

With respect to the Starks mentioning or thinking about their house motto:

Ned frowned. "He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming.""Yes," Catelyn agreed. The words gave her a chill, as they always did. The Stark words. Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but the Starks. Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Not for the first time, she reflected on what a strange people these northerners were. - Catelyn I, AGoT

---

"Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all things great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming." - Catelyn II, AGoT

---

"Why?" Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.Because winter is coming.Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back. It had three eyes, and the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge. Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately afraid. - Bran III, AGoT

---

"Oh, of a certainty," said Moreo. "Though perhaps I should hold it for them until we return to Tyrosh. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver here, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night's pleasure.""There are worse things to spend money on," Ser Rodrik put in. "Winter is coming." - Catelyn IV

---

"Denys Mallister writes that the mountain people are moving south, slipping past the Shadow Tower in numbers greater than ever before. They are running, my lord … but running from what?" Lord Mormont moved to the window and stared out into the night. "These are old bones, Lannister, but they have never felt a chill like this. Tell the king what I say, I pray you. Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night's Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The gods help us all if we are not ready." - Tyrion III, AGoT

---

She perched anxiously on the edge of her bed. "You are too young to be burdened with all my cares," he told her, "but you are also a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words.""Winter is coming," Arya whispered. - Arya II, AGoT

---

So young, Catelyn thought, trying to remember if she had ever been like that. The girl had lived half her life in summer, and that was all she knew. Winter is coming, child, she wanted to tell her. The words were on her lips; she almost said them. Perhaps she was becoming a Stark at last. - Catelyn IV, AGoT

---

Beyond the castle lay the market square, its wooden stalls deserted now. They rode down the muddy streets of the village, past rows of small neat houses of log and undressed stone. Less than one in five were occupied, thin tendrils of woodsmoke curling up from their chimneys. The rest would fill up one by one as it grew colder. When the snow fell and the ice winds howled down out of the north, Old Nan said, farmers left their frozen fields and distant holdfasts, loaded up their wagons, and then the winter town came alive. Bran had never seen it happen, but Maester Luwin said the day was looming closer. The end of the long summer was near at hand. Winter is coming. - Bran V, AGoT

---

"You know," Mormont grumbled. "How is it that everyone knows everything around here?" He did not seem to expect an answer. "It would seem there were only the two of … of those creatures, whatever they were, I will not call them men. And thank the gods for that. Any more and … well, that doesn't bear thinking of. There will be more, though. I can feel it in these old bones of mine, and Maester Aemon agrees. The cold winds are rising. Summer is at an end, and a winter is coming such as this world has never seen."Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. "My lord," he asked hesitantly, "it's said there was a bird last night …" - Jon VIII, AGoT

---

"The feast makes a pleasant pretext," Ser Rodrik explained, "but a man does not cross a hundred leagues for a sliver of duck and a sip of wine. Only those who have matters of import to set before us are like to make the journey."Bran gazed up at the rough stone ceiling above his head. Robb would tell him not to play the boy, he knew. He could almost hear him, and their lord father as well. Winter is coming, and you are almost a man grown, Bran. You have a duty. - Bran II, ACoK

---

"Why?" Lord Rowan asked her. "Look at them. They're young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?""Because it will not last," Catelyn answered, sadly. "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming." - Catelyn II, ACoK

---

"My lords!" Catelyn said. "We ought to be hammering out the terms of an alliance, not trading taunts.""A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed the stone away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. - Catelyn III, AGoT

---

"Cubs still have that soft fur, my lord," one of his men pointed out. "Make you a nice warm pair of gloves."Bolton glanced up at the banners waving above the gatehouse towers. "As the Starks are wont to remind us, winter is coming. Have it done." - Arya X, ACoK

---

"That is true," said Jojen, "and a wise thing to say, if the days were still growing longer . . . but they aren't. You are a summer child, I know. Tell me the words of House Stark.""Winter is coming." Just saying it made Bran feel cold. - Bran I, ASoS

---

Arya didn't care what Tom's stupid songs were about. She turned to Harwin. "What did he mean about ransom?""We have sore need of horses, milady. Armor as well. Swords, shields, spears. All the things coin can buy. Aye, and seed for planting. Winter is coming, remember?" He touched her under the chin. "You will not be the first highborn captive we've ransomed. Nor the last, I'd hope." - Arya IV, ASoS

---

She still went nightly to the godswood to pray, and Tyrion wondered if she were praying for his death. She had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come for them with a vengeance. But it is high summer for House Lannister. So why am I so bloody cold? - Tyrion VII, ASoS

---

It was still dark when Jon returned to his chambers behind the armory. Ghost was not yet back, he saw. Still hunting. The big white direwolf was gone more oft than not of late, ranging farther and farther in search of prey. Between the men of the Watch and the wildlings down in Mole's Town, the hills and fields near Castle Black had been hunted clean, and there had been little enough game to begin with. Winter is coming, Jon reflected. And soon, too soon. He wondered if they would ever see a spring. - Jon VIII, ADwD

---

Septon Cellador made the sign of the star. Othell Yarwyck grunted. Bowen Marsh said, "Some might call this treason. These are wildlings. Savages, raiders, rapers, more beast than man.""Tormund is none of those things," said Jon, "no more than Mance Rayder. But even if every word you said was true, they are still men, Bowen. Living men, human as you and me. Winter is coming, my lords, and when it does, we living men will need to stand together against the dead." - Jon VIII, ADwD

---

Even the godswood was turning white. A film of ice had formed upon the pool beneath the heart tree, and the face carved into its pale trunk had grown a mustache of little icicles. At this hour they could not hope to have the old gods to themselves. Rowan pulled Theon away from the northmen praying before the tree, to a secluded spot back by the barracks wall, beside a pool of warm mud that stank of rotten eggs. Even the mud was icing up about the edges, Theon saw. "Winter is coming …"Rowan gave him a hard look. "You have no right to mouth Lord Eddard's words. Not you. Not ever. After what you did—" - Theon I, ADwD

---

"Winter is coming," Jon said at last, breaking the awkward silence, "and with it the white walkers. The Wall is where we stop them. The Wall was made to stop them … but the Wall must be manned. This discussion is at an end. We have much to do before the gate is opened. Tormund and his people will need to be fed and clothed and housed. Some are sick and will need nursing. Those will fall to you, Clydas. Save as many as you can." - Jon XI, ADwD

---

"These prices, though," protested fat Lord Belmore," these prices are more than fair.""You say more than fair, my lord. I say less than we would wish. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher." - Alayne, TWoW

Jon's bond with Arya is the epitome of soulmatism in asoiaf and their relationship is the most emphasized as indestructible and unconditional love. No one else comes close to that, and it's crazy how obsessed Grrm is with them. But the fandom seems to have a hard time accepting this, even in a completely platonic sense, and prefers to treat it as irrelevant because they are afraid of something romantic happening lol It's funny bc they don't even need foreshadowing. Their story is written in bold. Obviously, something massive and special comes from this. But even experts pretend not to notice so they can push outside Arya's importance in the endgame

Exactly! Honestly, this is why I find it strange that people downplay their bond so much. It's like they cannot comprehend that a main character of the series would like or have a type based on a gnc woman; but that doesn't lessen their relationship. Their bond is incredibly important; if it wasn't, George wouldn't harp on it so much.

Did you see the part that George omitted from the draft of Arya III, ACoK?

When Arya's eyes finally closed, it seemed as though her brother Jon was with her. He smiled at her, but something in his eyes looked sad, and she knew he had something important to tell her. They said it together. Winter is coming.

(I'm writing something based on this lmao)

I feel like this was replaced, very subtly, with Ghost's lonely sound and Arya hearing the long howl of a lonely wolf while in Harrenhal.

[goodqueenaly]

When asked if he ever loved Tywin, Kevan merely replied 'he's my brother' he kind of gave a safe political answer but not an actual answer. Do you think any of Tytos's sons ever truly cared for each other?

Oh no, I think the scene is actually meant to be read quite differently:

"Do you think he would allow you to take the black if you were not his own blood, and Joanna's? Tywin seems a hard man to you, I know, but he is no harder than he's had to be. Our own father was gentle and amiable, but so weak his bannermen mocked him in their cups. Some saw fit to defy him openly. Other lords borrowed our gold and never troubled to repay it. At court they japed of toothless lions. Even his mistress stole from him. A woman scarcely one step above a whore, and she helped herself to my mother's jewels! It fell to Tywin to restore House Lannister to its proper place. Just as it fell to him to rule this realm, when he was no more than twenty. He bore that heavy burden for twenty years, and all it earned him was a mad king's envy. Instead of the honor he deserved, he was made to suffer slights beyond count, yet he gave the Seven Kingdoms peace, plenty, and justice. He is a just man. You would be wise to trust him."

Tyrion blinked in astonishment. Ser Kevan had always been solid, stolid, pragmatic; he had never heard him speak with such fervor before. "You love him."

"He is my brother."

The explicit point of this exchange is for Tyrion to realize, to his utter amazement, that Uncle Kevan loves Tywin. Look at the way Kevan justifies Tywin's actions; despite knowing about, supporting, and/or actively participating in Tywin's many war crimes, the most Kevan says is that Tywin is "no harder than he's had to be", and indeed he still calls him a "just man". Look how Kevan emphasizes the awful situations (so he believes) Tywin had to right: weak Tytos Lannister who was mocked, openly defied, and stolen from (even by, to Kevan's clear disgust, "[a] woman scarcely one step above a whore"), then the vast realm of a mad king who made him "suffer slights beyond count". Kevan heaps praise on Tywin: it was Tywin who "restore[d] House Lannister to its proper place", and Tywin who "bore that heavy burden [of ruling the realm] for twenty years" - his emphasis, not mine - to "[give] the Seven Kingdoms peace, plenty, and justice". Look how Tyrion contrasts Kevan's usual "solid, stolid, pragmatic" demeanor with the "fervor" of his commentary on Tywin; the one subject which can make constantly, apparently usually unemotional Kevan speak with passion, even zealotry, is Tywin.

No, far from "g[iving] a safe political answer but not an actual answer", Kevan is saying very clearly in his own words that he loves Tywin. Lest the point get missed, moreover, look how Kevan reacts at Tywin's death: in the immediate aftermath, when Cersei enters Tywin's bedchamber, she sees that "[h]er uncle Kevan was on his knees beside the bed, trying to pray, but he could scarcely get the words out"; at Tywin's wake, she notes that "Kevan knelt with his shoulders slumped". Kevan's parting words to Cersei, in their conversation after his wake, are that "[m]y brother is dead, woman. I am going to take him home". This is not a man who does not care about Tywin - this is a man who was completely devoted to Tywin, who is emotionally devastated by his death, and whose duty, so he sees it, is to Tywin and Tywin's legacy.

Nor do I think it is coincidental that when Tyrion acknowledges Kevan's love for Tywin, Kevan's response is to say "He is my brother". For Kevan - and, I think, for Genna as well - the fact that Tywin was their brother is inseparable from the fact of their love for him. Tywin, even from a very early age, even before he formally became Lord of Casterly Rock, was clearly looked to by both Genna and Kevan as the head of the family, the eldest brother who could save House Lannister from what they saw as the fatal spiral papa Tytos had put it into. In a dynasty which, by Tywin's own worldview, was supposed to be the natural masters of the universe, literally better than all other people, Tywin actively reestablished and enforced Lannister superiority. While neither Kevan nor Genna would have taken such a step - Kevan because, as a second son, his place in the Lannister world order was to be a dutiful lieutenant, Genna because Lannister dynastic politics was "not a game for girls" - Tywin could, and did; it was their own brother who restored their pride in the family name, their sense of themselves as the greatest family in the world. Kevan and Genna are not just Lannisters hero-worshipping the savior of the Lannister dynasty, but Lannisters of the immediate family of Tywin who firsthand saw him restore absolute Lannister dominance; that familial closeness combined with the sense of Lannister identity I think translated into a deep love on Genna's and Kevan's part for big brother Tywin.

As for Gerion and Tygett, things are a little less clear. Given that they are both dead (or at least assumed to be, for Gerion, and I think in actuality are) before the series begins, we of course can't get their personal views on Tywin firsthand. Genna tells Jaime that "Tygett tried to be his own man, but he could never match your father, and that just made him angrier as the years went by", while "Gerion made japes. Better to mock the game than to play and lose". Neither of these say that either Tygett and/or Gerion didn't love Tywin, but Genna clearly implies a divide there which did not exist (or, at least, not to the same extent) between Tywin and Kevan/Genna.

[haikyuu-sins]

Hey!!

Ok, first of all I love your writing, it's just soooo good and second, since I saw the requests are opened I wanted to ask for a little scenario, ok here we go.

So it's Law x fem!Reader from the strawhats and both crews are fighting against some kind of enemy and their army, this enemy it's like a mad scientist and shots the reader with a strange sustance but nobody really notices because they are fighting and she doesn't want them to get preoccupied.

The things is, some days later strange white marks begin to appear on her skin and yes, it's the amber lead, she tries to hide it but at some point Law sees it and when I don't know, I will leave the rest to you.

Thank you so much ❤❤

Thank you! I loved how interesting this request was! I hope you enjoy :) (I realized too late into this thatI didn’t make them a strawhat so my apologies for that! I’ve been trying to work on this one for so long and it slipped my mind :( also I’m sorry that this kind of ends a little abruptly, I wasn’t sure where I really wanted it to go in the end

Warnings: Getting shot/blood

****Law x Reader

This was supposed to be quick. An in, out kind of deal. What was going to be a quick trade, ended up being a ruse. When Law was finished with his end of the deal, which was healing a member of this scientist’s crew and in return he’d give Law a medicine that he had been looking for that he would only be able to get from this island.

But things went south as soon as the deal was finished. It all started happening so quickly that you almost didn’t have time to react. Once the sound of a gunshot filled the air, Law was quick to act. He was already after the ringleader and was telling the rest of the crew to fight and stay alive until he got back from dealing with the scientist.

The once peaceful surroundings were now a small battlefield. You watched Bepo and the rest of the crew fighting with the others and you had your own hands full with a few of the men from the other crew. But what you didn’t notice was that there was a sniper off in the distance with a fresh batch of bullets that were coated and infused with different diseases; new and old.

His sights were set on you as you seemed to be giving his crewmates the most trouble. There was so much noise on the battlefield that you didn’t even know where the next gunshot came from. All you knew was that you felt a sharp pain in your thigh, then moments later, another right above your knee cap. Your mind went white for a moment. The searing pain made your head go blank before you felt a fist connect with your face that brought you back to reality.

You wanted to pass out but Law told you all to stay alive because he knew that you could handle yourselves. That meant you couldn’t afford to lose consciousness. Law put his trust in you and the rest of his crew so you needed to show him that you could be trusted.

Blood trickled down your left leg and your pants were sticking to you uncomfortably. You felt useless not being able to even use one of your legs. But no matter how much it hurt, you put your weight on it and continued to fight. Another bullet came your way but this time you sensed it. There was something different about this one. It almost seemed to have some sort of heavy aura around it.

You deflected it with the knife you held in your hand. The bullet ricocheted off and hit one of the men you were brawling with, and straight into his shoulder.

He hissed in pain, not knowing what exactly had happened, but when you saw what that bullet began doing to his body you realized why it was so different from the other two. His skin started to melt from where the bullet entered and he screamed in agony. Your eyes were wide with fear, hoping that that wouldn’t be your fate. While your skin wasn’t melting off like his, you knew that there had to have been something wrong with this bullet as well.

But you didn’t have much time to process what could happen to you because the fighting continued and now you had the added bonus of trying to figure out if there would be a bullet coming at you. In a moment there was a sharp stinging in your side. You heard no gun shots but there was a clear wound in your abdomen.

Within minutes though, everything suddenly stopped, you and the rest of the crew had taken notice that there was a slight blue tinge that covered the area. In that moment, you knew that you could finally relax. Your legs buckled under you and the next thing you knew, you were in the sub.

You ached. Your entire body ached and you heard a soft beeping noise right beside you. Slowly your eyes began to open and you squint. The bright lights nearly blinding you.

Law glanced over and heard the rustling of the bed sheets. “Don’t touch the IV, Y/n-ya.” he spoke as he watched you reaching for it. You sigh and your hand falls onto the bed. “And don’t even think about moving.” he stood from his chair next to you and gently pushed your shoulder down.

Your voice was hoarse when you spoke softly. “Is everyone okay?” glancing around the room, you noticed that there was no one else but you and Law.

“Everyone is fine. I was able to patch them up. You one the other hand were the one who had the most damage done. You were shot three times. I’m not sure why but I couldn’t find the bullets even though there wasn’t an exit wound.”

He had even used his Scan on you thanks to his Ope-Ope no mi but still wasn’t able to find anything wrong. For some reason, you thought it would be a good idea to omit the fact that a bullet that was aimed for you hit someone else and melting the man’s skin off. There wasn’t anything wrong with you now. But what you didn’t know was that the bullets were still inside you. They had dissolved and a deadly and what was thought to be an incurable disease was now making its way through your body.

“I’m going to run some tests-”

“Please, I’m fine! Will you just let me get back to work?”

The look on Law’s face said it all as he turned to you. ‘Absolutely not’ was plastered all over and you knew better than to argue with him, but you felt like a terrible burden.

“You should be doing Captain things, not treating me.” you slumped back into the bed.

“You seem to forget that your captain is also your doctor.”

Your lips made an ‘O’ and your cheeks flushed slightly. “I didn’t forget...It just slipped my mind for a second.”

“I’m going to run your tests tomorrow. You’ve lost a lot of blood and need rest, so I’ll leave you be for a few hours and come back to check on you. Let me know if you need anything. You shouldn’t be in too much pain but I can put more medicine in your IV-that you better not take out-if you need it.” With that, he left the room while you glared at the IV that was stuck in you. It was best that you left it in and you knew it, It soon didn’t worry you anymore and before you knew it, your eyelids fluttered close with the darkness of a promising sleep overcoming.

It was about a week before Law let you out of the infirmary. He made sure you were okay to walk on your own, and he wanted you to take antibiotics for another week in case of an infection. The tests he had taken all came back normal for now. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but he still wanted you to check in with him every so often.

Law was wary of letting you out of his site, something had been worrying him about the fact he couldn’t find the bullets but you spoke of nothing out of the ordinary no matter how much he knew tried to get the information out of you.

The next time Law saw you, you looked like a ghost. He noticed how your knees were trembling and quickly urged you to sit down, guiding you to a chair. “I told you to come by and see me if there was anything wrong, Y/N-ya.”

“I’m fine… really. I’m just a little tired.”

His grey eyes narrowed slightly at you then his brows furrowed. There was a spot in your hair that hadn’t been there before that was beginning to go white--not grey like a normal aging person, but white. Quickly, he grabbed your arm and shoved the material of your sleeve up. You had no strength to pull back and his eyes now widened when he noticed the white patches that were covering you.

“Law it hurts… Everything hurts. I ache all the time and it feels like there’s nothing I can do to make it stop.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” the taller man quickly scooped you out of the chair and rushed you into the infirmary.

“That bullet…I think there was something in it.” you managed to croak out. “One of their guys got shot with a bullet that I dodged and his skin, it started to melt off his body.” You knew that he’d be scolding you after this, not telling him all of the details the first time is one of Law’s pet peeves.

“This could have all been avoided if you told me this in the first place!” While this would be an easy fix for Law, he was still upset that you were putting yourself in unnecessary pain. You didn’t need to suffer and if you weren't stubborn then you wouldn’t be in this position. He knew exactly what it was like to have this incurable disease, but you were lucky enough to have a captain who could cure anything. Including Amber Lead.

He put you on the bed in the infirmary and it didn’t take him long to get this out of your body. On the way there you had passed out which did make it easier for Law work, but he was scared. This disease was supposed to be gone. So how did this scientist get a hold of something this deadly?

One thing he did know--he wasn’t going to lose anyone else to this forsaken illness. Not again. He had already lost his entire family to it and he would be damned if he’d let it happen to his crew.

It only took Law a few minutes to finish this up and make sure that all of the Amber Lead was out of your body. He ran tests on you all throughout the night, almost never leaving your side. It was comforting knowing that the first face you saw when you opened your eyes was him. Though you knew he probably wasn’t the happiest with you, you did know that he would always do his best to save you and that’s why your eyes were opening in the first place.

Besides the quiet beeps of the monitor, the next thing you heard was his gruff voice. “You sure do leave out some important information when it’s needed.”

You bit your lip. “Sorry…”

“I don’t think ‘sorry’ cuts it when you nearly had a death wish. You’d be dead if you weren’t here with me, you know that? What you were shot with was a bullet that had Amber Lead poisoning which is normally incurable.”

“Guess I’m really lucky then, huh?” you smile weakly over to him, hoping that maybe he’ll see the bright side. “I’m alive at least, that counts for something, right?”

“Yeah, you’re lucky enough to be alive so you can do all of the extra chores around the sub.”

“Oh come on!” you groaned out in protest. “This is what I get for pulling thought and making it out alive?!”

“No. This is what you get for nearly getting yourself killed for leaving out information that could have prevented this from getting as bad as it did. Maybe next time you should think twice about being as stubborn as you usually are.”

“But that’s my best quality!”

“Trust me, you have better qualities than that, Y/N-ya.” and with that, he left the room, leaving you with a pink tinted face.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb, part 5.4

I swear folks once I get this and the last part up I’m gonna condense it all

But yeah couldn’t resist some <3

Zhang and Wu Chat

Wu Xie: Um. I’m all done with the shower if you want a turn.

Zhang Qiling: I’m alright without one.

Wu Xie: sooo are you pissed at me still?

Zhang Qiling: ? I have not been angry with you since the ladder incident.

Wu Xie: you’ve barely said anything since the necklace thingy

Zhang Qiling: I believe it is a long-running joke amongst my friend group that I do not, in fact, say much.

Wu Xie: okay but there are multiple gouges in the tea house walls that would suggest you had somewhat strong feelings today

and I kinda caused the events that sparked said feelings

so just checking in you know

Zhang Qiling: I was not angry so much as I was afraid. More afraid than I’ve been in a long time.

Wu Xie: ??? But it has worked out fine??? Everyone made it out alive and Uncle Erbai gets to feel morally superior to the Zhang family for a while so today was a win overall

Zhang Qiling: I heard you scream. I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t get to you right away. Therefore, I was afraid.

Wu Xie: ohhhhh. oh, Xiao Ge. It’s alright now—hey the necklace was actually helping u look out for me:) It’s not like those ppl were actually trying to hurt me, really. Your family isn’t so bad, at least you don’t have any uncles you know of

today was just some big misunderstandings wrapped in some poor life choices. Tbh my memoir title

I feel kind of stupid for screaming but when a glowing necklace wraps itself around your neck it’s a little uhoh moment lol

I did like the design tho def my aesthetic.

Zhang Qiling: I am pleased that it was able to protect you when I was not.

Wu Xie: Uh no you are not allowed to get all emo abt this it’s only like 3pm

damn time flies when it’s flashing before your eyes lol

Are you on the roof? You’re def on the roof. I thought I heard the tiles moving over my head. Come down or I’m coming up.

Zhang Qiling: I will be down in a moment. Do not come outside, it’s cold and raining.

Wu Xie: you know, Zhang Rishan said he thinks the necklace might be linked to you, somehow

something from long ago, even though you wouldn’t remember it.

It’s lucky that it liked me, huh:)

Zhang Qiling: Yes. Quite lucky.

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: AWW LOOK AT HIM NAPPING ON YOUR SHOULDER SO CUTE. BEBES HAD A BIG DAY. YOU TWO ARE PRECIOUS. BE GOOD AND POSE FOR THE PICTURE NOW.

Zhang Qiling: No. Also, I am considering what steps I should take with Zhang Rishan. Regardless of his concern for the Zhang family line, his actions were unacceptable.

Wang Pangzi: HES DROOLING A LITTLE ON YOU WHICH IS LESS CUTE BUT I CAN CROP THAT PART

LOOK I KNOW YOURE STILL PISSED. IM NOT EXACTLY CALM MYSELF, I JUST HAVE WAYS TO SKIRT AROUND TIANZHENS BULLSHIT FILTER THAT YOU LACK

GET ON MY LEVEL

WU ERBAI WILL HANDLE IT, THINGS HAVE SETTLED I THINK

BUT ABOUT THAT NECKLACE

SO INTERESTING HMMM

Zhang Qiling: I am the patriarch of my family. The necklace behaved as I would, apparently, to protect a vulnerable family member. Wu Xie’s bad cold last week activated it, and it responded to a perceived danger to him today. Simple enough.

Wang Pangzi: UH HUH

A FAMILY MEMBER

THE NECKLACE REALLY SAID LOVE WINS

TOLKIEN COULD NEVER

Zhang Qiling: It protected him on a technicality. But I will not allow him to bear the burdens of my family ever again. It has taken so much from him already.

Wang Pangzi: YEAH SURE BLAH BLAH DESTINY BLAH BLAH ANGST

“A TECHNICALITY” WOW WHO SAID ROMANCE WAS DEAD

ANYHOO IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS FOR UR WEDDING RECEPTION SLIDESHOW

YA KNOW DURING MY SPEECH

Friends of Wu Xie Support Group Chat

Hei Yangjing: you’re welcome for everything today<3 I accept PayPal, although of course it is always my honor to assist my friends:)

Wang Pangzi: WE ARENT PAYING YOU SHIT

Zhang Qiling: You did absolutely nothing.

Hei Yangjing: whoa whoa maybe I wasn’t threatening family members or busting up load-bearing walls like some undying divas I could name but I totes helped

or at least I was there for moral support maybe?

Zhang Qiling: The only reason I knew you were there at all was that as I lowered my blade from Zhang Rishan’s neck, I heard the camera click and saw you were taking a selfie making a peace sign, angled to have the two of us in the background.

Xie Yuchen: I saw it on social media just now. The caption is “#greatdaycatchingupwiththelads #blessed”

Wang Pangzi: TBH KIND OF JEALOUS I DIDNT THINK TO DO THAT

Hei Hangjing: okay yeah you see Xiao Ge that is a modern kind of help I should’ve known you wouldn’t be aware

It’s called performance, you wouldn’t understand

it’s a ‘Gram thing

Also it means I’m a great person

Bc letting you handle the situation was my gift to you

Zhang Qiling: Wu Xie mentioned there is something called “blocking ppl” that gets them out of my phone.

Hei Yangjing: nah

Can’t trust that Wu Xie, bae can’t tell a coffin from an urn amirite

it’s not a thing, blocking

Xie Yuchen: It is a thing. I’ll show you later, Zhang Qiling.

Wang Pangzi: YOU BOYS GO GET CLEANED UP AND COME BY AROUND 9 I SNAGGED SOME OF ZHANG RISHANS BOOZE ON THE WAY OUT

Bonnie and Clyde Chat

Hei Yangjing: you looked pretty comfortable in those handcuffs earlier ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Go to sleep, idiot.

Hei Yangjing: You’d have to do something to tire me out ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Are you like this around Wu Xie? Not that I care, I’m just asking.

Hei Yangjing: uh that’s a big nope

First off all Idk when I’ll die but Id prefer it to be on my terms and not at the hands of those other two

Secondly there is a part of me that remembers how adorable he was when he was younger and that makes it weird

(No offense but u were not adorable. He was bebe luke skywalker, you were bebe princess leia I am obvs Han Solo 4lyfe)

Also I’m a little scared that if i flirted with him and he flirted back he’d be better at it.

Xie Yuchen: All valid concerns.

Hei Yangjing: as cute as he is I don’t really wanna tap that.

Xie Yuchen: I see.

Hei Yangjing: do you tho

Main Chat

Wu Xie: okay folks who wants cocoa to top the evening off? I picked some up today:D

Wang Pangzi: UH YOU SPENT YOUR DAY BEING KIDNAPPED AND PLACATING A SENTIENT NECKLACE WHEN DID YOU HAVE TIME TO GET GROCERIES

FRANKLY THATS INTIMIDATING

Wu Xie: the tea house gift shop:)

Wang Pangzi: …YOU BOUGHT COCOA FROM YOUR KIDNAPPERS. FROM THEIR GIFT SHOP. DURING YOUR KIDNAPPING.

WU XIE

WU XIE WHY

Wu Xie: I mean we were there the whole day, it felt impolite not to buy anything.

Wang Pangzi: OH RIGHT GREAT POINT ID HATE TO BE RUDE TO THEM AFTER THEY WENT TO THE TROUBLE OF ABDUCTING US

LISTEN WHEN PPL STEAL YOU IT BECOMES FREE REIGN ON THEIR SHIT

UGH YOU PROBABLY GOT A RECEIPT AND EVERYTHING

WAS UR LITTLE SHOPPING TRIP BEFORE OR AFTER THEY STUCK U IN A DUNGEON TO EXPERIMENT ON YOU

WAIT NVM I DONT WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT

Wu Xie: look, let’s focus on the positives/ we are all okay, and we learned something new, that necklace is still active! It’s really quite nice-looking when it isn’t moving of its own volition.

Wang Pangzi: YOU AND YOUR RELENTLESS DUCKING OPTIMISM

ZHANG QILING ARE YOU SEEING THIS

Zhang Qiling: I would love some cocoa. I’ll come to the kitchen.

Wu Xie: I have special marshmallows for you!!

Wang Pangzi: I SEE

WE ARE SUBSCRIBING TO THE PRESTIGIOUS “FUCK IT WHY NOT” SCHOOL OF THOT TONIGHT

LOL SURE LETS GO COCOA IT UP

IVE GOT SOMETHING STRONG TO POP IN IT

Wu Xie: Still thinking about that design… I’d love another chance to examine that necklace under less Zhangy circumstances.

Kinda sad we couldn’t borrow it to use for illnesses and dangerous missions :/

ah well it’s for the best, a family heirloom should be treasured, preserved and protected<3

Zhang Qiling: I put it on your dresser.

Wu Xie: ???????

Wang Pangzi: AND THATS WHY YOU AND I ARE FRIENDS, XIAOGE <3

Wu Xie: I—

Zhang Qiling: Are those bunny-shaped marshmallows for me?

[berryblissbby]

Fiercest; devoted;

Pairing: Princess!reader x Guard/Warrior! Hajime Iwaizumi

Word Count: 9,500

Warnings: Use of blades and knives

A/N: Sooo this is the longest thing I've ever posted on tumblr and one of the longest fics I've ever written. Ive only even written a handful of things to completion before so please be kind (⩾﹏⩽). I'm currently reading TOG and this story was born from me trying to process HOF so if you see some parallels just look away! This is fanfic we borrow, not steal. And finally I must say, must I write a plot? Can’t they just learn to tenderly love each other in the end? 

AND! AND! Here's the pinterest board i made for this fic, i'm so sorry that all the references are white people omg, pinterest has shit diversity.

Summary:

The moonlight won’t let you forget, the sunlight brightens the truth.

You are his princess, and he is your warrior. Raised together Hajime is your greatest source of comfort when he suddenly pulls away, igniting your temper and flaring animosity towards each other. Either under the light of the moon, or the rays of the sun, you’ll fight it out, just like always.

 You were the princess of an empire. Heir of the kingdom that was the pinnacle of learning, healing and safety for anyone who wished to stay there. Books, music, and art were all treasured, and culture was allowed to thrive and breathe. Your court was beloved, held strong by devotion and loyalty, “the strongest court in the world” the people said. You were loved as well, by your parents and their people. Adored, you were their future.

 Hajime was a lesser by his kingdom's terms. In a kingdom of magic wielders, he was unwanted nobility. So he was sent to you, to your kingdom, where compared to your human court, with a little magical blood in him, he would be strong. He was to be your guard, to keep you safe, and when you were ready to rule your bond would be unbreakable.  

You were nine and he was thirteen . Delightfully shy- to adults- you lacked true friends. Hiding behind your mother, father or nursemaid, you could be found with your nose in a book. Even at celebrations it was the same, unless you convinced your mother or father to dance with you, much to everyone’s joy. 

 But then you had Hajime, and even though you were scared, with red rung hands and shifting eyes, he danced with you. Uncoordinated and silly, gentle smiles turning to grins and grins to giggles, you landed on the floor in a heap of laughter. Everyone could tell- when you were with him your timidness melts, and is met with ferocious quips and laughter full of love- that you would grow to be a shining queen. You didn’t worry, your child princess self, because when you were sat on your heaviest burden, your own little throne, he would be behind you. With his chest puffed up, his daggers sharpened and shining. Already your fiercest warrior and most devoted protector. 

 -

 You grew together, his dark eyes were always watching you, blanketing you in warmth. When you learned  how to fight and hold a dagger correctly he practiced with you, until your coordination and form were perfect. When you were strong enough for a sword he was right there as well, much to the captain of the guards dismay. You practiced together, but he never let you win. It was infuriating, his determined expression and unrelenting jabs. But “it’s for your own good” and you knew you'd best him one day. 

 -

 He snuck into your room, when your chambers were too big, and the darknesses fingers too long. He stayed in the chair in the corner, and listened to you talk until your words slurred and you fell asleep. Your maids usually find him still there, curled up, in the morning.

 -

 He was right beside you when you learned how to ride a horse by yourself at ten years old, with shaky hands and gasping breaths. And when you fell off- the one and only time- he picked you right off the ground, dusted off your dress, and growled at the stable master. 

 He wiped the tears off your face as fast as they fell. Your little hands gripping the front of his shirt begging him not to leave.

 Hajime pulled you to his chest, shushing you again. It was awkward, just two little kids clinging to each other, one barely old enough to comfort the other. But you needed him nonetheless.

 He was right there the day you got it, hanging off the rails of the round pin, pumping his fist in triumph as you and your horse trotted in circles.

 Looking over, a grin breaking across your face,  you met his own grin. It sent shivers down your spine, blooming in your tummy. You could see it, with that feral grin on his face, you understood what type of man he would be. He truly was a warrior.

 -

 He stood behind you when you first attended state meetings with your father, against the wall with the other guards. You had been terrified. You hadn’t known, really, what they were talking about, and you had been scared that they would ask you questions you wouldn’t know the answer to. But Hajime was there, and that made your words a little more steady. 

 -

 He was eighteen and you fourteen, budding into adolescence, and it seemed to be everyone’s business. He was turning into a man and you couldn’t help but notice, not that you would ever speak of it.

 He was leading you horse, walking you around the gardens. He liked to pick and choose when you should be treated as a princess. With swords in your hands he tended to ignore it, but at times like these, you were an heiress and he was an indentured servant.

 “I don’t understand”

 “It’s a tragedy, it's supposed to make you sad!” You say. “It’s about the ‘what if’s’ and the yearning, you have to focus on the yearning.” You giggle at your words, as you drag out your syllables. 

 You were telling him about your latest book, and how it had left you heart broken for the two lovers. With bad timing, and greedy people stealing their chances at love, they could never be together. 

 You always told Hajime about your books, you couldn’t help talking about the ones that you couldn’t get out of your head. He was an amazing listener, and you appreciated him dearly for it. Even though his face would remain blank and his eyes would shift all around you, looking for threats, he would always pay attention.

 He scoffed. “ Well, what if I don’t care about yearning, what if they’re just stupid? The answer was right in front of them.” 

 “That’s not the point Hajime,” you pout.

 He scowls up at you, stopping your horse. 

 “What?” You can’t help but laugh at both of your dramatics.

 “Just don’t let me catch you doing anything dumb like that,” he doesn’t let you answer, starting your horse walking again. ¨Idiots.¨

 ¨Hajime!¨

 You appreciate him, in every sense, always protecting you, in body and soul.

 -

 He was twenty and you sixteen. Your temper was epic, it shook the stone walls and snapped as easily as the ribbons on your dresses. But your heart was just as easily broken. You were a slave to your emotions and you could feel it, festering in you. You would never let it show to the court, but your family knew, and so did Hajime. There was little left of the girl who used to hide behind skirts.

 You didn´t know if it was a gradual process, or if you woke up to it one day, but suddenly you couldn´t stop watching him. You couldn´t stop admiring him. He was so big, and strong, and he made you laugh so hard. His hands were soft, and large. He was smart, catching things you hadn’t in meetings, and his voice would send shivers down your spine when he whispered in your ear, telling you things about the people you were surrounded by. Things that he had learned to keep you safe; precautions. You couldn't stop your cheeks from heating up anymore, they were perpetually flushed, and it was impossible to hold his gaze. Things that wouldn't have mattered before made you stutter. But what set you off, was when you would look up to him, when you expected to meet those cool eyes, they would be somewhere else.

 Before, when you had been upset, you would drag Hajime to the training rooms and throw him a sword. He would let you get a few hits in, before winning, of course. But only after you got everything you needed out. He was the cool water to your raging disposition. He had a sternness to him now, even though his fiery character could rival yours sometimes, he knew when to hold back. And when he did, his easy answers and cool voice were equally frustrating as they were calming. You shared more together while in those practice rooms swinging swords than anywhere else. But now you had lost the thing that had made it better.

 Now you only saw him when mandatory, behind your throne and next to you at meals. He seemed to be more interested in the guards and other warriors than you, so you ate in silence and read alone at night. You eventually requested a new guard, and your parents said no. You two were friends, and he was sent here for you, that would not be changing overnight. But he didn't feel like your Hajime anymore, your friend or defender. Because he wasn't paying attention to you anymore, not like he was supposed to. Or how you wanted him too.

 It made you burn when you looked up and he wasn't looking at you. The embers in your chest that would flare when you didn't get your way, when someone disagreed with you, when Hajime said something brash, were a roaring fire. You didn't understand why things had changed, where it had come from.

 You saw it, when his eyes met the older courtiers- well, older compared to you. You saw the eyes of the women on him, how they trailed over his broad back and strong arms. You knew that the lady’s had started taking their walks through the section of the palace they had previously thought of as unpalatable. They would bat their eyelashes and fan their fans in front of them as they walked past the training rooms, hoping to catch Hajime in only a thin damp shirt. It was infuriating.

 You took to ignoring him, long lonely months. It was intense, the war between you both, silently throwing glances at each other, both sets of eyes holding promises of worse words to come. He was a weight behind you at all times, dragging your heart deeper into a pit of solitary despair. He left you whenever he could afford, never letting your parents or the other guards see. You were kept safe, but it wasn’t comforting like before. The walks to your rooms after dinner were the worst, the internal battle inside you was tearing you to shreds. Should you talk to him? Confront him? Bear a dagger and rough it out? But he would leave you by your door and walk away before you could decide anything at all. 

 You had burned too bright, the fire in you now gone. The fury that had kept you warm was nothing but a cold pit in your chest.

 You were all alone, every day that knowledge split you open like a cold blade. You were determined to stay away from him, to not bother him, since he obviously didn’t want anything to do with you. But one day, it all became too much. 

 You had attended a dinner tonight, with a distant royal family. And they had said things to you that they had no right to say. They had spoken as if they had known you. They knew things about you that made your skin crawl. All of those things were somewhat common knowledge, but then they had started making assumptions about you, asking you things that if you were a queen you would have known the answers to. But you weren’t, you were a stupid little princess, with no one. And you felt so small. 

 The only thing that made it worse was when you realized you were bracing for something. After every one of their comments, you were waiting for one of Hajime's raging blows. For him let his temper go, just a little. To tell them how it was, to defend you. But it didn’t come, you looked over and he wasn’t paying attention. What happened to your warrior? Your watcher? Your protector?

 -

 You remembered a conversation between you and Hajime, before. It was late at night, Hajime was laying on the rug in front of your heart, his arm thrown over his eyes. Your book set to the side.

 The candles had all burned low, but the fire stood strong. It casted a blood orange glow across half of his body, the other half a stark blue. You didn’t know if he was asleep, and took your time admiring him.

 The side away from you, from your vantage point lounging on the couch, was flushed. His mouth was pulled down slightly, but it didn’t scare you. That looked like you’re Hajime, with sharp teeth and a barking laugh. Who felt everything thrown at him. 

 You didn’t know how he hid it so well, but he really did experience everything; he might conceal it, but it was in there.

 You looked at the other side of him, the one in a cold blue light from the moon coming in your windows. You wondered if that was what other people saw, the straight backed man, who knew who he was and what he stood for. 

You said his name gently, he grunted in response.

“Do you remember… that tragedy I read years ago, about the two lovers…” you explained a little more, trailing off.

He took a deep breath saying, “ yes, with the idiots.” 

You don’t bother hiding your pursed lips before you say, “what… what would you do in their situation, since they’re such idiots.” You pluck at a thread on the couch, not looking at him.

From your peripheral vision you could see him turn his head to look at the flames, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits you, you're scared to know his real answer, his honest one.

You get up and walk to the window, and the stark difference in temperature makes you shudder. It was starting to snow, just barely. The moon was so bright, causing the gardens below your window to glow. The marble walkways mirroring back the moon.

“I would…” you look back at him, with a hand still on the window sill, and almost gasp. “I would run too, because I wouldn’t know any better, just like them.” He had sat up and turned away from the fire, his whole front blue and cold. 

You couldn’t stand the window anymore, and went to sit by the hearth. 

-

You think he’s run. He’s carried himself as far away from you as he can without abandoning his responsibilities. The gap between you is the largest thing you have ever felt. A dark ravine, and on the other side was him, with his back turned to you. Everything is blue, the moon won’t let you forget, it refuses to shroud out the light, so you can’t remain ignorant. You hate it. And every day, you come closer and closer to falling into that deep crack in the earth, reaching out your arms, stretching your fingers, feeling the rocks shift under your feet, pebbles falling into the dark pit, maybe to never hit the bottom.

-

 You couldn’t calm yourself even hours later, your mind would go back to dinner when you tried to read, and you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, when it was too late to brandish swords or you were too young to hold one, Hajime and you would walk the palace halls. Running from guards not to be caught, jumping on chairs in forgotten sitting rooms, daring each other to grab things from the kitchen. All before putting his grumpy cool mask back on and escorting you back to your rooms. But you never dared walk the halls yourself, you were always too scared. Hajime... Hajime, he would always take you, and make you feel better. 

 You had been pacing your rooms, trying to find a way to fix your hurt. Trying to come up with any solution. Sitting down on your bed, you put your head in your hands, pleading with the tears not to fall. You wanted him to make you feel better again, you wanted to feel safe with him behind you, not cold and unwanted. 

 You didn't know what to do, really, you told yourself as you snuck your way into his rooms, holding your breath the whole way there, still scared. Closing the door behind you you leaned against it, and for a moment, it felt like before. He smelled the same and the room was so warm it made you shiver in satisfaction. But he was a warrior, so your moment of peace didn’t last long as he rolled over, almost reaching for a weapon before he realized who you were. 

 You tried smiling, but seeing him like that, with his dark hair messy, and cheeks ruddy from sleep just hurt you more. You couldn’t stop the quiver in your lip.

 “You've been crying,” he said, pushing himself off the bed slightly. You tried not to watch the blanket fall off his shoulders.

 Nodding, you turn your head, wiping away tears with your wrist, not looking him in the eyes. You took a moment, trying to calm yourself and almost took a step towards him, but you caught yourself. That made the tears come faster. If things had been like before, you would have ran to him. You won't have hesitated, you wouldn't be bracing for something foul to come out of his mouth. 

 But those things didn't matter, not when he finally sat up and opened his arms letting you throw yourself at him.

 He rocked you back and forth, pulling you onto his lap, cooing at you. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter my princess.” The vibrato in his voice echoed through you, made you want to melt, but it was also painfully familiar. 

 His kind words only made you cry harder. How long had it been since you had heard him speak to you at all? And it had to have been even longer since he had been kind to you like this, only reserved for when you were totally alone, and desperately in need. 

 There was so much wrong, but you could only find it in yourself to shrug. He let out a scoff. Pulling you back, you tried to hide your face, but he grabbed your chin to make you look up. He swiped a thumb under your eye, catching a falling tear. You almost smiled at his frown, how you had missed it, when it only promised light scolding, not cruel disregard.

 “I j-just... want you t-to m-make me feel better,” the last word comes out in another desperate sob and he pulled you to him again. 

 He hummed saying, “Don't tell me someone did this to you.” 

 You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. You didn't want to face the truth, that he had been so neglectful that he really hadn't seen what had happened at dinner.

 “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

 You desperately nod, you had missed this so much. You had missed his kindness so much. You almost felt like little kids again, and he led you through the dim hallways clutching your hand. Like when you had first met.

 You woke up alone.

 Cold, sober reality washed over you like water, slithering down your spine. Oh. Things were not back to before. You hated Before, it taunted you. It laughed at you as you broke each time the word crossed your mind. Before was better, the most shining and brilliant version of what you had lost. 

 -

 He was escorting you across the castle, and you battled with yourself again. Just like always but worse, now that you knew he was still in there. The contrast ached more. You almost didn't say anything, but you passed by a set of windows and happened to look outside.

 It was spring, almost summer, and everything was green again. The hills outside rippled as the green grass swayed. Beyond the grass were wildflowers. You wish you and Hajime could ride out there and lay in them. But you couldn't- or, he wouldn’t.

 That makes you stop for some reason, and you walk up to the window looking out. He stops too, remaining behind you.

 “Hajime,” You say quietly. He doesn't say anything, facing forward.

 He wouldn’t look at you. He refused until you grabbed him as hard as you could with your little hands, not holding back when your nails dug into his wrist and forearm.

 He tried pulling back, but you wouldn’t let him. Grabbing one of your wrists he made you yield. 

 “I’m not... we’re not going to talk about this, not yet,” he said the words with shifting eyes, not able to meet yours for too long. “I can’t.”

 You had never minded him when he was his serious self, because you would always see the loving side of him eventually. When you were alone, when it mattered. But this, the firm cold shoulder, it wasn’t the protective one you were used to, it was cruel. 

 “Well,” you spit out, ripping your wrist from his grip, “ when you can finally tell me your secret, it better be important, because right now I don’t appreciate being ignored- ignored and...” you struggled to find the right words, your chin quivering, eyes filling with tears. Unloved? Unprotected? 

 “Whatever this is,” you gesture at him, the venom in your voice dissipating with each syllable. Until each blink yielded more tears.

 ¨You´re dismissed,¨ you tell him, you could make it to tea just fine by yourself.

 -

 You were furious, angry, livid. The only thing that dosed the ever flaming embers in your chest was the announcement your father made. You had known it was coming, but him telling everyone solidified it.

 He had called you and Hajime to his private rooms a few nights before, you two had met in front of the door.

 You were to decide which member of your court  would take the oath to be your protector and advisor. Everyone knew it was going to be Hajime, but sometimes a ruler didn't have such loyal followers, and they would choose from a selection. But your father wanted to follow tradition and tell you properly. You had come of age, it would be time for you to take up more responsibility, and this was the first step.

 You could feel him standing next to you, facing your father and mother where they sat. The emers in you were doused, replaced by a rush of freezing water that contrasted your hot tears. You couldn't imagine spending the rest of your life like this. You would be a horrible queen if this was the future that awaited you. 

 Before he made his oath to you, there was to be your birthday celebration. A frantic day of eating, receiving gifts and dancing. Who would you dance with?

 Tight lipped, you thanked your parents and walked out. You could hear Hajime behind you, and you didn't try to quiet your ragged breathing as the tears flowed. 

 They had threatened to fall when your father stood up at dinner and told your court.

 -

 It was your birthday, you hadn't danced with Hajime, and you always danced with Hajime. Everytime you could, you let your face relax and your smile melted away. You were exhausted. But someone asked you to dance.

 The man no older than Hajime, with fluffy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, asked you with a hypnotizing smile. He spun you around and said the most outrageous things in your ears, you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. 

 You would pass a couple and he would share their most treacherous secrets. Nothing too bad, just outlandish enough that you would blush and want to hit him- only lightly.

 He asked you again and again, until you finally had to say no, your face was hot, your skin was covered in a layer of perspiration and you were sure that your hair had fallen out of its updo.

 You made your way back to your seat on the dais, next to your parents. You didn't realize that Hajime had moved from his spot on the wall, blending in with the other guards, to stand behind you.

 Taking a seat, you hear a scoff. Straightening your back you almost don't believe it. Maybe it was the exercise, or the fact that you were feeling loose after laughing so hard. Or maybe it was because you were actually having fun, but you found that tonight- tonight you had energy. 

 You could feel it in your chest, that scoff has blown a harsh wind over those embers, fanning them a glowing orange.

 “Yes, Hajime,” you say, slightly turning your head in his direction. You tried to keep your tone light.

 He grunted, not saying anything. You place your hands in your lap. He won't even give you words.

 “Tell me,” you say, face blank, friendly tone gone.

 “Nothing, Princess.”

 How dare he scoff at you and pretend you were the crazy one.

 You spun in your seat. There he was, in his nice uniform, with your kingdom's mascot and colors. Your mascot and colors. Your kingdom's mascot and colors. The kingdoms that you would rule, mascot and colors. 

 The blades strapped around him were intricate; polished and shrap. He looked straight forward, not acknowledging you. He looks good, something inside of your chest whispered, but was whisked away as your eyes caught on the dagger on his belt, with the same color jews as his uniform

 You stood up in a flurry, so fast that he only had time to brace himself before you were grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your level. Nails digging into him all the while.

 “Follow me,” you say through gritted teeth. Pulling back looking him in the eyes, you tell him exactly what he needed to know. It was an order, an order from his future ruler. The exchange was so fast you knew no one would see it.

 Spinning on your heel you walked down the dais and straight into the crowd of dancing people as they desperately tried to not step on you.

 “Princess,” Your father said from his seat behind you. You knew he was objecting at your rudeness, but you didn't care, the act of disobedience spurring you on. You hear the music halt, only for a second, but you keep moving.

 You could feel everyone's eyes on you as you made your way further and further towards the doors out of the hall. Each breath wasn’t enough oxygen, and your vision spotted, but the chills rippling over your skin were addicting. 

 You knew Hajime was behind you.

 -

 You didn't answer any of his furious remarks as you grabbed his forearm, dragging him through the palace. You turned down a certain hall and he stopped talking.

 You threw open the doors of the practice hall, letting go of Hajime’s arm. Marching down the long open space, so big it could probably hold dozens of bodies, you open one of the cabinets across from the row of tall windows. The room was dim, and you don´t think of lighting candles.

 Selecting two swords, you slide one to him across the floor, to where he stood still at the door. He stopped it carefully with his boot, as it spun towards him.

 Looking up from the sword, he says, ”No.”

 “Pick up the sword, Hajime,” You say from across the room, sword in your hand. You’re not sure why you threw it at him, he already had one on his hip. Maybe because it was unfair, that he could always have one and you could not.

 He scoffed at you, leaving it on the ground. 

 “Pick it up,” You growled.

 He didn't have time to roll his eyes before the twin dagger to the one on his belt landed in the door frame, next to his head.

You watched his eyes flick to your hand, smoothing out your skirts, hiding the slit that led to your thigh. You switched your sword back to your dominant hand, breathing already ragged, not looking away from those sharp eyes as he picked the sword off the ground. 

 You stayed exactly where you were as he walked towards you.

 “You are b-”

 “I don't want to hear any of what you have to say about my behavior.”

 He rolled his eyes, stopping in front of you, getting into his proper stance. You mimicked him.

 “You are being a brat.”

 You swing for him, and he easily blocks, sending your sword arcing through the air, still in your hand. He sends a shallow jab at you, which you take a step back from.

 “What right do you have judging the people I spend my time with?” You say, jabbing right back at him, which he blocks with a sweep of his sword. “And when am I not?”

 You go for his left, which he dodges, and as he came around spinning to face you again, he swung low at the wide skirts of your dress. You hear it rip and feel the cold air hit your calves. Taking two steps back he observes you, lowering his sword, intentions clear. 

 He thought that would end your little fight.

 He thought that the ruining of your dress would make you stop, that you were shallow enough to ask for his mercy just because of a tear in your skirts. It made you furious, knowing he wasn't taking this seriously.

 You feint lunging at him, he swung from the right, and you blocked, swords suspended in the air for just a moment. 

 “Stop it.” You say, voice almost a whisper.

 You grunt and pull back. Circling each other, you watch as the moonlight brightens his face. The circling continues, and no words are exchanged, giving you time to think about what had been said, only making you more upset.

 You had faults, in moments like these, you couldn't hide your next move, anger making you just want to act. You swing at him, and he blocks. While your sword is up, he takes the chance to roll, and shove you backwards away from him. A dirty trick.

 “Stop what?” He says to you, looking at you from where you had stumbled a few steps away, face blank.

 You looked at him, with his back to the windows, face shrouded in darkness, and you hated him.

 Before you could think about it, before you could flinch and regret your actions, your arms were arching up, throwing your sword across the room. Watching as Hajime involuntarily followed its arch through the air, sinning blade spinning over handle, until it landed in a clatter. You watched him all the while, and saw his shocked expression before he could hide it.

 “I am your princess,” You growl, his head snapping back to you.

 “I am your princess!” You yell, taking a step towards him, chest pressed to his.

 “I am your Princess!” You scream, shoving him backwards toward the large windows.

 You pressed against him, leaning him back against the window sill. You stretch to your tiptoes, your hands clutching his shirt as you stare into his eyes. With all the venom you can manage, panting, you say, “I am your princess! I am your princess and you will do as I say!”

 “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. You barely hear his words, or his sword clatter to the ground, your breathing too ragged, your heart beat too loud. You could feel it, in every part of your body, it echoed through you.

 And in that moment you can almost see him. That flash in his eyes, that tone of voice, his breath fanning over your face. He was your Hajime, only for a second.

 “Stop it,” you say, losing momentum with each word, “stop it.”

 He finally tugs himself free, ripping your hands from him. He doesn't let go as he presses you a few steps back and leans down to look into your eyes. 

 His eyes were dark, and you lost him again, the Hajime you want. You yearned to bang on his chest and beg for him back, but you don't dare break the delicate dance you two were in.

 “I see them,”  you hiss, trying to get in his face, “I see how they look at you.”

 “Who?” He spits.

 “Your courtiers.” You say the words as if it's a curse.

 He throws your hands down, taking steps to the door, still facing you.

 “Nothing?” You ask. “You never have anything to say anymore.”

 “Why does it matter?” Squaring his shoulders he looks at you straight on. 

 “Wh-”

 “Why does it matter if they look at me?”

 “It- I-”

 “Tell me why it matters, Princess, and maybe we can talk. I don't want part in your tantrums.”

 You watch him walk away, listening to every fading step, until you only have your breathing to fill the silence.

 -

 You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, it made you sick, haunting you with the memories of what you had said to each other.

 Maybe you had been wrong. Wrong to order him to follow you, wrong to act so brash, wrong to scream at him, and to accuse him of those things.

 You scolded yourself for acting that way, to let your temper control you. It had felt good, until you had crashed. 

 The option-less future spread in front of you. What would you do? Exhaustion was seeping into you, a new type of tired, one that you would do anything to amend. 

 If your temper wouldn’t fix your problems, you would have to try something else, even if it burned you from the inside out.

 -

 You called him to your rooms, something you had never done before. There was no need to call upon each other, you always knew where the other was

 Hajime found you in the chair in the corner, the one he used to stay in; you rarely used it.

 The last rays of evening sunlight were shining in your windows, cascading over your body.

 Your face was illuminated by the sun, every beautiful line and imperfection was open in the light. It made you glow, like you should have been kept in a painting so you could be adored forevermore. You were golden, hair caught fire, glowing like a beacon of truth. The heir of an empire, the hope of thousands. 

 “Majesty,” he bowed, something he had only done a handful of times, for special occasions. It felt forgien and stiff doing it there.

 “Iwaizumi” you said, it sounded like a song, a sigh and a prayer and a plea. But it wasn’t right.

 When was the last time you had called him that? Never, a furious voice in the back of his mind told him.

 “It’s almost time for me to choose.”

 He stood up straighter, meeting your eyes for the first time. There wasn’t that look in them like before, of hurt and hardness. Determination that you would power through. It was just a fact.

 It was almost time for you to choose the person of your court to swear a never ending bond with. To protect each other, in body and soul, to in turn protect your kingdom.

 You looked down at your hands, and he was compelled to take a step forward to make sure he heard you, but not too close. He had a feeling that if he took another step he would see your  red rung eyes, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 “I want it to be you… I'm sorry for that night, for yelling, and trying to cut you into pieces. But…” You take a deep breath and look out the window. “ I don’t know what’s changed, and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted, and whatever I’ve done, but I want it to be you” 

 With those last words you looked him in the eyes. The anger was gone, and all he saw was a tired princess. His tired princess. You didn’t break his gaze, not saying anything more .

 He almost wanted to question you, the maturity in your words shocking. But he stayed quiet; that wasn’t his place anymore.

 You had said your peace, he knew, as he looked into your eyes, with your face passive. It was his turn now, to come to you and bear his teeth, to gouge the hurt out of his chest in to lay it bare for both of you.

 -

 Hajime had a memory he kept close to him, right on his hip. He might have kept it on his ribs, the ones that protected his heart, if that was where you kept daggers. 

 It was the winter solstice celebration from years before. Hajime and you were in your parents' private rooms, giving gifts.The two of you sat on the floor next to the fire, with your parents on the couch in front of you. 

 “Now this one is for both of you.” Your mother explained, handing you both identical boxes. “Open them at the same time.”

 You gave Hajime one look before tearing into yours. He didn’t get to see your reaction as he worked on delicately undoing the ribbons, but he heard your gasp.

 Resting in your hands was an exquisite, shining dagger. You gently held it up, and both your heads turned in to stare at it. 

 “Oh my…” You gawked.

 Hajime went back to his gift and opened it to an identical dagger. Twins. 

 He held his up, and you two compared.

They had blades of shimmering silver, with curved tips that looked sharp enough to split hairs. The handles were of matching silver formed into delicate patterns, inland with jewels that matched your kingdom's colors. The metal reflected the light of the fire behind you, flickering gold and orange, like the blades held the sun.

 Looking up to your parents your father explained. “I had those made for the two of you.” 

 You waited, but that was all he offered. Hajime watched you balance the dagger in your hand, turning it over and examining it. 

 “They’re beautiful.” You say.

 “I would hope that you don’t use them on each other, and only wear them for celebrations, but I doubt that is something that will happen.” 

 Hajime chuckled, looking down at his own dagger. The king might not have said it, but he had a feeling he knew what the daggers were for. 

 They were the two of you. Cut from the same stone, at each other with blades as sharp as diamonds, all while in your shining castle. 

 They were to remind you where you came from, that you two were one in the same, and that you were to work together. Much better to mar an enemy with the same blade than have the one that matches your in your gut. 

 “Thank you,” he said.

 Hajime looked at you, and you were smiling. Leaning over, your grin was feral, and he couldn’t help the electricity that went down his spine.

 “Do you know what this means?” You ask. “I need to get my dresses tailored.” 

 Hajime ruffled your hair, but your smile was burned into his memory. One in the same. Maybe his future queen really would be as strong as him. 

 Hajime could learn to like that.

 -

 Hajime was trained by your father and his men to be a warrior. Your warrior. While you were trained in how to fight men across oceans and continents, he was taught how to fight men with steel and teeth. You did give him a run for his money when you brawled, but he knew that he would never want to be facing you in a killing field, with an army at your disposal.

 Your cleverness was beyond him, not that you would ever give yourself credit for it. But you were still young, and when he caught something that you had missed in meetings or conversations, the sparkle in your eye, the way he knew you were in awe of him, was addictive.

 In all honesty, Hajime wasn’t your only lover, or admirer, you had many. Your parents were kind to you, your father could often be found making you giggle, especially when you were seated next to him at meetings. Your mother and you discussed books and music. You would often receive compliments from your father’s advisors and friends, which always made you blush in thanks. And your mothers lady’s loved to give you advice about clothes and any romantic endeavors you might go one. Not that there were many. The boys liked winking at you, and making you blush. Hajime tried his best to keep that to a minimum. Your court did love you, they loved the princess that was bashful and kind, but had the cleverest ideas at council meetings. You were the beautiful shining light, in your beautiful shining castle, and you would keep your court strong.

 Those were all things that Hajime knew well. Painfully well. Because he was always the first to notice. He had seen how they all cared and vowed to make sure that you would stay that way, that you were protected and cared for. So your light never went out, so your kingdom was always strong. He would do what he must, he would not let your court fall.

 So when he had looked at you and the light in your eyes had changed, he felt responsible.

 It wasn’t a bad change, just different. It only took him a short amount of time to pinpoint what it was.

 He couldn’t love you, not like that. He couldn’t let himself break you, because he knew he’d manage somehow, he was always a little heavy handed.

 What protector would he be if he broke your heart? If he was the first one to weaken you? To welcome you into the cruel world you would be entering, of choosing the best of horrible options, of lying and deceiving? He would not be the one to welcome you to that.

 -

 Maybe he was wrong, maybe you could take it. He wouldn’t be the one introducing you to the hurt, he could be the one to guide you through it.

 -

 He was surprised when he found you, always too afraid to wander the place at night. You were in a sitting room, long forgotten by the court, locked away and covered in sheets. 

 It was one of the rooms you would play in as children, with the furniture pushed to one corner; each and every one of the walls between the tall windows was covered in paintings.

 By now both of you had them memorized, whether that be by sunlight, candle light or moon light, both of you knew each of them well.

 You were only looking at one, standing right in front of it, your favorite painting of them all. 

 Hajime watched you, in the light of the moon, stare at the picture. Your profile was perfectly outlined by the stark light.

 “Tell me about her again,” he asked, voice carrying across the room.

 You spare him a glance before turning back to the painting.

 You take a step closer and take a breath. “Her name was Kiyoko.”

 You bring your hand up, and with only a finger you delicately trace the frame. 

“She was the most beautiful woman in the land, and the man who painted her was in love with her, but there were few who weren’t.”

 Hajime didn’t have to see the picture to know what it looked like, he had spent plenty of time looking at it with you. The girl was beautiful, with silky black hair, pale skin, and eyes that felt like they knew all, like they were windows into the fiercest storm.

 He knew the curve of her lips and the mole on her chin, and the pastel color of her dress. She was framed in a sea of greenery; plants, grass and trees all around her. Despite her pale dress and cool eyes she was surrounded by orange flowers, and in the corner of the painting, were perched crows.

 He wasn’t sure what made you stare at that painting like you did. Like you could see details that weren’t there. You had always said that when you looked at it, you longed for the frame to expand, for the picture to grow wider, to see what she saw.

 You also had a thousand questions for her, you wanted to know her as intimately as you knew her face. But she never answered, staring back with those eyes, until only Hajime was left to answer your questions.

 “She was loved by everyone, it was said that you would be blessed if she acknowledged you, and if she spoke to you, you were destined for the most devine heaven.” You move your finger from the frame to the painting, looking like you would touch it, but you don’t, only coming infinitely close.

 “She married the man she loved, and had a laugh that sounded like bells.” You bring your hand down and step back from the painting. 

 “You would be her most devoted admirer.” Hajime said.

 “I already am,” you smile looking down at your hands, “but I think she would have deserved a beautiful friendship.” 

 -

 It wasn’t a real story, her name was Kiyoko, that was the name of the painting, but each time you told it, it was different.

 Looking up to reply to Hajime, you met his eyes. On his face was a smile that delicately curved, turning his mouth up.

 That smile… the curve of his mouth, the sharp teeth behind it. It made your knees week, the relief of seeing it again.

 He took steps towards you, until you were standing shoulder to shoulder looking at her again. 

 “What do the crows mean,” he asked, encouraging you to keep going.

 You take a moment before answering. “They’re her other admirers, only to ever love her from afar.” 

 He hummed, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. 

 You turn to look at him, right in the eyes.

 “It matters… it mattered because you weren’t looking at me.”

 He tried to speak, but you stopped him. “No, listen to me.”

 He wouldn’t look away from your eyes, face cool.

 “I couldn’t- can’t- you just… you weren’t looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do. It’s unbearable.” Your words were so quiet, always so quiet in moments like these

 It seemed like he couldn’t bear to break the silence as he said with narrowed eyes. “You think I don’t know, that I didn’t see?”

 “You won’t break me Hajime,” you say with a scoff. He almost flinced, coming close but stopping. Like you had seen right through him when he wasn’t expecting.

 “You don’t know that,” he hissed, “I know, saw it, everything, and I made that decision. I won’t be the one to introduce you to that, to be the first one to hurt you.” 

 He spoke with his hands, and you watched them as they moved. They were so wide, well taken care of, you remember them being softer than expected.

 “You’re supposed to protect me,” you grit through your teeth. You don’t know if he can tell how flushed you are, but you know he can see the silver lining your eyes.

 “H-how am I supposed to protect this kingdom, t-this court without you! I can’t do it without you.”

 “You’ll do just fine,” he said, standing up straighter.

 “Don’t say that! Why would you- why would you say something like that.” 

It was getting hard to get the words out, every time he spoke you ached more and more.

 He was panting, like those words had winded him. His face was hard, unyielding. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and covered your wobbling mouth. A sick imitation of a comforting embrace

-

 He didn’t know what to do. His princess was shattering right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 

 There was no one to point a blade at, no where to keep you safe. Looking at the tears in your eyes, he knew that this had been happening for a while. You were begging him to take his words back, any of them, but he wouldn’t let himself.

 Hajime resisted the urge to look down at his hands. He’d always been heavy handed, that's what he had said to himself. He was trying to shield you, gods-dammit, but those hands had done more harm than good when it really mattered.

 All he could do was watch you crumble in on yourself, while he stood feet away.

 -

 He was clueless. He always knew what to do. Your faithful, balanced Hajime was at a loss.

 You could see it, you blinked and you were there. No longer in that moon-bathed room, but outside, children again.

 How old were you? Nine? Eleven? How old was he? Thirteen? Fifteen? You were just children; the same as always. Had you even grown up, were you always clutching each other like this? So dependent yet so unaware of each other?

 You had never seen him like this, he lived with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. His upper lip stiff, his will unmoving.

 But the man standing in front of you was desperate, with his hands splayed in front of him, like they would burn you if he got too close.

 Why couldn’’t you just say it, why were you two always dancing around it? Your own choreography, your own sacred, unique steps. 

 “I’m tired,” you say, shoulders dropping, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

 “I am too,” Hajime admitted.

 You closed your eyes tight, feeling more tears fall from your lashes. And when you opened them again, you were met with steel. Not like the steel of blades, but unforged steel, ready to be shaped, reborn.

 Looking into those eyes, the irises that framed hurricanes, it felt like those roaring winds blew right through you. Breathing life into you, fanning your flames. Maybe she could answer just one question for you.

 This is the last time, you vowed to yourself, no matter how it ends.

 -

 Hajime didn’t ask questions as you dragged him through the palace, his presence giving you a little more confidence than before.

 Up and up you went, just when he thought you were done taking him up stairs you found another set, and headed right to the top. You only felt him hesitate once, but you didn’t look back, and he followed. You made it to the top. A tower that was once a sentries station. 

 “How did you… isn’t there someone working here?” Hajime asked.

 You didn’t have to look at him to see the crease in his brow. “No, there’s no need to have anyone up here.”

 Your kingdom had been peaceful for years, if any attacks were to come, they would not be so often as to need guards on the lookout every day. Hajime knew that, so you followed. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’ve just been walking around at night… and I wound up here.” 

 He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. You never walked alone, the fact that you had been in that sitting room tonight was shocking. But you? Wondering up here?

 On one hand, you hoped that he was feeling guilty. On the other, you felt horrible for tearing him up like that. But you knew that was how he was feeling, he wouldn’t push it to the side this time. Not with it spelled out in front of him.

 Crossing his arms and leaning back, he gave you a look of disapproval, but you were no stranger to those cunning eyes. You tried not to dwell on the picture before you, slowly focusing into something- someone you recognized.

 You walked up to the window, leaning against it, staring at the slowly brightening horizon. 

 “Just tell me why.” Was all you said.

 -

 Hajime stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with you, hand on the cool window sill. The warmth that encompassed Hajime's side almost made him purr, you were so close.

 He took a moment to look at the view, the mountains in the distance, silhouetted by the rising sun. The dark sky was slowly becoming a splash of deep colors.

 “I don’t just protect you, your life isn't your own. What I do affects you, what I see keeps you safe. What I let you do… it could change so much. If I stumble, if I overlook something- so much is at steak. And I know what you were thinking when you looked at me.”  He paused as you nodded, and watched your eyes move from the horizon to the city nestled below the palace. “So I stopped, and you were pissed.”

 “I’ll be disappointed if you say you didn’t see that coming.”

 “Well, it worked to my advantage… until you woke me up that night…” 

 Your smile melted, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was bracing for something, that crackling irritation he was used to. But it didn’t come.

 Hajime stiled. Maybe this wasn’t him talking to his princess anymore, as you listened, as he spoke, he realized it was his queen in front of him. 

 “You hurt me. You were mine and then suddenly you weren’t.” He sat there and listened as your voice cracked

 “I’m sorry”

 You turned to look at him. “You can’t break me that easy Hajime, we’re one and the same, in sword and devotion. I want you at my back, I want you protecting me. I need you to want the same. I thought- I thought we agreed on that. So please�� let me choose you.”

 “Please let me be your princess, please let me choose you, I want you to protect me, the right way.”

 With you next to him he could see the sunlight reflected in your eyes, how it made them sparkle, how the roofs of your city seemed to wink up at you with the last slivers of moon light. Telling him how much hope they had for you, how they knew that their princess would keep them safe.

 “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 With that admission, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him as hard as you could. You took a few breaths before pulling back, still keeping your arms around him, looking into his eyes.

 “Let me be your princess Haji, please.” It was like you were looking for something in his eyes, not breaking the connection.

 “Always,” he whispered, leaning closer, not looking away.

 “But you aren’t my princess.” He watched your eyes flutter and he drew closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you right against him. “You're my queen.”

 He met your lips, and you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he made you feel like you had again. 

 And as the sun created the mountains, and it's morning rays illuminated you and Hajime, he knew that his hands might have broken you, but they had also put you back together. 

 -

 Pulling away from Hajime, you try not to look as out of breath as you felt. You stared into his slate eyes and felt like he had never left, that the time between you that had hurt you  was just a memory, a distant past.

 They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe its to give you the courage to forgive, to be able to try again.

 You watched his mouth as he said, “I'm a fool.”

 “Then that would make me a fool too,” you muse, tone playful.

 “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, furrow in his brow. “We can’t have a queen who's a fool.”

 “Then what am I?”

 “An idiot,” you watched his mouth as he said it. His smile was crooked, like he was trying to hide it.

 “Like the lovers,” You breathe, your own smile spreading across your face.

 “Like the lovers,” he repeated.

 The word lovers echoed in your head when you decided you wanted to kiss him again.

 -

 With each breath, you felt the embers inside of you cool to ashes, blowing in the wind like ash. 

 You might have lied, that night wouldn't be your last fight, but it would never be like that ever again.

 Hajime and you were once again in the practice hall, but this time things were different. You were both giddy, as the early morning sun glinted in your eyes. You tumbled and swung your swords at each other, but this time it was laughter shared between you, not savage words.

 You felt like you two were dancing again. With your dress whispering around your legs, and the dagger that matched Hajimes visible around your hip, you felt like you had that night as children, when Hajime first taught you to laugh. 

 You weren’t upset, or nervous this time, as you gave each other bruises and sore shoulders. Because later that morning at the ceremony you knew who would be standing next to you, with his back straight and his shoulders down. Your fiercest warrior and most devoted lover.

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!Reader)

 A/n: I would say that to all the townspeople (Y/n) has met before her parting, she’d have at least 4 hearts with everyone, (minus the bachelors and bachelorettes who were not in the timeline) and 6 hearts with Robin, Sebastian, Abby, Caroline and Jodi. 

(Lets just say Robin was good friends with grandpa and found his granddaughter a favorite)

(Caroline found her as a well-mannered and kind child when she was younger. She surely hasn’t changed her thoughts about the girl)

(Jodi always wanted a daughter and found (Y/n) a cute little baby, she really liked it when (Y/n) would come over to play with Sam and help her around the house, teaching Sam to do some housework) (the woman is fond of her)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harvey grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist and felt her pulse. “Based on the blood she lost, she’ll need a blood transfusion! And the equipment is in the clinic!” the older male said, hoisting (Y/n) into his arms. 

“I’ll need a person with her blood type or an O positive!” Harvey said as they rushed out of the cottage. “Does anyone have that blood type?”

‘Shoot!’ Sebastian thought to himself. He’s a darn A! They had no time to scan for her blood type. But he knew who has an O. “I know someone! !’ll go!” he called out before parting from the group.

The dark haired male was running down the stairs near the river before heading to the bridge near Joja mart. During certain days, the person he was searching for would be on the bridge till late. 

And thank Yoba, these were on of the days.

He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but he really didn’t have a choice.

‘But why are you doing this? For one girl?’ a voice at the back of his mind whispered. ‘You really aren’t like this. Why are you panicking so much?’

Sebastian stopped in his tracks, thinking about the voice. That was true. He isn’t one to help others. He mainly kept to himself. He’d usually be cool and wouldn’t talk much. Why was he panicking? 

Was it because he hated the sight of her limp body?

Probably

He didn’t want to be burdened for his faults if he didn’t do anything but just left her body there.

Yeah, that was it.

“Hey, Seb!” Abigail called from the bridge, raising a hand to greet him over. “What’s with the frazzled look? You look like someone has been chasing you.”

“Abby,” he said as he came over. “You’re an O positive, right?” he asked, grabbing her arm. 

The girl nodded, her face slightly flushing over the hold he had on her joint. Sebastian didn’t think much of it and immediately pulled her with him without an explanation. 

“H-hey! Where are we going?” The purple-haired girl began to panic, but still followed the pace the male ran, keeping up with him easily.

This really wasn’t like him. He wasn’t one to panic. Why was he so energetic and loud today? He hasn’t been like this in....Abigail bit her lip as she thought. ‘In such a long time,’ the voice in her mind responded.

But taking in the sight of the clinic, she knew this wasn’t good. Did something happen to his mom? Did something happen to her family? Did...is this why he asked for her blood type?

She kept rambling all the possibilities until she never realized that they had burst into the clinic. But her thoughts stopped as she saw the new farmer on the hospital bed.

“Abigail!” Harvey called out, surprised that Sebastian knew her blood type. “Thank Yoba your blood is compatible with hers!”

Abigail stopped. Her hand falling limp from Sebastian’s grasp. Tears welled in her eyes.

“(Y/n)...?”

The said girl was laying motionless on the hospital bed, her skin pale as snow. Her eyes closed and breathing shallow. Her hair was out of its usual hairdo, leaving the strands of (h/c) messy around her face and head. Her shirt was removed to expose the the wound to Harvey, leaving on her underwear to preserve her modesty and also exposing the bruise she got from last night.

But the scar on her right shoulder,

It unlocked her self-sealed child memories.

Tears escaped her green eyes. “She’s alive...? After the accident? It’s the same (Y/n)?” she sobbed. Sebastian placed a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s her. She came back,” Sebastian said, a somber look crossing his eyes. “And this time, you need to help her.”

Abigail nodded as she stuck out her bare arm to Harvey. “Hook me up,” she said with determination, eyes still dripping with tears.

Abigail and Sebastian was sent to another room as the operation took place as everyone else was sent home since she needed to donate her blood. Sebastian was allowed to stay since he needed to accompany the purple-haired girl. Abigail was given a box of apple juice to help increase her glucose levels as she donated her blood to her former best friend.

Sebastian sat on the chair next to Abigail, is eyes blurred and tired as he looked down at the floor. The silence between them was heavy. Since Abigail had just remembered the dark tragedy of Pelican Town. Tears began to drip from her eyes once more.

“When did you know?” she asked Sebastian, her eyes looking down at the crisp white sheets of the clinic bed. He shrugged. “I...saw her scar, and at first it made no sense to me why I suddenly reacted to it. But then I think I thought of it too much, and...I dreamt of it,”

“No way. Did you like...have a nightmare or something?” Abigail told him, but he shook his head. “It’s not impossible if I woke up and everything rushed to my head in that instant,” he told her. “Plus, mom told me that it was true.”

“No way,” she chuckled. “She really came back, huh? At first I thought it was just...a person with a name that sounded familiar, but I thought it was just a common name. But that’s not the case anymore, it seems,” Abigail said with a smile. “After all we’ve done to her, she still came back here? Not to mention that we’re the ones that caused the accident.”

“It wasn’t you. It was me,” he said with a deep frown. “I really thought that she died, and I never registered what happened after. I even dared forget about her.”

“It’s not forgot. It’s...repressed memories and stuff when we were kids,” Abigail said, referring to one of the books she read during her classes. Sebastian nodded. “Extreme trauma would block out the memories in a way of coping with it.”

“But,” she said, clutching onto the hospital sheets. “It doesn’t make me feel less guilty,” tears collided with the white sheets as a green bow clip was in her sight. “She even gave this bow to me. I can’t believe I still forgot her.”

In normal circumstances, Sebastian would’ve felt awkward, but he understood the feeling. He put a hand on Abigail’s back, running it up and down as he tried to calm her. It was true, however. Knowing that they had forgotten their friend who had saved Sebastian, the person who had always made Fall better, matching their clothes during Spirit’s eve, who brought them little things to enjoy together during their visit,

The guilt was truly unbearable.

After a few hours after Abigail was released, she and Sebastian stayed to wait for the (h/c) haired girl. Both of them wanted to see if she was okay or not. Sam came bustling in soon after. Then Maru came out and gave them the thumbs up, all three of them jumped out of their seats to burst into the room.

“She’s been stabilized, thanks to Sebastian’s quick thinking and Abigail’s generosity,” Harvey said after cleaning all the blood. “She was in a dehydrated state and heavily injured. It was a wonder how she managed the strength to move with those injuries.”

“She’s fine, but she needs to stay here for the night so I can monitor her,” Harvey said again before looking up at the clock. It’s 9 pm. Three hours after Sebastian brought (Y/n) in. “It’s late, you all need to go home.”

“But can we stay with her? I asked mom if I could,” Sam started. “We’re staying just in case she wakes up,” Sebastian butted in, earning an eyebrow raise from Harvey. But the older male just chuckled.

“I suppose it won’t do any harm,” he started, “But please not make any noise before and after she wakes up. It might surprise her and raise her blood levels,” Harvey said before leaving the room with the three and one unconscious girl.

Sebastian turned to look at the girl who looked eerily peaceful, her hands placed above her stomach. Her right hand was attached to an IV drip, and her vitals were steady. Her clothing had changed to a hospital gown, probably not to put any pressure around her waist here the injury was.

“Lets grab a seat,” Sam said, removing the partition between (Y/n) and another hospital bed. “Are we even--” “It’s alright! We’ll put it back tomorrow!” Abigail butted in before helping Sam push the bed together. 

“You guys really like her, huh?” Sam started, making the two freeze from what he said. Hasn’t he-- “Oh, I know she’s the same person from the accident,” Sam said as he removed his shoes and sat down on the bed.

“I realized it long ago, actually. When Abigail mentioned it at the Saloon, I just went with it since I thought the both of you actually forgot her,” Sam confessed, leaning against the headrest. “It was hard for me to talk to her, I was the reason she got hit in the first place.”

“But when Abby told me to just talk to her, I realized that you guys probably forgot,” Sam said, bringing his knees closer to his chest. “I remembered when she first came. Mom was careful to never trigger anything, but when she introduced herself to me, I saw the mark on her forehead. I excused myself when everything started coming back to me.”

“It’s hard, to look at her without remembering the hit. I feel like she’s been hating me, never forgiving me,” Sam said. “But when I saw she was rushed in here, I was hesitant. Mom told me to go, but I didn’t want to face her,” Sam looked at the resting girl. 

“But she told me (Y/n) came back to see all of us, I bolted,” Sam chuckled as Abigail and Sebastian sat on the same mattress. But tears began to fall from his eyes. “I-I thought she would never want to see me ever again, not after what I’ve done to her,” he sobbed and Abigail slung an arm across his shoulders.

“Never really thought she’d come back,” Sam sniffled before gazing over to (Y/n). “I’m just happy she’s here.”

“Hey, Seb,” Sam called, the dark haired turning his head to face the blonde. “Yeah?” he answered. The latter gave a loopy smile, and even though he just cried, his eyes were bright of mischief. 

“Do you still like (Y/n)?” he asked, making the other two freeze in place. Abigail slightly retracted her arm and Sebastian’s shoulders went tense. “Wh-what are you talking about?” he asked.

“You know what I’m talking about. Do you still like--” “Wh-where am I?” a groggy voice spoke, quietly, but loud enough for the trio to jump to the bed next to them.

(E/c) eyes started to open slowly, but squinted from the bright light. There were blobs of shadows in her sight, slowly clearing to reveal the trio before her eyes. All of them had worried expressions, eyes either red or still filled with tears. 

“Abby?...Sebastian?...Sam?” the girl choked out as she slowly tried to sit up. “Wh-what happe--” Before she could finish her sentence, she was tackled back down by a force, pinning her back to the mattress. “Abby?” 

“You stupid, stupid girl! How dare you get yourself so hurt again?!” she cried, burying her head in (Y/n) shoulder, trying to hide her sniffles as the girl slowly got up again. 

Sebastian tackled her left side, wrapping his arms around the (Y/n) and Abigail. “You have no idea how much I panicked when you came out like that!” he shouted in frustration. 

“You had us so worried!” Sam said as he hugged (Y/n)’s right side, careful to mind the injury she got. “Never do that again!” he cried out. 

“I lost you once, I’m not losing you again!” Abigail cried. (Y/n) looked at Sebastian, her hand slowly coming up to brush his dark locks.

“At least I saw you at 6, right?” she chuckled, earning a glare from the male. He hit her back, harshly before hugging her again. “Yeah, but that’s NOT what I meant!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry guys,” she laughed lightly as they all clung to her.

The next morning rolled around, and when Harvey walked in, he chuckled at the sight. (Y/n) was laying down since her sides hurt to sit up, Sebastian was sleeping sitting up as he held (Y/n)’s left hand in his own. Abigail was cuddling her on her right, clasping her right arm with both of her own. Sam was similar to Sebastian, but had his arms crossed over his chest.

‘These four really have a special bond,’ Harvey thought, smiling to himself. They didn’t look like young adults anymore, but more like children who wont let their friend go.

Of course, Harvey knew that almost all the singles around (Y/n)’s age suffered from Dissociative Amnesia from extreme trauma as children. And (Y/n) herself has been a victim in the accident that caused it. He knew since he saw her medical records and he looked at her nicely healing scars. But the affect strongest was the ones surrounding her. The sisters just haven’t remembered just yet. 

7 AM rolled around, and (Y/n) stirred to wake up, pulling those around her away from their dream lands too. Harvey had just left the room to set up his clinic for the day. 

Harvey had agreed to let her out, and asked them to keep an eye on the healing girl. Se got 7 stitches and she had to be very careful. Abigail happily volunteered to assist (Y/n) on the farm and Sam and Sebastian would check up on them every so often.

Little did they know, Harvey had taken a photo of the quartet, sending them to their families. Of course, being the lovely mothers they were, they framed the photo and hung it around somewhere in the house.