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yerimbrit · 3 months ago

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i saw a ghost! with MC kkura : m. sakura

synopsis: miyawaki sakura didn't believe in ghosts. but she did believe in friendship—that was why she was sneaking into her old highschool with her friends. but then she gets ditched by the two in the "haunted" unused art room, meeting the resident ghost: you.

# : pairing ! nonidol!miyawaki sakura x ghost!reader

# : tags ! fem!reader, sakura's a second year in college, the other two are freshmen, crack, angst, fluff, contains an uncanny amount of video game mentions, red velvet seulgi cameo, i will personally make it my mission to enforce the luvie sakura agenda in every fic she's mentioned, switches between 2nd and 3rd person sometimes

# : wordcount ! 9.5k

# : warnings ! mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, there's a satanic ritual at the end(?), explores some themes of grief, do not try this at home i made it all up

sakura was a firm non-believer of ghosts.

she thought people who claimed to have seen one were stupid, and were just looking for attention or views or whatever. no, yujin, you did not see a ghost in the corner of your room, because you just came back from the last day of your soccer tournament and you were playing for all three games. obviously your fatigue-clouded, sleep-deprived ass would hallucinate.

"i swear i saw it," her friends would say.

"and i swear you had three exams to study for on that same night," sakura would reply. "ghosts aren't real."

that was precisely what she had told yunjin and chaewon. nevertheless, the two idiots dragged her to the highschool that sakura thought she wouldn't ever have to see again.

she was pushed by yunjin, towards the gate that acted as the first obstacle they'd have to overcome in order to even reach the supposedly haunted room. "unnie, you go first!"

sakura whined, shoving the taller girl in front of her. she didn't believe in ghosts, but the school was still creepy at 3am on the weekend. "we have to jump the gate, you're taller so you should go first!"

yunjin was always the more athletic of the three, followed by chaewon and then sakura. it was times like these where sakura wished she spent a little more time out of her room, and not playing league or overwatch. loser games, as chaewon called them. she only said that because she was bad at them, though.

"but you're the oldest," chaewon added.

sakura was, once again, pushed towards the intimidating black-barred gate. who even used these kinds of gates anyway? it's like, 2024, everyone's went to ring alarm systems and upgraded security systems.

the japanese sighed. she could've been doing anything other than sneaking into a highschool after midnight, like finishing her third playthrough of resident evil 2 or getting her five star island rating in animal crossing. "yunjin, help me out here. you're the tallest, so you should give me and chae a boost, at least."

without warning, she was lifted into the air by the american, causing her to let out a yelp. "damn it, yunjin! i said give me a boost, not give me a death hug!"

"just hurry up and climb the gate!"

sakura grumbled, but obliged. the iron bars were sharp at the ends, so she tried to avoid touching them in fear of stabbing her hands, opting to hold onto the middle parts of the bars and relying on boosting herself up with her feet on the bars placed horizontally. after a few deep breaths, she was able to swing herself over and land on the other side of the gate.

okay. that was kind of sick. sakura felt like she was in mirror's edge or something, envisioning the gate as a tall building and finally feeling good about herself. except that moment was ruined when the two idiots behind her started playing around while trying to get chaewon over. just before she was going to turn around and smack them, they took their places beside her, yunjin and chaewon on her left and right respectively.

and so, they began their mission: find a ghost in the unoccupied art room.

if sakura thought just being outside on campus was creepy enough, being inside the school itself was way creepier. it was dark, too dark inside, and the trio's sole source of light was this dusty old lantern that they had found in chaewon's garage. it flickered on and off half the time. sakura hated it. but yunjin said it added to the "spooky vibe" and despite chaewon's initial protest, she ultimately agreed to use it. damn it, you down bad girl.

"it's so ominous in here," the shorter girl remarked, holding onto the japanese's arm for dear life. yunjin tried to put on a brave face, but her whole body was shaking as she gripped the older girl's sleeve.

"don't worry! i'll p-protect you, chaewonnie."

"you know, you'd sound a little..." sakura grimaced as she heard a cracking noise somewhere in the vicinity, "...more convincing, if you weren't shaking in your boots right now."

eventually, they made it to the supposed art room, and stood in front of the door, waiting. why were they waiting?

"you... you should go in first!"

"yeah, you go in! you've b-been so... undeterred today, unnie!"

"wha—"

thus, she was pushed towards the door, once again. she tried to glare back at the pair, but they looked too scared to even move, so she begrudgingly slid the door open. a cloud of dust puffed up in her face, and she coughed.

"see, was that so ha—what the hell." upon turning back around, yunjin and chaewon were nowhere to be found. she was left in the dust. what great friends! that's fine, sakura's grown. ghosts aren't real. they aren't!

"such friends they are," a cooling whisper tickled her neck. sakura was inclined to agree, before realizing, 'what the fuck. who. is that.'

she snapped her head back so fast it could've given her whiplash, to see a pale face right in front of her.

"jesus fuck!"

the face moved back, giving her room to breathe (not that she could feel anything by its presence besides a ghastly chill) and allowing her to see that the face belonged to a floating figure. actually, it was quite pretty. wait a minute.

"who!?"

ghosts aren't real. they can't be. so why could she see one floating right in front of her? cocking its head to the side with an irritatingly curious expression? there's no way it's a ghost. sakura must've been hallucinating. that's right, yeah! she's definitely hallucinating.

"who are you?"

okay, fuck, it talks. sakura literally can't find anything in her head to try to alleviate the situation. so she does the obvious(?) and humors it. she repeated her intended sentences in her head, praying she doesn't piss it off and die. 'my name is sakura. do you have a name? my name is sakura. do you have a name? my name is-'

...but what comes out, is: "my sakura is name. do you name a have?"

"huh?"

what the hell.

"fuck. fuck, okay. my- um. my name is," she cleared her throat, averting her gaze to the ground. she clutched onto the handle of the flashlight. "my name's sakura... do you, um. do you have a name?"

it floated up, and sakura braced herself. this was not on her 2024 bingo sheet. but then it approached her with a smile. unsettling? more pretty than unsettling. since when were ghosts—or whatever it was—so attractive?

it inched closer to her, and sakura could feel another chilling sensation on her skin. "name? i'm y/n. nice to meet you, sakura. what are you doing here? i haven't seen anyone in ages besides the students during the day, but no one's ever visited me at night."

the way it... no, the way you talked was... refreshing? she expected demands in favor of any of the seven sins, in exchange for her body or whatever, yet your tone was the opposite of that. you sounded... friendly, even.

"um..." should she be honest? sakura never thought she would make it this far unscathed, so... YOLO? "we—me and my friends i mean—heard there was a ghost here. so we came to check it out."

she was still standing at the entrance, unmoving. there was a literal ghost(?) in front of her, after all. "i guess its you...?"

you pretended to think for a moment, resting your chin against your palm. "yeah, that checks out."

a beat of silence followed. you and sakura were just staring at each other, neither of you daring to move a muscle. well, at least sakura dared not to move a muscle. you were freely moving around her, scrutinizing her with your gaze.

"do you want to stay for a bit? i won't hurt you. i mean, i literally can't touch you, so..."

you had a point. but it took sakura more than a few moments to un-freeze herself and take a seat on one of the desk chairs. it was freezing cold in the room, probably due to how long you'd been in here, but it made the shorter girl zip up her hoodie.

sakura averted her gaze to the ground, not wanting to make eye contact. "can i, um... ask you questions?"

unfortunately for her, you appeared inside of the desk, your head popping out so you could forcefully make the japanese look at you. in turn, she yelped.

"ahaha, sorry, sorry. it's just a bit rude to talk to someone without looking at them, no?"

she rubbed at her sleeve. she needed to get out of here, and go home to her endless mountain of stuffed animals on her bed. and maybe cry to wendy's album on repeat.

"sorry," she mumbled. today was not her day.

you nodded and hummed, moving back to "sit" on the desk in front of sakura. "go ahead, then. ask away!"

okay. okay! you can do this, kkura. you were just a ghost. you couldn't do anything to her.

"how long have you been here?"

"three years."

"were you a student here?"

"yeah, i died in the year i was supposed to graduate, which was three years ago." so you were a year older.

"why the art room? did you like drawing?"

you pursed your lips and crossed your legs. sakura felt the cold air pulse in front of her, where you were.

"not really... my best friend did, though!"

"best friend?"

"yeah!" you made to lower yourself from the top of the desk to the chair below. "her name is seulgi. i don't think she's dead yet? maybe you can find her online, or something."

"seulgi... i've heard that name before."

you phased yourself through the back of the chair and in front of sakura again. "you have!? how is she, is she well? i didn't talk to her that much in my last year so i don't know. and i can't really access the internet in this form, so..."

she gulped. "um..."

you gazed at her so expectantly. sakura almost felt bad, she should at least answer your questions.

"i think she's an artist. she recently had an exhibition near my university, it was part of an alumni event," she answered slowly. her skin must've been burning red from the way she was rubbing her sleeve.

you moved back again, now with a serene expression of your face. did that satisfy you?

"i see. thank you."

"..."

you suddenly put on a cheerful smile. it was off putting, but then again, everything about this interaction had been off putting, so sakura wasn't all that surprised anymore. "it's my turn to ask questions, sakura!"

straight to talking informally, huh.

"how old are you?"

the question was unexpected. it made her choke on her spit, and made you scramble around to look for water.

she took a deep breath after regaining her composure, and you settled back down onto the desk. "i'm about to enter my... third year of college."

"so that makes you...?"

"uh, i'm turning 21."

"so you're 20."

"yeah..."

you had an unreadable expression on your face. sakura braced herself. she wasn't lying, though.

"okay! you're sakura..."

"miyawaki."

"you're japanese?"

"mhm."

"cool! miyawaki sakura, 20 years old."

sakura and you stared at each other once more.

"no more questions?"

"nope! did you want me to ask more?"

she stood up from her seat, keeping eye contact. you didn't seem very scary anymore. but more... cute. cute was a fitting word.

"no..."

just in time, her phone buzzed. she fished the device out of her pocket to see hundreds of missed calls and unread messages from yunjin and chaewon. it was also well-past four am.

you floated in front of her, pouting. "you have to go?"

sakura nodded. you escorted her to the door. "visit me soon, 'kay? you're fun to talk to. and super pretty."

that shouldn't have made her blush. although, at least the sentiment was mutual.

"o-okay."

instead of listening to soothing songs that night, sakura found herself listening to wendy's collection of love songs.

fuck, did she have a crush on a ghost?

as per your request, sakura returned to the school the next night. the empty hallways didn't seem so desolate as it did before (the dark combined with flashlights made it seem abandoned, though the school was still running like normal in the day) and she was slowly starting to get used to your... presence.

so she visited the night after that, too. and the night after, and also the night after the last night. and then it became a routine. she'd finish up any work she had to do in the afternoon, which wasn't much since she was on summer break, hang out with yunjin and chaewon (sometimes yujin and wonyoung, too, and on a rare occasion, chaeyeon), and kill some time by playing games before she set out for the school.

if you told sakura she would be sneaking into a school to visit a very pretty scary? ghost, she wouldn't believe you... but here we are now. after hanging out with you for a while, she'd compiled a list of things about you in her mind:

you remembered bits of your life, like things were important to you, sakura couldn't tell if you were lying about not remembering the other things though.

you died three years ago (you were 1 year above her)

you and seulgi were really close (seulgi is two years older than her and one year older than you)

you like listening and watching her play games, even going as far as to add in your own commentary (it makes her blush)

today she was going to bring her switch. she'd been meaning to work on her island in animal crossing, but lately she had been caught up in progressing through persona 3 reload, a game she finally caught on sale and had been waiting for, for ages. (she fucking hated tartar sauce. tart harass. tartarus. whatever.)

she carefully slid the classroom door open, being greeted with a yelp and an excited wave. sakura smiled shyly and switched on the fairy lights she'd brought in a couple of days ago, and walked over to one of the desks to set her bag down.

"hi, sakura!" you floated next to her, briefly hugging her. she shivered due to your chilliness, but patted you on the back. as best as she could, at least.

over the days you worked together to decorate the art room, transforming it into a comfy nook where one could relax and have a light snack. at first sakura felt bad that you had to watch her do all these things, but you insisted that watching and listening to her eat and play games helped you live vicariously through her.

sakura opened the closet in the back to get a bag of honey butter chips. you had mentioned that it was one of your favorite snacks prior to your... untimely death, so she took it upon herself to buy a bunch of them early in the morning.

she popped one in her mouth, closing her eyes at the taste and crunch.

you blinked at her intently, grinning toothily at the college student. "how is it?"

"mmh. very honey buttery," she teased, making you scoff and pout.

"you're not funny, sakura."

said girl gasped in offense, "i think i'm exceptionally funny, thank you!"

"not. funny," you stuck out your tongue. did you think this was a game?

it was fun teasing you, but you always shot back tenfold... it didn't stop her from doing it, though.

"are you playing persona again today?" you asked once she settled down into her regular seat in the back of the classroom. whenever she brought her switch she would be working on her 100% save of persona 5 royal, since she could only play her newly acquired game of the same series, on her computer at home.

sakura took out the device and inserted the animal crossing cartridge, although it was taking a bit to load into the title screen.

she glanced at you from the side. you were sitting on the chair adjacent to hers. (it was an early adjustment, pushing two desks together so you could sit next to each other. something that you suggested, seemed like you were tired of sitting on top of her desk.)

shaking her head, sakura pointed at the screen. "animal crossing. i need to sell my tarantulas to flick today."

you shivered. you hated insects and arachnids, that was another thing that sakura found out about you through a very frightening encounter with a daddy long-legs when she initially opened the dusty closet.

your reaction didn't go unnoticed by the younger girl. her shoulders shook with mirth, laughing at the absurdity of your predicament. you were a ghost. and you were afraid of spiders. and ants, and beetles and bees, when they couldn't see or even touch you.

"don't laugh! any type of spiders or bugs are the bane of my existence, i swear!"

"y/n, the tarantulas are in the game!" sakura wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. she just couldn't believe your fear went this far. hell, she hated them too, but she was safe from the demons in game.

the cold intensified. it seemed to do that whenever you felt a particularly strong emotion. "they're still creepy in game."

"whatever you say, y/n."

she reached for and felt around the inside her bag, looking for nothing in particular, until her hand bumped into a familiar casing. that's right, the camera!

if sakura didn't know any better, she'd have thought it was an ordinary vintage camcorder. but this, this was a special camcorder. she'd been through hell and back to buy it off this random dude she'd found on her college forum.

"a camera?" you leaned in closer, curiosity piqued. sakura felt an icy blow of wind on her cheek from your presence, yet it made her blush. she was afraid the "crush" had turned into a crush.

"not just any camera," she smugly proclaimed. "it's supposed to capture," she made air-quotes, "'ghostly encounters.' or whatever that guy sunoo said."

"i'm not..." you laughed. normally she would've laughed too, but she was dead set on this financial decision. seeing the pure determination on her face, your laughter ceased. "oh, you're serious."

"well, okay. let's test it out, shall we?"

she fumbled with the camera, taking it out of the flap case with caution and flipping the screen open.

this would totally serve as real proof to her friends.

"i literally don't see anything, unnie." yunjin pouted.

yunjin and chaewon sat unamused on sakura's bed. sakura was showing them the footage she had taken a few days ago of a conversation between you and her.

"weren't you the one saying ghosts aren't real all the time? now all of a sudden you're claiming you've even befriended one. we should really stop you from going back, unnie," chaewon deadpanned.

she was right. sakura was saying all that stuff. keyword: was. but she was a changed woman! now that she'd seen it with her own eyes, there had to be a way for her to prove herself. all of a sudden she felt bad for calling out yujin's delusions a few months back. she apologized to yujin in her head.

in her defense, she hadn't checked the footage she had taken at all until now. and not once did it come up in her mind that ghosts... didn't show up on camera. because they were ghosts.

the footage consisted of her making simple conversation with you, asking about your interests and introducing you to the viewers. it then escalated into a shoving contest, and sakura whining about how it wasn't fair that you could have even a slight effect on her (your eerie icy air) while she could just "phase" through your figure. that was what she saw, anyway.

to the two confuddled girls taking up all the space on her neat bed, it was just the girl talking to the air. and fighting the air. and blushing at air.

it was safe to say (to them at least) that miyawaki sakura had officially gone insane from too many nights stayed up this summer. the initial visit to the school at night was only a test of courage to start off the break, but it seemed that abandoning her and therefore failing said test of courage had a bigger effect on the older girl.

sakura huffed.

("can i bring my friends back?"

"huh? uh, sure. video didn't work?"

"no."

"then i'm not sure you think they'd see me if they didn't in the—"

"shut up.)

"why are we back here again," chaewon whined, clutching onto sakura's arm for dear life. they, once again, had brought the huge lantern from chaewon's family garage, even if the older girl had reassured them that their phone lights would be enough. sakura was getting tired of the lingering afterimages.

yunjin made a face as a spider was made visible from their powerhouse of a light source. "sakura-unnie, i swear i believe there's a ghost. even if we didn't see anything... now can we please go back home?"

"sure. i'll keep going and you two can run back. i won't believe that you believe me unless you see her with your own eyes."

finally, that shut them up. with much trouble, (mostly the two college freshmen clinging to sakura's arms) they traversed through the creepy hallway until they reached the art room at the end. sakura could hear some faint humming in the tune of gee by girls' generation, and she smiled to herself. it wasn't your favorite song, but it was the one that got stuck in your head the most.

she turned to the two cowering girls behind her (who had clutched onto each other the moment she broke away from their terrified grasps) and slid open the door.

"hey, sakura!" you waved from a desk in the corner. the girl waved and turned to her friends again, raising an eyebrow.

"do you hear her?"

"h-hear what," chaewon squeaked.

'are you serious.'

sakura stepped into the room, chaewon and yunjin hesitantly trailing behind her.

the american shivered. "is—is it just me or is it way too cold in here."

"that's the ghost!" the japanese desperately exclaimed, shaking the girls back and forth. "she's right there, look, please!"

chaewon looked back at her with an equal amount of desperation in her eyes, though for a completely different reason. "unnie... there's no one there..."

"what!?"

cool air whispered near sakura's ear, making her shudder. "yeah, sakura... there's no one here?" you giggled. she flushed red and turned around to shove you, but her arms went straight through. damn it, why were you a ghost?

"i don't know what happened when we left you, but i just know we should've dragged you back with us!" the tall girl cried out, genuinely worried for her friend. until chaewon started giggling at the sight of sakura fighting the air with her own eyes and they both started giggling together.

eventually, they both calmed down and sat at the desks, though they picked the ones right next to the door just in case they really saw something. chaewon and yunjin explained they couldn't see or hear anything, but it was exceptionally cold in the classroom, more than outside. and when y/n lingered closer to them, the iciness intensified.

unfortunately sakura couldn't stay this time, since the pair's calmness started to wear off and they started getting paranoid again. the older girl's interactions with the "ghost" seemed less entertaining and more... get her a therapist, ASAP.

you took notice of this and convinced sakura to take them home, and that you wouldn't mind.

sakura left with a final grumble, dragging the two by their collars and complaining about them, to them. she was going to get to the bottom of this.

"i just don't understand why they can't see you, why can i see you but not them?"

sakura was sitting at her usual spot, having returned the next night to visit you again. instead of you occupying the seat adjacent to her, however, you decided to sit crisscrossed on top of the desk in front of her.

you pursed your lips, then blew out an icy breath into her face. she frowned. "maybe it has to do with my last wish."

"uh, what last wish?"

"i mean," you sighed. "it's the whole reason i'm stuck here. the dead that remain on earth typically have a last wish that ties them down here, and only someone who meets specific requirements can help them go on to the afterlife. usually the reapers meet those prerequisites, so they help the spirits."

"my requirements would probably be... i don't know, someone who went to school with me, or maybe someone who came looking for specifically me? again, i'm not sure. maybe mine would be easier if i died in a more natural way."

this sparked a tinge of curiosity in sakura. you never really talked about how you died, always managing to avoid the topic and discuss something unrelated. "how did you die?"

"mmh, i jumped off the roof. and splat! i died."

"wha..."

why did you talk about it so casually? were you okay? why did you... what the fuck? maybe... maybe there was a reason you never talked about it? and this was just your way of coping, sakura didn't know. sakura wanted to know, and also know more about you. every bit of information about you that she uncovered stuck to her like glue. her infatuation with you not only as a ghost but also as a person was growing, and she wondered what would've happened if she never agreed to the initial test of courage. she wanted so badly to ask you, but the empathy in her told her not to pry further.

anyway...? reapers? other spirits? there were still ghosts on earth other than you? suddenly sakura didn't seem so ashamed that she spent all day, everyday in her room. but that's besides the point!

"so what's your last wish?"

you tapped your finger against your chin, furrowing your eyebrows. "hmm... i don't remember!"

"huh!?"

"but if i try hard enough, i'm sure it'll come up!"

"y/n..."

now, over the next few days you and sakura pretended like nothing happened. no last wishes, no death talk, just continuing on like before.

sakura, being the nerd tech-wizard she was, managed to get the projector working so she could have a bigger screen than the tiny one on the switch, and also watch films through her laptop, on the netflix account that yunjin didn't know she still had access to.

you figured out how to turn some of the lights in the corridors on, which let you and sakura venture out into the school and have a change of environment. sure, the artroom was cozy now, but sometimes getting out of there was refreshing for you.

"you're so warm, kkura," you murmured, making it appear as if you were laying on her lap where she was sitting at the end of the hallway. the lights flickered every so often, and the raven-haired girl's phone was about to die. they were a tad far from the art room, so when the battery finally ran out they would have to make do with the flickering lights.

she giggled, tapping the cold air where your nose would be. you scrunched up your face in response. "don't lie. can ghosts even feel warmth?"

"no... but i can feel your warmth, promise," you pouted. you were her weakness, really. she wished everyone else could see you but well, was it selfish of her that she was glad she was the only one who could?

sakura looked to the right, where the rest of your body was. huh, your legs weren't visible from this angle.

...wait a minute.

"where are your legs?"

your pout morphed into a frown of confusion, raising an eyebrow at the japanese girl. "huh?"

you then looked down, expecting to prove her wrong and that your legs were as intact as a ghost's legs could be... only to see that the lower half of your body was indeed gone, from the knees down. the rest of your body seemed to fade into nothing.

"huh. my legs are gone," you affirmed. "oh my god! my legs are gone!"

your gaze switched between sakura's equally as afraid face, and your missing legs. then it all became dark. the lights had gone out.

"y/n? y/n! the lights, the lights are... are you there still?"

"yes... the lights went out, so i can't see anything. does your phone still turn on?"

"don't ghosts have some sort of night vision? why can't you—agh..." she tried holding the power button on her phone, but what showed on the screen was the dead battery icon. "fuck."

the lights flickered, and both of your faces lit up in hope, until they went out again. then, the lights ahead flickered, and the pattern repeated. this was like in those dramatic scenes when the lights would turn on whenever you moved the character towards them, except they turned on by themselves. oh shit. she'd have to run quick if she wanted light.

luckily, you thought the same. "kkura, let's run."

and through the ceiling lights that flickered on and off in succession, sakura ran. she could only see you for seconds at a time, when the lights would make you visible, but you were smiling as you lead her through the corridors.

when you finally made it to the (thankfully) still-lit art room, you disappeared. "y/n? where'd you go?"

in fear, she spun around frantically, trying to see if you were anywhere near the classroom. did your last wish get granted and you just disappeared? no, she couldn't live with that. there's no way running through the hallway as if you were in an indie horror game was your last wish. where were you? what if—

"boo."

"jesus—jesus fuck!"

there you were, your knee-less form doubling over in laughter. "y/n, i thought you were gone for real! oh my god!"

"oh my—you should've seen the look on your face! you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"you're laughing. i almost suffered a heart attack from you and you're laughing."

you floated back up to her at eye-level, flashing a crooked grin. "sorry, kkura. but wasn't that fun?"

and, like many other occasions, sakura found herself failing to say no to you.

"i guess."

you were fading away.

it was the thing that happened when ghosts' last wish were granted naturally, not instantaneously like with a reaper. most wished for anyone but a reaper, so they could savor their true last moments left on earth, to fade away into the air and move on peacefully. not to be forcefully flown up to the afterlife, watching their surroundings become smaller as they got further up. it even made some of them queasy. unfortunately for them, only a certain amount of people found peace without the help of a reaper.

similar to when you revealed the truth of your death, you and sakura both chose to ignore how you were fading.

it had gotten significantly less colder than when sakura had first met you. only half your ghost form was visible; your hips down were gone now. sakura tried her best to ignore the gnawing feelings burning in her chest whenever she looked at you.

to alleviate her inner turmoil, she looked into some strategies to destress. this case was at 2 am, on some crappy wikihow articles with silly little illustrations. many suggested reading to relax the mind and body, but that was more of a yunjin thing. so she researched other calming hobbies.

crocheting had become a recent hobby of hers, something to kill time with in the daytime when she wasn't out. it quickly started to become an obsession—she would use every bit of her free time, whether it was during a cutscene in baldur's gate 3, before and after she took a nap, or whenever she wasn't out with friends.

"when'd you learn to crochet?"

sakura looked up to see you staring curiously at her hand movements, fascinated at the way she maneuvered the metal hook like it was second nature. "just last week. it's all i do nowadays."

she focused back to her project, stitching the beige yarn with her hook and occasionally glancing at the pattern on her phone screen. it was true, crocheting was all she did nowadays, added to her routine of gaming and being dragged to hangouts. she brought her crocheting tools everywhere with her, to everyone's complaint.

("pay attention to us unnie!" sakura recalled yujin whining, with wonyoung holding her back with a look of worry. chaewon and the couple had come over to the older girl's apartment, only to be met with her rotting away in her bed with her hook and yarn. it took 20 minutes of begging (yujin and chaewon) and coaxing (wonyoung) for them to finally play wii party.)

"i'm making a hat," she continued, meeting your gaze.

you smiled, resting your elbows on top of the wooden desk and leaning your chin against your palms. "is it for someone special?"

'fuck. how'd you know?' your question automatically led to the bright blush that had settled on her face, burning her cheeks so much that she had to break from your stare.

"i knew it! tell me, tell me!"

well, sakura didn't want to out herself. but then again, she knew you wouldn't give up that easily.

"...it's for you. i thought maybe, you could take it with you, when you... yeah."

"..."

the silence that followed scared the girl. it was the first time your disappearance had been mentioned ever since it was discovered. she hesitantly looked back up, biting her lip.

you blew a gust of cold-ish air at sakura, flashing a toothy grin. she had gotten used to your intense cold, but now it didn't feel any worse than the broken aircon.

"thanks, kkura."

there was something different about the school today. maybe it was because sakura decided to stop by a little earlier than usual, just before midnight. there was a full moon tonight, revealing thousands of stars that were truly a sight to behold. the japanese girl wanted to share the view with you.

the resounding echoes of her footsteps were eerily loud. sakura felt her heart beat in her throat, her palms getting clammy. that wouldn't do, she had to keep the cat-eared beanie in pristine condition—she stayed up countless nights to finish it for you.

it had been three weeks since the initial meeting, but in those three weeks, sakura found herself falling for a ghost. she couldn't get enough of you—at first it was a reaction to your beautiful appearance. in all of the games or movies she had seen and played, ghosts were more... ghastly. you, however, you appeared as a regular human; if your very presence wasn't chilling to the bone, or if you didn't float, she might as well have assumed you were another person looking for the infamous ghost.

and you, the art room ghost, were a spectacle. it was a crime that sakura didn't know about you sooner. maybe if you had met in school all those years ago, this situation would have been incredibly different. you went to the same school, only a year above her, yet you'd left no trace behind.

there were probably rumors floating around about your suicide, yes, but she'd returned to japan for more than six months, starting from the middle of her second year, to the middle of the summer before her third, in which she'd be graduating. it was no wonder she never heard about it. you'd done it a week before you would've graduated, and sakura was gone by then.

you were so bright, curious, relaxed, and frankly, unserious. it contrasted so strongly against the stereotypical, moody ghost, that it also intrigued sakura a copious amount.

sakura found solace in you. simple as that—she couldn't see herself without you now. and she wouldn't know what to do with herself when you would eventually disappear. you were lovely.

as she approached the door of the art room, she felt a sudden chill, before it dissipated into warmth, like a fire lit inside of her gut, burning everything in its way and leaving it in ruins. for the first time, she hesitated, afraid to slide open the door and see you.

the classroom was bathed in the soft, pale light of the moon streaming through the dusty windows, setting a peaceful atmosphere. through sakura's fear-stricken eyes, she could see you, your form reduced to one that she could barely notice if not for her seeking gaze.

"you came," you turned around, a smile on your face. for some reason, your full body was back, but it was more faint than ever. she stepped closer to you, into the light that shined onto the desks. from the front of the room where you were standing, sakura could see all the memories the two of you had made, from the fairy lights to the fixed projector.

she set the beanie onto the wooden surface and bit her lip. "i'm here."

you grinned at the object, tilting your head at the student. "for me?"

a nod.

her eyes gradually filled with tears, threatening to burst out like a dam. "i don't want you to go."

"i know."

the tears burned a trail down sakura's cheeks. she couldn't afford to blink, what if you disappeared in a split second?

you reached out with your hand to cup her cheek, returning her gaze of anguish with a remorseful stare of your own. "thank you for granting my peace. do you want to know what my wish was?"

"what?" the japanese girl choked out. your face was a blurry mess due to the tears that blocked her vision. she wiped them furiously with trembling hands, but to no avail—they just kept coming.

in a slowly timed manner, you cupped her other cheek with your hand and leaned in, planting a cold kiss to her lips that lingered even after you pulled away.

"i finally made another friend."

a pang in the chest. sakura couldn't even respond, too caught up in the moment and feeling every emotion she had ever felt in her twenty years of life, into one jumbled up pile. you were fading; your body becoming more transparent by the second.

"if only... in better circumstances, you know?" you whispered. she swore she could see tears rolling down your cheeks. "we could've been more than that."

the last sakura saw of you that night was your bittersweet smile, fading away into nothingness. the beanie lay untouched on the desk, the fairy lights where she last left it, and the projector ready to play hollow knight on her switch.

she was alone in the art room.

eat. sleep. crochet. repeat. sakura hadn't left the vicinity of her room in two days. living off of shitty top ramen packets and cans of redbull, she didn't even know what she was crocheting. she hadn't logged onto any games either.

miyawaki sakura was lost.

without you, she didn't know what to do. there was nothing waiting for her in the unholy hours after midnight. no one to watch her play games on a school projector. no one to look forward to seeing.

her friends came knocking on her door, letting themselves in but giving up as soon as they saw how far gone she was. she wouldn't budge, only answering with a half-assed "mhm..." or "right..." as she stitched the beige yarn with almost mechanical movements.

the yarn had been continuously weaved into a long, stretching piece, pooling around her as she worked at a depressing yet strenuous pace.

"sakura-unnie..." chaewon tugged at the mourning girl's sleeve. "this isn't healthy..."

"mhm..."

yunjin frowned, almost tearing up at the older girl's pitiful state. "what could've happened to her? she's never done this before."

"maybe it's the ghost?" chaewon turned to look at the blonde, who was sitting on the edge of the black gaming chair. "doesn't look like she's been back there for a while."

sakura tensed. a stray tear made it out the corner of her eye.

"y/n," she murmured, then going back to crocheting.

"is there something we can do, unnie?"

"it's not like we can bring her back, yunjin."

bring you back? bring you back... summoning the dead... would it count if you'd already ascended? no, never mind that. summoning circles... demons... you weren't a demon, you were obviously an angel. occult...

sakura did recall a section dedicated to the occult at the campus library.

she dropped her hook and yarn, getting out of bed and pushing past the two girls, who were clearly bewildered at her actions. she had to go get books.

but that would take forever, wouldn't it?

she strided back into her room, taking hold of the girls' wrists.

"we're going to the library."

"for what!?" chaewon yelped. sakura had a killer grip, unexpected coming from a gamer who was a shut-in most of the time.

"i'm going to bring y/n back."

"you're kidding, right!? that's something in the movies! i—you're not listening..." chaewon groaned.

yunjin wrinkled her nose. "could you at least take a shower first? no offense, unnie, but you smell... it's at least not as bad as passing by the boys' locker room though."

oh shit. she hadn't left her room in two days.

"we're going to the library after."

"witch's handbook... herbs and hexes..."

sakura, having freshly showered and changed into some suitable clothes that weren't just sweats and an old pokémon hoodie, skimmed through a variety of books in the supernatural section of the library. yunjin was surrounded by piles of books on a nearby table, sitting with her face smushed into the wooden surface.

chaewon had been trying as diligently she could to aid the older girl in her search, but most of the books were fiction or sounded... not very promising.

she glanced worriedly to her friend, who was in a manic state. "kkura-unnie, i really don't think—"

"necromancer's manual," the japanese gasped out. she tugged the dusty book out of its placw between two other 'magic' books, and rushed over to where yunjin was dozing off.

the slam of the book echoed throughout the library, which was mostly empty save for librarian who glared over at their general direction. the noise and vibrations it sent through the table woke up the blonde, making her jump to her feet and salute.

"i'm up, ma'am!"

"hey, who are you calling... nevermind."

sakura began reading the faded text printed on the first pages of the book. "the path of a necromancer is one of darkness and... ugh, don't care... approach these teachings with respect, for the dead may not forgive, and the power to summon them is as much a curse as it is a gift."

yunjin and chaewon stood behind her, though not reading the book but crossing their fingers hoping that the older girl gave up and would go back to being the sakura that they know and love. this whole trip to the library she was off in her own world, going on and on about how she was going to get this y/n back. she didn't even tell yunjin to step on the brakes way before she actually had to.

it took them one look at sakura: her widened eyes, the frown that was etched onto her face. she was about to do something crazy. something that might kill her if it succeeded. but they're not sure if she was even thinking about such things; sakura was clouded with a mix of emotions so strong that she seemed like a whole new person.

it was almost as if she were reborn.

step one: gather your materials. to summon the dead is a perilous task, and to do as such is a path filled with trouble. fret not, for you have made it this far, and backing out is always viable if need be.

below is a list of materials that will aid you. note that these are suggestions, and if you are to rekindle specifics, these may not apply.

chalk, to draw the main summoning grounds in the form of a standard pentagram

five palm wax candles

sea salt, to be sprinkled around the circle

parchment and a quill or other utensil, for the person's name to be written on and burned as the finalization of the ritual

one white lily

an object dear to the person

of course, there were extra measures needed to be taken for sakura to fully do this. the amount of shady wikihow tutorials she pulled up was alarming. it wasn't her fault though. what if she messed up while drawing the pentagram? and where the hell would she get palm wax candles? ordering online would take too long. so... she called up her good friend and little sister of chaewon: eunchae.

eunchae had many connections. all it took was a few texts and the younger girl had showed up to her apartment, kyujin in tow, with a box of premium palm wax candles. they looked to be very expensive, but with whatever witchery eunchae did, she only had to pay a whopping... nothing at all, actually. thank god for eunchae.

sea salt, chalk, and the white lily were easy to obtain. she had sea salt from her kitchen, chalk that she never gave back to yunjin, and went to go buy a single white lily from the florist next to the local bookstore which was famous for housing four cats.

the parchment was slightly harder to find, but she managed it by stopping by some antique store that was dustier than chaewon's garage. as for the quill... well, a fountain pen was close enough, right? whatever. sakura didn't have much time left, the only thing left was to get something that meant a lot to you... but what could it be? you didn't talk much about your own life in general, at least the important bits. but you did talk about your best friend sometimes.

best friend...

kang seulgi, the prodigy. admired by many, though some thought her as enigmatic. she had an impeccable fashion sense, was incredibly selfless, and was absolutely stunning.

but out of all people, she chose to spend most of her time with not only an underclassman but quite frankly the quietest one. the girl, y/n, chose to work alone in every group project—no one knew why the teachers let her get away with it. whenever she did talk to someone, they could barely hear her. so when one of the most popular students in school approached her, everyone was shocked.

they were quick friends. eventually they were seen everywhere together, especially in the art room. seulgi would paint or draw, and y/n would watch. sometimes the younger would be the model, and sometimes she would lounge around on her phone while eating honey butter chips.

seulgi and y/n talked about anything and everything. from the interesting topics of the day like the substitute teacher in the second years' history class, to the most mundane things like a slight change to the lunch menu. they were glued by the hip; one would never be seen without the other.

of course, this changed when seulgi graduated. y/n became as isolated as ever, always having a sullen look on her face. she spent her last year with minimal interactions with others, disappeared during lunch breaks, and rarely attended school events.

and... eventually she couldn't take it anymore. during lunch, she went up to the rooftop, slipped off her shoes, and started freefalling.

sakura did not know of this information. but she did know one thing: seulgi probably held her best friend's most precious item. or at least knowledge of it. she was going to revive that stupid idiot no matter what it took.

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] hello ms. kang seulgi, i would like to schedule a meeting with you. it is not for a commission, but something very personal. i know we have not yet met, but i need you to consider my request. i need to ask you a question about someone you were very close with in your high school years. someone by the name of y/n. best regards, miyawaki sakura

"good morning."

"...good morning," seulgi hesitantly greeted, taking a seat across sakura in a rather quiet coffeeshop. "so, you need to ask me about y/n?"

the japanese raised her eyebrows. she was straight to the point, but it saved her some time. "yes. look, you may not believe me, but i met her as a ghost some time ago, but i was the only one who saw her. and long story short, she disappeared into thin air and i need to bring her back."

to no one's surprise, seulgi was narrowing her eyes at her. "um, you mean to tell me that the girl that i heard killed herself, came back as a ghost that only you could see, suddenly disappeared again?"

"yeah."

"ms. miyawaki, was it?"

"that's me."

"...have you been to therapy?"

well, fuck. how was she supposed to explain herself?

she started by explaining how she met the ghost. the haunted school rumor, the first conversation, the daily meetups, and the like. it was a lengthy explanation, one that had the artist furrow her eyebrows at every passing second. but sakura was willing to do whatever it takes, even if it cost her dignity.

surely seulgi held the key.

seulgi frowned, drumming the pads of her fingers against the table. "what does this have to do with me?"

"i'm going to attempt a summoning. y/n has meant too much to me in such a short time, and it will cost my entire being if i can't see her again," sakura stated, a raging mania storming her eyes. she crossed her legs and clasped her fingers together. "i need something that was important to her. and i believe you, kang seulgi, are in possession of whatever it is."

"and what if i do have it? interfering with the dead is ridiculous, even if you told your story," a flash of hurt passed, her face remaining solemn yet sorrowful. "is this what y/n... would've wanted?"

sakura's eyes widened. would you want her to do this? no, never mind that. "we can't ask. y/n died without accomplishing what she wanted most. don't you want her to achieve her dreams?"

the drumming paused. "...and if i don't have it?"

"then i swear on my life that i will get that item no matter what."

"i couldn't back then, but... will you take care of her?"

"one hundred percent."

"..."

"thank you," sakura collected the envelope and stood up from the chair, the metal legs screeching against the floor. "and i'm sorry. i love her. and i know you did too."

seulgi stayed in her seat, reflecting on actions that she couldn't reverse. ones that could not be reversed because they were never done in the first place.

if she had reached out, would this turn out differently? was she right to trust this stranger who claimed to know your name?

she stood from the metal chair with shaky legs, and walked out.

dear seulgi,

it's me. i just want to say that i'm sorry. i should've kept contact with you before it was too late. i know you're going to say it was never going to be too late, but i can't take it anymore.

every second passes by and everyone looks at me with such a look of pity. at first they asked me where you were, before realizing you graduated and laughed it off. i can't laugh it off, you were my other half. my best friend. it was always y/n and seulgi, seulgi and y/n.

nowadays i spend all of my spare time in the art room or somewhere outside. they don't use the art room anymore, you know? said they ran out of budget to support the art department, and shut it down. i buy whatever's left at the school store and eat in there.

i'm tired. i can't wait another year or whatever just so i can see you again. we haven't talked. i miss you.

i'm graduating next week.

i think i'm going to die before then.

- y/n

the candles were set up. she had to pull up the wikihow article for the pentagram, but regardless, it was done. the sea salt was sprinkled and the parchment was prepared. she set the letter in the center, along with the white lily.

eyes devoid of emotion, she took a deep breath, and let the parchment burn. the crackling sounds were crisp to her ear, reminding her that it was too late to turn back.

"and with this offering..."

she's reminded of the memories you made together. the gaming sessions, conversations, and your departure. the you that she met was so different from the one in the letter.

"i seek to reforge a bond with thee."

the explorations after turning the lights on, and how the last one was the introduction of something that would take you away.

"within these sacrificial flames, i humbly ask thee to appear before mine eyes."

bow down. once, twice. she felt the heat of the candles on her cheeks. they were emitting the only source of light in the classroom.

and now, you were to appear before her. or so she thought. instead, she was faced with nothing. not a sound—the windows were shut along with the curtains and the door was closed.

sakura remained bowed down. squeezing her eyes shut and denying that all of this was fake. denying that it was, indeed, all for naught. denying that her friends were right and seulgi was right and everyone was right and she wasn't.

blinded by her guilt and grief, for someone who was peacefully resting now. she would return to her apartment and go back to her normal life, whether she liked it or not. the pool of yarn was still sitting on her bed, the beanie on her desk.

she would also have to apologize to everyone she knew. yunjin and chaewon, who were only concerned for her well being but were dragged into the preparations.

seulgi, who she hunted down and persuaded to give up what could've been the last she had of you.

a wet substance dripped down her cheek and onto the creaky, wooden floor. and another drop joined the first, and then it came in a steady flow.

you wouldn't have wanted this.

you would've wanted her to move on. and be happy that the short relationship even happened.

you wouldn't have wanted her to drown in grief, then be consumed by mania in an attempt to desecrate the laws of the world.

you would've wanted her to remember you. not bring you back.

sakura ruined whatever trust you had in her. disrespected your death, and your disappearance. she didn't know how she was going to atone for the dents she made in other lives.

her sleeves were now soaked in tears. her nails broke the skin of her palm and she bled. indents of the wrinkles of her pants were left on her knees.

sakura pushed herself off the ground, only to be flung by an inexplicably powerful gust of wind. it sent her crashing into the desks, her head spinning and unable to begin to comprehend what was happening. the curtains were forcefully ripped off from the impact of the wind, allowing the late night brightness seep into the classroom.

a trail of blood slid down from her forehead. a headache pounded into her temple. she closed her eyes for a split second and saw her late grandpa.

her mind was clear as mud, even as the door slid open. she slowly turned her head to the entrance, mouth falling agape.

someone very, very familiar.

sakura's mouth opened and closed, unable to form any words.

the girl furrowed her brow and adjusted her uniform skirt, looking around at the mess in the art room. her gaze eventually landed on sakura, who was crumpled on the floor, leaning against the desks which were scattered from her fall. she was bleeding from her head, which added to her confusion.

she tilted her head, her nametag glinting in the moonlight. slowly stepping forward and towards the bleeding girl and poking her unbloodied cheek. "who are you?"

the familiar girl's touch was warm. sakura's throat became dry, a fresh batch of tears flowing down her cheeks.

"y-y/n..."

a/n : hello!!! so sorry for the wait :) this was longer than i thought, and much deeper than i originally intended but oh well. thank you for reading until the end 😁

#miyawaki sakura x reader #sakura x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim #le sserafim imagines #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #le sserafim sakura #miyawaki sakura #gxg

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alloftheimagines · 2 years ago

Text

joel miller | survive

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+! not for minors! please please please read the warnings and skip this one if you're uncomfortable with the subject matter.

episode eight reimagining with the same hard-hitting themes: blood, violence, cannibalism, sexual assault, killing, abduction, vomit. reader takes the place of ellie. angst. hurt/comfort. no happy ending as requested because i wasn't sure that could exist in these circumstances, but there is now a part two where joel takes care of reader and the fic ends on a lighter note.

prompt: Hi! Would love to request something for Joel Miller 🥰 Angst but with a happy ending, after seeing episode 8 I thought maybe reader is with Joel and Ellie, but this time Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped and is the one Joel basically comes back from the dead to save? hahshxdjfbf I just imagine them reuniting and UGH 🥹❤️ Feel free to ignore this if inspiration doesn’t strike!

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

You’re terrified of losing Joel. So terrified that instead of watching him shiver and sweat on an old, bloodied mattress as his infection spreads, you opt to go out and hunt. It isn’t solely selfish. You need food, and Ellie needs to rest. At least this way you’re doing something productive rather than waiting for a miracle.

Still, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the knot in your stomach, the one that keeps asking “what if?” What if Joel doesn’t make it? How will you survive past that grief for long enough to keep Ellie safe? How will you go back to Jackson and tell Tommy that his brother is gone?

You’re lost in those thoughts when you hear the crunching of snow, and you try to shake them away, readying Joel’s shotgun as you search for the source.

A deer. It’s so beautiful that for a second, you forget that it’s supposed to be your next meal. You’d forgotten beauty still existed in a world so broken, forgotten that nature can still be kind.

But humans can’t. Not if you want to survive; not if you want Joel to survive.

You take a deep breath. Adjust your posture. Shoot.

The bullet doesn’t hit where you want it to; where you know you should have been aiming if only you weren’t so distracted. The deer darts away. Whispering a curse, you follow the trail of blood —

And find more than you bargained for. Two men wait with the dying deer at their feet. They look… clean. Comfortable. Not people struggling to find food or clothing. You raise your gun again immediately, and theirs point back at you.

“Put your guns down,” you order, trying to sound braver than you feel. You did alright before Joel came into your life, but it’s been a while since you’ve been alone and it’s hard to summon the strength that used to come so easy.

“You first,” the darker-haired man says, narrowing his gaze.

The fairer man glances warily before slowly lowering his. Good. At least one of them is smart.

“Not going to happen. On the ground. Kick it away.” You shift on your feet, gripping your gun tightly and readying your finger on the trigger. You don’t enjoy killing people, but you will if you have to. If it means getting back to Joel and Ellie.

“James,” the unarmed man says, calm authority firm in his voice. The one in charge, then. “Do as she says.” He holds up his hands in surrender as his friend, James, finally puts his gun away. “We mean no trouble. We’d just like to talk.”

“So talk,” you bite out, making no move to lower your own gun.

“Alright.” His breath is visible in the cool air, nose pink and runny. “My name is David. This is James. We’re from a town just south of here.”

“Good for you. Maybe you should go back now.”

An amused smirk twitches at his mouth. “Thing is, we have a lot of mouths to feed down there, and this deer… it would keep us going for a week. Maybe two.”

“Shame it isn’t yours,” you say.

A short sigh escapes him. “Right. It is a shame. But if I could offer you warm shelter and good food, a welcoming community, why couldn’t we share?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not interested in negotiating.”

“With all due respect, ma’am… as far as I can tell, you’re all alone in these woods. There’s no reason why you have to be.”

It’s clear the other man, James, isn’t in on David’s kind offer. His mouth is pursed in a thin line, jaw grinding as though he’s holding back from saying something. Welcoming community, my ass.

Still, an idea strikes. You need something else more than you need the deer, and if this town has supplies… “You have medicine in this town of yours?”

David hesitates before dipping his head. “We do.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Yes…”

Hope swells in you for the first time since Joel was injured.

“If you put the gun down, we’d be much more open to discussing what it is you need,” he continues. “Please?”

Gulping, you slowly lower your gun — but you keep it in your hand just in case, stomach still filled with unease. Not every settlement will be like Jackson, and there’s something… off about these two.

“If you get me that medicine, you can have the deer.”

“We can do you one better. We have a nurse down in the village who can help you with your injury. If you just come with us…”

“No,” you say. “You’ll bring the medicine here, to me.”

Another strange smile. “You’ll be much more likely to survive the winter if you let us help you.”

Impatient, you raise your gun again. “Bring it or stop wasting my damn time.”

David lifts his hands again. “Okay. Alright. James, go and fetch what the lady needs.”

“David—” James begins to protest, but is quickly cut off.

“Go on now.”

Reluctantly, he does, and then it’s just the two of you.

“I know a place you can get warm,” he offers. “It’s just through the trees. An old greenhouse. No need to wait out here in the cold.”

It makes your gut twist, how he seems to be determined to get you moving, to take you out of these woods. And there’s a glint in his eye, something untrustworthy there — even his right-hand man seemed to see it. Nobody follows orders like that with pure reasons. He’s… scared, or at least threatened.

“I’m fine just here.”

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“I’m the one holding a gun, which means I’ll be the one asking questions. How many people are there in this town of yours?”

“Forty. Like I said, there’s room for one more. Perhaps it was God’s will, us meeting today.”

Oh, good, you think. He’s a God botherer. You didn’t particularly subscribe to religion before the world turned to shit, and you sure as hell have better things to do than pray now.

“Unless you’re not alone.” His voice seems to lower as though he knows something, and you stiffen instinctively. “Is the injury yours?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He no longer seems to be staring down the barrel of your gun, but right into you. “Because a few of our men had some trouble a few days ago. A man, a woman, and a young girl. Man was thought to be badly injured, you see. If he lived… well, I’d imagine that kinda wound would be susceptible to a nasty infection.”

He knows. He always knew. The raiders you crossed paths with, the ones who hurt Joel…

You no longer feel like the one holding the gun. You feel like the deer bleeding on the snow between you. Prey. Still, you set your chin. “I don’t know what you mean. I travel alone.”

“See, I believe you, but the thing is… my friend, James… he’s not so certain. I’d imagine that once he comes back with that medicine, he’ll be rounding up a few men to go hunting for these people. If what you’re saying is true, I wouldn’t want you to be caught in the middle of that. That’s why it’s much safer you just come with me now, see?”

Your upper lip curls into a warning snarl, finger twitching on the gun’s trigger. But if you kill him, you won’t get Joel’s medicine. You’ll lose him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Hmm.” He debates this. “There’s a third option.”

“Not interested.”

“I think you are,” he pushes. “I think you’re one of them, and I think you’re trying to help your man. Very noble, but strange. You don’t seem a good match. You’re so… young, so calm, and from what I hear, he’s dangerous. Ruthless, even. A cold-blooded killer. Maybe if you come into town with me now, we can arrange for that medicine to be delivered without my brigade charging in and doing some damage. There’s a place for you. Your daughter, too. You don’t need to be tied to him anymore.”

You want to scoff, or else laugh in his face. Does he believe you’re that simple, that stupid? Does he believe you’re a fucking damsel in need of saving?

Anger simmers in you at the thought. “I think it’s about time you shut up.” You point the barrel at his head now, right between his brows.

He doesn’t balk, doesn’t tremble, doesn’t so much as blink, and you’re beginning to understand. He’s the type of man who uses religion to veil whatever monster lies beneath. He isn’t some small-town do-gooder, though he might believe it.

You dread to think what he might be capable of.

“I think it’s about time you drop your weapon.” The voice doesn’t belong to David. It comes from behind along with the feeling of cold metal against the back of your skull. You risk a glance over your shoulder to see the man from before, James. You should have heard him creep up, should have seen, but you were so focused on the one in front of you.

Your heart thunders as you realise you might not get out of it this time.

“We only want you to come with us,” David says, eyes round with feigned innocence. “That’s all. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“The gun to my head says otherwise. What would God say about this?” you retort, dripping venom because it’s all you have left.

A strange sadness crosses David’s face. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Before you can pull the trigger, something heavy slams into your skull, and then darkness swallows you whole.

***

You wake in a cage, the taste of blood on your tongue and your wrists bound by rope. David is on the other side of the bars in what looks to be a kitchen, utensils hanging on the wall. Great butchers’ knives and cleavers wink at you in the watery daylight. You go cold with fear, crawling to the furthest corner of the cage.

“Let me go,” you say. “Let me go!”

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good,” he says. “You were corrupted, but I can help you see the light again.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re choking on a sob, thoughts of Joel and Ellie running through your mind. What if they found them? Joel is in and out of consciousness and Ellie can’t fight on her own.

David curls his fingers around the bars. “It’s God’s will. I was meant to meet you today. This is where you’re supposed to be.”

“In a fucking cage?” you spit, voice echoing around the kitchen. You pull at the rope until your skin splits, crying out when you realise this is it. There’s no way out. You’re trapped, and you have no idea what this man truly wants with you.

“This is merely a precaution,” he says. “I was wrong about you before. You are dangerous too. You have a dark heart, just like me. If you would just surrender, you could be part of this community.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, clamping down on a plea. You doubt it will do any good. Still, tears roll down your cheeks. “Fuck you,” you whisper.

“You don’t understand yet. You will.” David takes a step back, and somehow the prospect of him leaving you here causes your stomach to turn to water.

“Don’t do this,” you say. But he walks away with a glint in his eye that promises he will be back, and you’re left alone.

Dizziness rattles through you as you pull yourself onto your feet, testing the sturdiness of the bars in hopes you’ll find a weak spot. But it’s padlocked closed and the screws are in tightly —

Something catches your eye, pale and fleshy on the kitchen tiles.

An ear.

In the kitchen.

You vomit without warning as it all comes together. You wonder if the community even knows that their leader feeds them people. Wonder who was last in this cage and how long it took for them to become a meal.

You scramble against the ropes again and pray — not to whatever fucked up God David worships, but someone — that you find a way out.

***

“Joel!” Ellie shakes him frantically and finally he comes to. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his face drawn and pale, but he finally ate something earlier and she’s been keeping him hydrated as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Now, he frowns and hums in question.

“Y/N isn’t back. She didn’t come back, and now people are here.”

The sound of shuffling outside is only growing louder, and she keeps her voice to a whisper as fear grips her. It’s not like you to go more than two hours without checking in, even if you haven’t caught anything for dinner yet. That four hours have passed means something is wrong, and Ellie doesn’t know what to do, how to find you. She needs Joel. She needs you.

“What?” Joel struggles to sit up, the mattress groaning under his weight as he clutches his injured stomach. But he’s alert, awake, and that’s better than he’s been in days.

“She isn’t back,” Ellie says again, voice trembling now. “Someone’s here, Joel. They know about us.”

Understanding clears through the fog in his eyes slowly, and he looks up as he hears the floorboards creak above. “Shit,” he curses, dragging himself slowly to his knees. Ellie watches, pulling out her own gun. “Hide somewhere. Let me deal with it.”

He’s in no fit state to deal with anything, but when Ellie protests, he shushes her and orders her to do as he says, so she does. And as he readies himself for a fight he can’t win, panic rushes through him. You’re not back. Somebody is here.

He’s failed again, or at least is about to, and this time it’s you he’s afraid to lose.

He summons that anger when the silhouette slowly stalks down the stairs. Summons it a lot more when he’s throwing an arm around the idiot’s neck to squeeze the life out of him.

***

Joel has forgotten his injury. He’s forgotten anything but you; the thought of you alone, in danger, afraid. His fingers curl into fists at his side, and when the attacker finally rouses, he orders Ellie to leave the room. He doesn’t want her to see what comes next; who he becomes when he’s trying to protect the people he loves.

Nausea twists through him, but it mingles with anticipation. Some sick excitement. He’s good at being violent. Better at being vengeful.

“Where is she?” he asks, voice just steady enough to be assertive.

The attacker mumbles something, and Joel’s patience quickly dwindles.

“Who are you?” he asks, louder now.

The attacker shakes his head. Doesn’t want to play.

Joel brandishes his knife.

The attacker’s eyes widen in fear as he presses the point into his finger, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach. “You want to do this the hard way?”

“I'm not telling you anything.”

Joel tilts his head and clenches his jaw. Then in one swift motion, he’s gripping the arms of the chair the attacker is tied to, quivering with anger as he towers over him. “Last chance.”

The attacker purses his lips, and Joel steps back, watching him sink in relief — relishing in that false sense of security. Then he throws the first punch, the impact of fist to jaw singing through his bones. He shakes out his hand, punches again. Blood splatters, but he goes again twice more just for good measure, growing weaker with every blow. He stops when he realises that, knowing he needs to conserve his energy to get to you.

“Where the fuck is she?” he bellows.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

He plunges the knife into the attackers knee, the sound of bone crunching and flesh squelching as blood dribbles down his jeans and the attacker cries out. That’s when he begins to beg. That’s when Joel knows he’ll tell him anything.

“Alright!” he’s whimpering. “Alright, please!”

“Tell me where she is or I swear to god, I’ll pop you’re fucking kneecap off.” Joel drives the blade deeper, thirsty now. Desperate. He can’t do this without you. He needs you safe. If he finds out you’re hurt…

“With David!” he blubbers. “She’s with David in town!”

“What tooooown?” (oh, you thought I wouldn’t?)

“Silver Lake!”

“Who the fuck is David and what does he want with her?”

“He…” the man chokes on his own sobs again, and Joel tugs on the knife, earning a piercing scream. “I don’t know what he wants, okay? He’s the leader! He… he took to her, I don’t know!”

A chill crawls down Joel’s spine and his vision blurs as he pauses. His blood-drenched fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know how to make them stop. “What do you mean, he took to her?”

The man spits out blood. “He likes her. Wants her to join him. I don’t know, man. I don’t know. I told you everything.”

Joel wants to tear him apart then and there, but he pulls out his map, yanking the knife from the man’s knee to put the hilt in his mouth. The attacker howls, tears streaking down his cheeks. Joel wants to tell him he’ll do a lot fucking worse if he finds you harmed. He wants to say a lot of things, but cotton fills his mouth and he needs to find you. He needs to stop wasting time. “Point it out to me.”

“It’s not a real town. It’s just a fucking community. I don’t know.”

Joel grips the man’s collar, and his voice falls deathly low. “Point it out to me or I’ll make sure your other knee matches.”

It’s enough motivation for the attacker to pinpoint a spot. His blood stains the map, highlighting a small valley between the forest and mountains.

Joel puts the map in his back pocket and slits the man’s throat before he can beg for his life. He’s not feeling merciful today.

***

David comes back for you an hour later. “Have you reconsidered?”

You only glare at him, your wrists bloody and your eyes gritty from so many shed tears. To your surprise, he unlocks the cage. Despite your better instinct, you stay seated, stay calm. You won’t get out of this if you try to run now. He has the upper hand, and you’ll let him have it, hoping his arrogance, his underestimation of you, will be his downfall.

“You must be hungry,” he says. “Come. Let me show you what I can offer.”

Shakily, you rise from the ground. “Will you at least untie me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He leads you out of your kitchen. When he’s not looking, you lean your back to the table and snatch an abandoned knife, slipping it up your sleeve.

The front of the building is laid out like an old, cheap restaurant and bar, candles burning and booths lining the windows.

“I’m glad you’ve calmed down,” he says. “Now we’ll get a chance to know each other properly.”

Slowly, you begin to saw at the rope with the knife as he leads you to a booth. Two plates are set at the table, a candle lit in the middle, and you think about the ear on the floor. Wonder if the meat in the stew is not animal, not your deer. You want to throw up again, but you swallow down the bile in favour of relief: the rope has snapped. You keep your hands behind your back as you shuffle in your seat, trying to avoid looking at the meal. The smell of it makes your stomach turn.

“What do you want from me?” you ask finally.

David places a napkin on his lap. “I’m showing you hospitality. Hospitality you haven’t earned, might I add. Where is your gratitude?”

“Where the fuck is my medicine?”

Without warning, he stands and slaps you, and you can’t control your anger as the sting prickles along your cheekbone. You throw your plate at him, the food splattering his face and staining his shirt, and then you run.

A mistake. He hauls you back quickly, and the two of you topple to the floor as he slams your wrist down, forcing the knife away. He pins your hands and then straddles you, and you know what comes next. You know, and you shouldn’t, and this isn’t happening.

“You need to be taught some manners,” he croons, taking your chin in his hands. “A girl like you… you need to learn how to submit. Especially when we’re married. But don’t worry.” He leans down as you squirm, whispering into your ear, “We have time for that.”

“No!” You shout, slapping him away and doing your best to wriggle away. But he’s heavy on top of you, and he’s reaching for his belt, and there’s no way out. No hope. Nothing. “Get the fuck off me, you sick bastard!”

He slaps you again, lash twice as hard this time, and you taste blood.

You refuse to let it end like this. You refuse to let him destroy you. You let your body go slack as he unbuckles his belt, reaching out a hand and scrambling for the knife again. It’s under a chair not far from you — you just have to wriggle a little further.

“It’s sad that you can’t accept that this is how it’s supposed to be. This is God’s will. You and me… we’re the same, underneath. We have the same violent heart,” David is muttering, and there, your fingertips brush the hilt. Determination renewed, you extend yourself again and this time the knife falls into your hand.

You don’t have time to think; he’s unbuttoning his jeans, and like hell are you going to spend another moment beneath him. You drive the knife straight into his neck, and his eyes bulge as he gurgles on his own blood. As he goes limp, you push him off you — and stab again, again, again, spitting every bit of revenge into your movements as his blood covers his skin and your clothes.

“You twisted fucker!” you’re yelling, tears rolling down your face as the shock draws in, the disgust. He’d been so close to taking you. So close to making you a victim after so long spent fighting to be a survivor. “Go to fucking hell!”

You only stop when the fear numbs and you realise he’s no longer moving. Blood soaks both his shirt and yours, and you push yourself off him. His dead, milky eyes stare at you. When you catch a candle guttering in your periphery, you grab it. Crouch with it in your hand. Light him on fire. The flames spread along his clothes, and that’s how you leave him.

Ashes. Bloodied, dead ashes.

***

Joel and Ellie have fought their way through a blizzard. He’s surprised he’s still upright, but he saw bodies hanging in the stable and he can’t collapse now. Not for Ellie, and not for you. This community is built on something worse than infected or fascism, and when he found your jacket, your backpack, in that same room as the corpses…

He can’t see anything but red and white.

Ellie stops behind him suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He catches his breath, looking around. There’s a long building close by, but he hasn’t seen any movement yet.

A scream rents through the air, and he knows it’s you. His heart picks up, stomach plummeting as he runs around to find the entrance. And there you are, collapsing out of the doorway.

He says your name as he catches your wrist, and you instantly cower away, screaming. “Please, no! Please, don’t!”

He’s never heard you beg for anything before, and his world tilts on its axis. What the fuck have they done to you?

“Baby, it’s me!” He draws you close, cupping your jaw with his palms. Your eyes are haunted, face pale, and there’s blood. So much blood. You’re still fighting him, pushing on his chest, and he stumbles back. “It’s me. Look at me. It’s me, darlin’. It’s Joel!”

Your breaths are ragged as realisation finally dawns across your features. “Joel,” you whisper.

“It’s me,” he says again, eyes filling with tears.

Your gaze moves to Ellie, and only then do you crumple. He catches you just before you fall to your knees, straining against his injury. “Oh, baby. Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

Sobs wrack through you and he wraps his arms around you, holding on so tight he worries he might hurt you. But you clutch his shoulders just as hard, fingernails digging through his coat. You shake beneath him, and his own tears drip onto his cheeks. He pulls away quickly to look you up and down. Blood streaks through your hair.

“Where are you hurt, baby? Tell me where it hurts.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know, Joel. I don’t…”

It’s like you’re not even here with him, and he wants to break. But he has to stay upright for you. He has to be strong for you. He shrugs his coat off quickly and puts it around you, catching sight of your reddened wrists as you adjust the collar. Those bastards tied you up. Hatred drowns him, and he looks at the building you emerged from only to find orange flames flickering in the window. It must have been you, he knows, and he can at least feel proud of you for that, but still, the thought of what they might have done...

“Alright. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He pulls you to his chest, offering his other hand out for Elllie. She takes it, looking shaky as she carries both her bag and yours.

“They were… They were eating people, Joel,” you say, voice thick and unrecognisable. “I just wanted to get medicine, and they took me. They took me. They were eating people and he was going to… He wanted…”

“I know,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know.”

You stop without warning. “They said they had medicine. You… We have to go back.”

“No, no, hey.” He laces his fingers through yours. “We ain’t going back there for anything.”

“The infection—” you protest.

“Look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I just needed to rest is all. We don’t need any medicine now. We just need to get you somewhere safe.” His heart pangs. The fact you’ve been through hell and are still willing to go back to help him… sometimes he wishes you weren’t so damn selfless. He should have been the one protecting you today. It’s his fault you’re here. His fault you’re hurt.

You scrape your hair back and then, looking at your shaky fingers, seem to finally see all the blood. “His blood is in my hair.”

He can at least be relieved it isn’t your own, but the look on your face… he’s never seen so many scars written in one expression.

“I need to get it out. I need…”

“We’re gonna. We’re gonna help you clean up soon, okay?” He tucks your hair away, lost, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Doesn’t know how to make it all go away. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His voice cracks.

Your chest heaves with a stifled sob as you rub your hands and look out towards the lake. “Oh, god.”

Joel closes his eyes, wrought with regret. At his side, Ellie turns her gaze to the floor. It’s his worst fear come true. The reason he’d tried to get Tommy on board with taking Ellie the rest of the way.

He’d failed again. Was always failing.

All he can do is hold you close as you fall apart.

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torukmaktoskxawng · 1 year ago

Text

'anla - part seven

Series Masterlist Summary: The next generation is getting ready to complete their Iknimaya. Ao'nung and Y/n aren't exactly hiding, but people are finally noticing. Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader Warnings: Mature language, overprotective parent, heated arguments, heated gazes (in a sexy way), fluff, coming of age, mentions of mating, mentions of drowning and death, etc posted on ao3 Word Count: 8k+ Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic Na'vi Words: Marui - house/pod, ilu - plesiosaur like animal, tulkun - whale like animal, skxawng - moron, akula - shark like animal, olo'eyktan - clan leader, ma'yawntu - my love, paskalin - honey, syulang - flower, tìyawn - love, tsahik - spiritual leader, tswin/kuru - queue braid, tsakarem - tsahik in training, tsurak - skimwing, ikran - mountain banshee, tsaheylu - the bond, swoa - intoxicating beverage, oel ngati kameie - I See you, ma'yawntutsyìp - my darling, nantang - viperwolf, ma'ite - my daughter, taronyu - hunter Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @bangtanxberm @aonungmyaddiction @lv9su @aisselasstuff @yourusername1 @amortencjja @king-julian6201 @gg-trini @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @mikeyswifie @heart-an0n @iloveavatar @urdads-gf @kentfisherswifee6 @sakurayuki8655-blog @ken-zah @nilrilie @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @iovemoonyy @sopluto @frvv A/N: Two chapters in just two days??? Anyway, like I said the last chapter, I had to split my writing into two parts since it was getting to be over 10,000 words, so here is the next part!

The trip back to the village was a quiet one, Y/n's mind still reeling about her conversation with Neteyam. Jake thankfully didn't ask and acted as a pillar of strength when they returned home. He made one look at Neytiri and she opted out of saying anything, gladly letting her husband and her daughter return to the marui but not before she held them both in her arms out of relief that things would be alright between them. Y/n went to bed early, exhausted from all of the events of the day that resulted in the grief come bouncing back. If she woke up in the middle of the night to find herself in a cuddle pile of both Na'vi and human siblings, she didn't mention it, and none of the Sullys made any comments the following morning. Everyone was just happy that bonds were mending and hearts were healing. They were one step closer to feeling like a family again.

Lo'ak was visibly more comfortable walking beside Y/n that morning, knowing that she and their father had talked, and was happy to no longer walk on eggshells around either of them. Y/n appeared more relaxed as well, despite receiving some odd-looking glares from nearby Metkayina girls. To ignore the stares and lighten the mood a little more, Y/n shoved her little brother into the water before he could even blink. The resulting splash sent Y/n laughing and Lo'ak sputtering when his resurfaced, vowing revenge. It was then that Ao'nung and Rotxo showed up, grinning down at Lo'ak's predicament while standing beside Y/n.

"Quit messing around, Lo'ak," Ao'nung teased good-naturedly, "We got work to do today."

Lo'ak frowned, slightly embarrassed but summoned an ilu for himself. The other teens do the same and they head out to work, all the while Rotxo explains today's task to the Sully children, "When training to be a warrior among the Metkayina, you have to ride an ilu to chase away predators that threaten the young."

"Bro, we used ilu to rescue a tulkun and fought against Sky People," Lo'ak retorts, "I think that should count."

"He's got a point," Y/n added, "I think we rescued plenty of our young doing that."

Lo'ak squints his eyes in his sister's direction, "I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not."

"Figure it out, skxawng."

"It is all about tradition," Ao'nung explained, "I am sure the Elders would appreciate us keeping up with old traditions despite we have done enough to become warriors ten times over already despite our young age."

"So we're only doing this to impress a bunch of old people?" Lo'ak questioned with an added groan, getting splashed by Y/n in the process.

"Lo, for someone who just tries to fit in--"

"I know, I know," he waved her off half-heartedly.

"I'd like to see you talk that way to Grandmother."

A bit of color drains from Lo'ak's face, but otherwise he says nothing. Ao'nung laughed as they leisurely swayed in the water, leaning over in Lo'ak's direction, "They say that the Elders see and hear all. I would watch my back if I were you, Lo'ak te Suli. Maybe make a necklace for them as an apology."

Y/n laughs while Rotxo's smile slowly turns up into a mischievous grin, eyeing Ao'nung while opening his mouth, his eyes all-knowing, "Speaking of necklaces, that is a very nice arrowhead, Y/n. Akula?"

Ao'nung spun to glare at Rotxo in warning while Y/n briefly pressed a finger to the arrowhead she had yet to take off. She quickly retracts her touch and pointedly doesn't look at Rotxo, "Yes, thank you."

By now, Lo'ak is also staring at the necklace, eyes widening each time his brain puts another piece of the puzzle together, head tilting to Ao'nung, then Y/n, then back again. Rotxo could see Lo'ak's realization slowly dawning on his face and decided not to let up for the sake of teasing his friend, "Did you make it? Or was it given to you?"

"The necklace is mine... the tooth was a gift."

"Oh? From who?" Rotxo's big eyes practically sparkle with mirth, staring directly at Lo'ak as he adds, "You know, speaking of tradition, usually when a Na'vi gifts another something as special as that, it means they are courting--"

"I think we should split up on our patrol," Lo'ak abruptly states, briefly glaring daggers at Ao'nung while urging his ilu forward to swim beside Rotxo, "As I am about ready to strangle both of you, I will be going with Rotxo."

"Sure," Ao'nung shrugged, "Meet back here around midday?"

"Alright. See ya then."

Ao'nung and Y/n watch Lo'ak and Rotxo speed their ilu up and swim away, jumping in and out of the water before disappearing on the horizon. The pair waits until they are completely alone before Y/n flashes a side-eye glance in Ao'nung's direction, "You told Rotxo?"

"I didn't tell him anything," he defends, "But practically everyone has been asking. They all probably know."

"Yeah... 'Teyam used to tease me about it." She smiled sadly at the memory.

"Did he? I was so sure he would have killed me."

"No, he was the brother you didn't have to worry about," she huffed a small laugh, "Lo'ak and Spider on the other hand... well, you've been punched by the one before, and Spider might be more level-headed but you have never seen him truly angry."

A small glimmer flashed in Ao'nung's eyes, a wave of respect for the human boy washing over him, "That's intriguing."

She snorts quietly, her eyes returning to the spot where the other pair of teenagers disappeared, "I'm pretty sure Lo'ak has known about us for a while, maybe before I even knew there was an 'us.' So I wouldn't worry about him. He's just acting like a child."

She raises an eyebrow when Ao'nung emits a small growl, "Maybe your brother should worry about me if what I heard about him and Tsireya is true."

"Oh, please. They have been fond of each other since the day they met, don't act like you didn't notice." Y/n rolled her eyes.

"I am going to kill him."

"You will do no such thing if you know what's good for you," she glared dangerously back, though Ao'nung noted that it was not as heated or as threatening as her usual glares, "You cannot hate him for seeing your sister and then turn around to see his. Besides, I think your mother doesn't mind it after she and I talked that one time we were foraging. She heard my side of things and I think she actually approves of Lo'ak and Tsireya now."

Ao'nung goes back to that day when he found Y/n and his mother walking out of the forest together, his ears sheepishly pinning back against his skull when he remembered what had happened after Y/n had left, "My mother asked about you."

Y/n's eyes widened, "She did?"

"And she tells my father everything, so..."

"Same here. I think our sisters know, but they are not saying anything. They would take it to their grave if we asked them." Y/n smiles to herself.

"It wouldn't matter. This whole village is full of spinsters," Ao'nung snidely comments, "Everyone's business is everyone's business."

He watched as the gears openly turned in Y/n's head, her eyes looking to the sky while she asked, "... Is that why there were girls staring at me down by the docks this morning?"

"I do not know," initially, he shrugs, but she watches as Ao'nung's eyes slowly start to sparkle as his teasing grin reemerges, "Maybe they are jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Of course," he flaunts dramatically, "Jealous that a forest girl from a faraway place managed to steal the future olo'eyktan out from under their noses."

Her scowl immediately pitches into a laugh when he reaches over and briefly grabs her tail. Y/n pulled away from him before he could do it again, still laughing while trying to evade his hand.

They urge their ilu to swim a bit more after that, chasing one another playfully until they get to their next spot for patrol. By the time they got there, Ao'nung noticed that Y/n was staring off into space and looking a little unsure of herself, "What is it?"

Her eyes and ears lower, gaze pointedly staring down at her hands, "We mentioned honoring tradition earlier, then just now you reminded me of your stature. Maybe the Elders wouldn't appreciate the chief's son choosing a forest girl over one of their own."

Ao'nung scoffed, "The Elders don't care about that sort of thing. You are Na'vi. That's all that matters to them."

"But even you didn't think we were true Na'vi," her eyes flick up to his and his blood turned cold under her stare, "Not when we first arrived."

He slouched, ears drooping while his eyes softened into regret, fingers twitching with the need to reach out to her, but remained in his lap, "I was wrong."

"Maybe. But there are others who still think the same way you did. They still look at me, Lo'ak, and Kiri and think we are freaks. I am pretty sure even Tuk has more friends than us because she at least looks Na'vi."

"That is not why she has more friends," Ao'nung tries to smile, "Tuk is Tuk."

Y/n hums to herself, feeling one corner of her mouth twitch at the fond thought of her baby sister, "That's true."

"You..." Her eyes flick back up to Ao'nung when his voice didn't sound very confident. He wouldn't look her in the eyes, clearly feeling out of his comfort zone. She patiently waited for him to speak, occupying herself by watching drips of water fall off his brow or glisten in his hair, the sun reflecting off his wet braids like diamonds. Y/n's chest squeezed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was warm and it was spreading over her like a comforting blanket that her mother would leave beside the fire. Her thoughts are disrupted when Ao'nung finally finds the courage to look up, "You have never once doubted yourself like that. Lo'ak and Kiri sometimes still look at themselves and hate what they see, but not you. You've never doubted yourself, Y/n, so why start now?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not I despise how I look," she carefully answers, feeling small and scrutinized under his disbelieving gaze, "It matters what everyone else would think if they knew you were courting a deformed freak."

"You are not deformed."

"No?" She bitterly questioned, frowning as she lifted up her hand to him, purposely wiggling her pinky finger, "This doesn't freak you out? It is alien."

"So what?" He reached out for her hand, "An extra finger just means there is more of you to hold."

The response stuns her to the point she didn't react when Ao'nung slipped his hand into hers. Looking down, she stared at their joined hands, fingers wrapped around one another in an ornament of two different colors. Looking back, their skin tones complimented each other beautifully together, and the contrast just made sense. Y/n was still amazed about how big Ao'nung's hand was compared to hers, despite being the same age. Once those thoughts vanish, all that's left are Ao'nung's smooth words and the color slowly rising in her ears.

Y/n scoffs, trying to play it off, "Do you think yourself charming?"

Ao'nung grinned, "Only for you, ma'yawntu."

The term of endearment surprises her out of a laugh, playfully horrified, "Eywa, no."

"Paskalin?"

"Stop."

"Syulang?"

"Please, you are embarrassing."

"I got all day, tìyawn." Ao'nung laughed, "What would you like me to call you?"

"How about my name?" She asked sarcastically.

His smile was wide, bright, and downright beautiful. It took all of Y/n's willpower not to melt right then and there, "Of course, Forest Girl. It's what I prefer anyway."

"I'm sure it is, Seaweed Brain."

~~~~~~~~~

Ronal's baby was born in the traditional way, in a water birth ceremony called the First Breath, where the whole clan gathers around in shallow water to celebrate. Now, normally the tsahik would help the mother guide her newborn to the surface to take its first breath, but seeing as Ronal was the one expecting, one village healer and Tsireya were chosen to help her. This was a new kind of ceremony for the Sullys so they hadn't fully participated until after the baby was born, then they proceeded to celebrate with the rest of the Metkayina.

Kailani was a beautiful baby girl and everyone adored her. Nearly everyone wanted to see her and hold her. As the newest baby in the village, she had earned herself a lot of attention and was loved by all, especially her older brother and sister. Ao'nung was little enough that he couldn't remember when Tsireya was born, and Tsireya had always been the youngest, so this was the first time either of the chief's children experienced what it was like to have a new baby in the family... and it showed.

This became obvious a month into Kailani's life when Tuk came out of nowhere and started to drag Y/n and Kiri by their hands toward Ronal and Tonowari's marui, "Come on, come on! I wanna see the baby!"

The teen girls reluctantly follow their little sister, smiling fondly at Tuk's excitement. It was adorable to see that Tuk didn't have much experience with babies either. Approaching the pod, it was obvious neither tsahik nor olo'eyktan was home, and yet there were soft cries coming out of the marui. Tuk drops her sisters' hands and runs in while Y/n and Kiri dutifully follow. Walking inside, they find Tsireya and Ao'nung sitting close together, appearing a little worried and exhausted while looking down at the small baby lying in her big brother's arms. Both of the reef teenagers looked up when they heard someone enter, and Tsireya waved them over, "Have either of you seen our mother?"

Kiri and Y/n exchange a look before the former responds, "She's in the healer's hut. A warrior came in all scraped up from getting thrown against the coral reef."

"What is wrong?" Y/n asked.

"She won't stop crying," Tsireya admits shamefully, looking a little distraught, "We do not know why. We fed and changed her, but--"

"Have my sisters help," Tuk confidently offers without missing a beat, proud at her idea, "They know about babies. They helped Mama take care of me when I was little."

Tsireya and Ao'nung pointedly look up at the older Sully sisters, their eyes desperately pleading. Kiri was initially going to scoff at Tuk for her idea before Y/n wordlessly stepped forward and knelt down in front of Ao'nung. One look and she could tell why Kailani was so upset. Her tiny body wasn't exactly held close to Ao'nung's body but was instead held in his arms and in his lap. It didn't look comfortable and Y/n pitied the child.

"Here," Y/n offered, leaning over and helping Ao'nung adjust his hold on his baby sister, having him lift Kailani up from his lap and making sure he kept supporting her neck, "Babies need a lot of skin-to-skin contact at the beginning of their lives. It helps them bond with their mothers and other members of their family."

Y/n helps Ao'nung lift Kai until she's nestled snugly against his chest, her face protected in the crook of his neck. Almost immediately, the baby calms down, trying to bury her cold little nose into her brother's warm skin. Ao'nung is unable to speak or look away from Y/n, his ears only perking up as a sign he is listening when she keeps on explaining, "Try not to pinch her tswin. Without any hair to protect it yet, the tswin can be extra sensitive."

Kiri smiled softly to herself as Y/n continued to list several things Tsireya and Ao'nung could do, both of them listening with intense determination, all the while Kiri could only think about her older sister. It really was a shame that Y/n didn't want to take on the role of tsakarem, instead passing it along to Kiri when her adopted sister had shown an interest. Y/n still remembered a thing or two about healing from when Mo'at had begun to teach her, but from what Kiri understood, Y/n would get easily distracted and would beg their grandmother to dismiss her so she could go find Neteyam and train alongside him to become a warrior. Mo'at eventually gave in, fondly stating how Y/n was just like her mother, then proceeded to name Kiri her successor.

While Y/n may not like the method of healing and preferred hunting, she was still pretty knowledgeable when it was needed, and as Tuk said, she and Kiri remembered what it was like having a new baby in the family. Tsireya and Ao'nung appeared incredibly grateful for Y/n... but Kiri couldn't help but grin under her hand while looking at the way Ao'nung was staring at her older sister. The way his mouth formed such a secretive smile without the intention of showing it, his eyes subtly falling from Y/n's eyes to watch her lips as she spoke before flicking back up to her eyes before anyone would notice. But Kiri noticed, and she eventually had to look away because she felt as though she was intruding on something so intimate.

Rotxo had told Kiri and Spider about the mysterious arrowhead-shaped tooth that suddenly appeared around Y/n's neck one day, but the adopted Sullys didn't want to believe it. Lo'ak had scoffed, rolling his eyes and refusing to talk about it, but Neytiri had overheard and had this all-knowing smile on her face as she cooked over the hearth when her children walked back into the marui after bidding Rotxo goodnight. Jake and Tuk were none the wiser but Kiri had a feeling that her father was like Lo'ak, trying to ignore that something was clearly going on between Ao'nung and Y/n. Now, it was more obvious than ever.

~~~~~~~~~

While Y/n had not been able to complete all of her rites of passage alongside Rotxo and Ao'nung, she and the other Sully children still cheered them on and celebrated alongside them, especially after watching in amazement to see how a young Metkayina must finish certain challenges alongside their bonded tulkun brother or sister. After finishing those trials, along with taming their own skimwings, Ao'nung and Rotxo were gifted a special article of clothing, their first tattoo as warriors of the clan, and three beads for their songcords. Everyone was proud of the reef boys, now celebrated as young men among their People.

Next was going to be Y/n. She was determined to follow suit, as were Lo'ak and Kiri. They went out to practice for their trials every day, playfully competing with one another. Whilst Kiri was planning on becoming a healer in the tribe, she still wanted to tame a tsurak as her rite of passage and receive a Metkayina tattoo meant to signify healing. Jake and Neytiri were not sure how to feel about three of their children rushing toward adulthood, but they were supportive either way. The older Sully children tried very hard not to exclude Spider in the many training exercises, but he goodnaturedly shooed them away and told them to have fun and train hard. He may not be able to follow them, but he will still cheer them on from the sidelines, being there in spirit.

Lo'ak passed his trial with Payakan with flying colors, and now he and his sisters would move on to taming their own tsurak. Kiri did so with ease, her attachment to Eywa helping her befriend the mighty skimwing instead of mastering it. All of her siblings cheered for her from the docks, watching her disappear to wander with her new friend beyond the sea wall. Lo'ak was determined to go next, and while it looked a little rocky at times, he too, mastered his own warrior's mount, and Jake yelped and whooped proudly for his son. Lo'ak also left the safety of the lagoon to explore with his new friend and likely introduce him to Payakan.

When it was Y/n's turn to go tame a skimwing, Ao'nung approached her and spoke quietly under his breath, "Remember. The tsurak are temperamental creatures. Much like an ikran, you have to work hard to form a strong and loyal bond with them."

"Got it," Y/n nodded in acknowledgment, wrapping leather around her knuckles per her father's advice. Speaking of whom, Jake was approaching his daughter so Ao'nung simply nodded his head toward Toruk Makto and walked away to stand beside his own father.

Jake narrowed his eyes as he watched Ao'nung leave before softening his gaze and speaking down to his firstborn, "You're your mother's daughter. That makes you the best flyer and hunter on an ikran, so this will be a cakewalk for you. Tonowari told me that the ikran and the tsurak share a distant ancestor, so it's easy to see where they get their stubbornness from. You know how to tame stubbornness. You'll be a pro at this."

Y/n tried her very best not to visibly shrink up under her father's advice and praise. She wants to stand tall and proud under his words of affirmation now that they're starting to see eye-to-eye, but it is still a work in progress. She's not used to her father being so encouraging as of late, due to him stressing out over the war, moving away, and losing a son, so it was still a big step that needed adjusting. So, Y/n instead smiled widely up at her father and whispered a small thank you before rushing over to get the tsahik and olo'eyktan's blessing.

Ronal and Tonowari bid Y/n good luck with their own hidden smiles while Tsireya shared her confidence for her friend and lifted Kailani's arm up to wave at the Sully girl for encouragement. Ao'nung flashed his forest girl his own secret smile and a small nod, barely noticeable to the naked eye. Y/n practically beamed and with a new wave of confidence, turned and ran down the long dock to the very end, diving gracefully into the water.

All forms of sealife greet her underwater, her breath held as she forced herself not to get distracted. Since that fateful day against the Sky People, Y/n had been training herself to hold her breath longer, hoping to never have to worry anyone over her drowning ever again, not wanting to be a burden. Without wasting any time, she called out for a skimwing to approach her.

She had managed to find a school of fish Ao'nung told her was the tsurak's favorite snack, so she swam close to the fish and continued to call out, her heart singing when her strategy worked and a familiar beast gradually glided toward her, its powerful, scaled body creating a disturbance in the water. Looking like a Terran gharial, the tsurak approached with purpose and demanded to be respected, other small fish species quickly scattering to avoid it. With its long, sword-like snout, it gave itself personal space, and with its beady, soulless eyes, it analyzed Y/n. For an animal that was nearly domesticated with the Metkayina, Y/n wasn't worried about whether or not the creature deemed her as a threat, but then again, she looked different compared to all the other Na'vi the tsurak likely grew up with, and it was possible the skimwing could smell the part of her that descends from demons.

Y/n didn't take the kind and befriending approach as Kiri did. That form of taming only works for someone as Eywa-blessed at Y/n's adopted sister. Instead, she kept herself between the beast and its likely prey, the schoolfish behind her. The threat was clear. If it wanted to eat, the tsurak would have to go through her first.

The reptilian-looking fish didn't appear insulted by the threat and leisurely swayed side to side, jaw gradually opening and closing to breathe while stuck in place, showing off its small rows of razor-sharp teeth while staring Y/n down and waiting for the right opening to strike. Y/n slowly and carefully pulled her kuru braid over her shoulder all the while keeping her eyes locked on the tsurak. As they continued with this ocean version of a standoff, Y/n gradually began to inch forward, only moving in small, very slow strokes of water.

When she got too close, the tsurak opened its jaws and snapped down, quick as lightning, but Y/n was prepared for it. Much like taming an ikran, she quickly moved out of the way before the creature could bite her head off and, using her knuckles and palms now wrapped in leather, clamped down on the jaws of the creature, keeping it shut with as much muscle she could muster while using her newly found momentum to quickly swim onto the skimwing's back, never letting go. Knowing she would only have a second before the creature was no longer stunned, Y/n let go of the jaw with one hand and quickly grabbed her braid, immediately forming the tsaheylu.

The beast wiggled and then paused, swaying calmly back and forth as the connection was made. With her lungs slightly beginning to burn, Y/n didn't panic but also didn't hesitate to give the creature the order to resurface, now letting her other hand let go of the tsurak's snout in good faith. She promises to let the tsurak eat, later, if he swam up for air.

As quick as a bullet, the tsurak follows its new rider's order, shooting up through the water at great speed. Y/n nearly forgot to hang on tight, clamping her thighs down on the creature's back as tight as she could, her ears beginning to pop at the very sudden water pressure as they rose higher toward the surface. Sunlight was coming in fast and, before she knew it, Y/n was out of the water, leaping through the air, and plunging back into the ocean, all while still holding on tightly to the back of her very own tsurak. The beast resurfaces more gently this time and stays leisurely swimming above the water, giving Y/n much-needed time to breathe. She smiles when she can hear scattered cheering from the beach and docks but keeps on task, trying to stay focused. She has yet to fly with her new ride.

Adjusting her grip on the creature, she gives her new order, clenching her thighs again while preparing for the powerful beast's ascent. The tsurak begins to speed up, faster and faster until it's zipping through the water like a ship. Eventually, it gains enough momentum and the creature lets out its wings, extending them until they begin to catch air, and then the body rises out of the water. Y/n hangs on tight, stamping down the anxiety in her gut, sharing her determination and willpower through her new bond so the skimwing knows she means business. There is no room for failure.

The tsurak doesn't stumble, doesn't break, and doesn't lose focus. As they sail, the pair sails gracefully without a single wiggle or wobble. Y/n can faintly hear cheering in the distance but doesn't let it phase her. One more test. She gives the order and holds her breath, immediately bending down and pressing her body tightly against the creature's back.

The tsurak retracts its wings and points its snout down, briefly falling through the air before diving straight into the water below. The impact and mighty force of it all was much more powerful than riding an ilu, and Y/n had to hold on for dear life. Water rushed through her ears and she squinted her eyes in order to see better, but she held on and she held firmly. She would rather get her arm pulled off than let go, so she held on tighter, her leather wraps doing the trick to give her a better grip. One last order and Y/n feels the pair of them shooting back up through the water and into the air again, and this time, Y/n hoots triumphantly at the top of her lungs, hanging on tightly with one hand but throwing her other fist in the air, her trial complete.

Several people are cheering with her on the beach and in the water. Spider, Tuk, and Jake are whooping and hollering like party animals, ecstatic for their daughter and sister. Ao'nung and Rotxo are cheering alongside them, along with several other Metkayina watching the event. Y/n beams proudly at all of them from a distance, then proceeds to follow Kiri and Lo'ak's lead and head for open waters.

Ao'nung is smiling just as proudly from the beach, and once Y/n takes off, so does he. The chief's son immediately breaks into a sprint down the side of the beach, diving into the water before another word can be said. Once below the surface, he calls for his own skimwing and takes off after the Sully girl.

The only one who appeared to notice Ao'nung slip away was Neytiri, but she appeared to be smiling as she watched the reef boy chase after her daughter. A brief wave of déjà vu washed over her as she watched until she couldn't see either tsurak anymore. She smiled fondly, proud and filled with unimaginable joy as she had witnessed history repeat itself, much like it had with her when she first chased after Jake on their ikran.

The new warriors do not stay out for long. When eclipse comes, Y/n, Ao'nung, Lo'ak, and Kiri return for the Sully children's ceremony. The sunlight disappears and it's replaced with a bioluminescent glow everywhere, as far as the eyes could see. Lo'ak, Y/n, and Kiri stand before Ronal and Tonowari as they are presented with their rewards, their article of clothing, and the beads for their songcords to signify this triumphant milestone of adulthood. The Na'vi believe that every person is born twice and the second time is when a Na'vi finds his or her place among the People forever.

Once Ronal and Tonowari bestow the three Sullys their first tattoos, they were officially one with the Metkayina, marked with warrior and healer ink. Everyone gathered around the new young adults and congratulated them, making room for the parents to squeeze their way through the crowd and finally gather their children up. Neytiri held her children against her, joyous tears in her eyes even as her heart broke, mourning their childhoods but celebrating their futures. Jake held his children just as tightly but didn't make a sound, afraid of what would come out if he tried to talk.

The ceremony gave way to celebration, large bonfires lining up and down the beach, the flames rising high into the night sky, embers blinking down on Eywa's children along with the stars above. The Metkayina dance together in wide circles around the fires, conjoined in several different rings, moving in opposite directions as they sang, talked, laughed, ate, and drank to their hearts' content.

Y/n found herself dancing around a fire that was shared by most of the newest warriors of the tribe, people around her own age, and her brother and Kiri. There were so many fires along the beach, however, so it would be nearly impossible to find out which ones her other family members were socializing at, hidden among the chaotic crowds of flailing limbs and boisterous songs. She allowed herself to let loose and cared little about what others thought of her, letting the swoa warm her stomach and the fire her skin. She stuck close to Kiri and Tsireya for a short while before the chief's daughter ran off to find Lo'ak. Y/n and Kiri playfully rolled their eyes before the latter decided to turn in for the night-- which is just code for she was going to keep Spider company so their adopted brother didn't feel left out. Y/n let her sister go without complaint, giving her a brief hug and voicing how proud she was of her. Kiri smiled brightly under the praise and took off, leaving Y/n's heart feeling warm as well. Getting roped back into dancing, Y/n danced without a care in the world, not bothered by whether or not she looked bad, and sang with the others until she was breathless. The celebration was getting to be too disorderly with everyone having so much fun that faces had begun to blur and sometimes when people danced, they were spinning too fast to figure out their bearings.

But Y/n let her feet carry her to her intended destination, and that was right into Ao'nung's arms. With her family elsewhere and other Metkayina having too much fun to otherwise gape at the sight, Y/n danced with the chief's son for practically the whole night, tired and out of breath, but never wanting to stop. She couldn't help it. With the fire lighting one side of his face and the bioluminescent ocean lighting the other, Ao'nung looked ethereal, and Y/n couldn't stop her rapidly beating heart even if she wanted to.

Ao'nung only looked at her, never caring about who saw them, his smile gentle and eyes proud, not helping the flips Y/n's stomach was taking. Her body felt like it was on fire in the best way possible under his gaze, and maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the liquid courage, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, but her mind was open and her voice was knocked loose from her throat as she pulled her reef boy close to her and whispered so only he could hear the words that she knew, deep down, were only meant for him, "Ao'nung. Oel ngati kameie."

Ao'nung's eyes briefly widened, mouth falling open in shock, yet he couldn't take a breath in. The fire didn't help the blooming fire in the forest girl's yellow eyes, piercing up at his and leaving him breathless, unable to come up for air. She didn't look afraid or even bothered by his reaction, instead, she smiled, a little cheekily, as if she could see just how much she affected him. Slowly, he comes back to his senses, a smile slowly creeping up his lips once more. His hands gently cup both sides of her face, marveling at how her entire head fit perfectly in his palms, while her reasonably smaller hands move to hold his sides, keeping his body close to hers. Ao'nung leans in, taking a small breath in through his nose, memorizing her scent before he gently fits his lips against hers, to which she responds in kind. The kiss tasted like sea salt and swoa, but neither complained, closing their eyes and reveling in their closeness.

Despite her lessons, Y/n regrettably needed to pull away for air, and when the kiss broke, her soft pants ghosted across Ao'nung's skin, hot and prickly, and when her eyes opened, she stared up at him through her eyelashes, cheeks slightly flushed. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to relax his body, his heart racing to the tempo of drums playing somewhere in the crowd. Eventually, his mind clears and he manages to find words again, leaning his forehead into his forest girl's.

"Ma'yawntutsyìp Y/n. Oel ngati kameie."

~~~~~~~~~

Neytiri sees everything when it comes to her children, especially her firstborn daughter. That girl is a spitting image of the mother who birthed her, except for the little human features she inherited from her father, so Neytiri often knew what was going on in Y/n's head because she had been in her daughter's footsteps. Neytiri was young once. She knew what it was like to be in love.

Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite had seen the lingering glances, the stares when the other wasn't looking, and the smiles that were only shared between each other. Furthermore, Neytiri had noticed the arrowhead on Y/n's necklace the second she came home that day, and then the mother noticed Ao'nung anxiously waiting to get out there and chase her daughter into the sea astride their tsurak. And of course, even in the vast crowds lining the beach the night of Y/n's ceremony, Neytiri could see the young pair kissing, unbothered by the amount of people around them. It felt as though no one had seen them but her.

And yet, she had not said a word. Much like Y/n and Ao'nung's sisters, Neytiri intended to take their secret to the grave if it meant seeing her eldest daughter smile again. Sure, Neytiri was fiercely protective of her children, but she would never refuse her child when it came to whatever made them happy... especially after she had lost Neteyam.

So Neytiri kept quiet and just watched from a distance. Now that three of her children were seen as adults among the Metkayina, their tattoos a physical sign as such, she wasn't gonna go around telling them what to do anymore and just enjoyed their company while it lasted. After all, soon they will choose men or women to be with... and not long after that, Neytiri will find her marui emptier than the day before.

One fateful day, Neytiri found herself alone with Y/n in their family pod, cooking some fish over the fire to prepare meals for the rest of the Sullys to take with them throughout the day. It was a quiet and comfortable morning until Ao'nung showed up, respectfully greeting Neytiri before asking Y/n if she would like to join the other warriors on a hunt that afternoon.

Y/n perked up at the offer, her smile brightening under Ao'nung's gaze. Wordlessly, she nudges Neytiri's shoulder with her forehead, and her mother leans into the touch before the daughter draws away and stands up. Y/n briefly grabs Ao'nung's arm before diving into the water with the intention of having him follow her. Ao'nung stayed a second longer, lingering in the doorway of Neytiri's home when he noticed the woman staring at him. Despite wanting her daughter's happiness, Neytiri also wants her daughter to be safe, so she briefly glares at the chief's son before simply looking back down at her task, "If she gets hurt, I pluck your eyes out."

For some reason, he knew she wasn't talking about the hunting party.

That same night, during communal dinner, Neytiri could see just how obvious Ao'nung and Y/n looked. Instead of sitting with her family, Y/n sat with his, conversing between him and Tsireya without a care in the world. Occasionally, the chief's son would try to sneak a kiss on the forest girl's cheek, hiding it by pretending to whisper in her ear. Y/n would smile shyly, her pinky finger subtly reaching out for his hand whilst she talked to his sister.

This time, Neytiri wasn't the only one who noticed, and she cursed herself for not trying to distract her husband sooner instead of openly gawking at the young pair with him. The moment Ao'nung reached for Y/n's pinky finger, Neytiri could feel her husband tense up beside her. Immediately, she knew what was about her happen once her mate quickly stood up and she was helpless to stop it.

"Jake--" She had gotten up as well but it was too late. Her mate had already stormed off in the direction of their daughter. Several eyes throughout the communal meal turned in their direction and Neytiri could feel their stares prickling along her back, her other children now aware of something wrong when she stood.

"Mama?" Tuk asked.

The older Sully children immediately clock the situation once they follow their mother's gaze, seeing their father clearly out for blood as he beelines for the chief's family. Spider immediately scrambles to his feet, "Shit--"

Neytiri didn't know whether to hiss at or agree with Spider's observation, her feet taking her to where Jake was going, the rest of her children now standing up to follow her as well, abandoning their meals. Neytiri would not make it in time, but even from where she was, she could hear the commotion already starting when Jake reached down and grabbed Y/n's arm, pulling her to her feet and away from Ao'nung, "Alright, young lady. Time to talk."

"Dad, what--"

Ao'nung immediately rose to his feet without thinking. Neytiri almost pitied him, "Sir--"

Jake's glare fell on Ao'nung, his voice dropping low to a tone only the military side of him could produce, "And you, boy. Did you mate with my daughter?"

"Dad!"

Y/n's exclamation further drew the attention of the tsahik and olo'eyktan, along with even more Metkayina sitting around the growing commotion. Neytiri could see Ronal and Tonowari stand up as well, their eyes only on Jake and their son, dread forming in her gut at the idea of what might happen next. Ronal handed Kailani over to Tsireya and marched with her mate over to the confrontation as Jake continued to talk down to her son.

"And whatever you say better be the answer I'm hoping for, young man. So choose your words wisely."

Neytiri finally reached her husband and grabbed his arm, opening her mouth to try and get him to calm down while the rest of their children stood around them and simply observed with worried glances. Ao'nung glared only at Jake, his shoulders squared back, and stepped up no doubt to defiantly say something stupid before Y/n stopped him from where she stood behind her father.

"Ao'nung," she warned loudly, to which his eyes flicked to hers at the sound of her voice.

Time stilled as everyone turned to Y/n, waiting to hear what she had to say, even her father. She didn't look at anyone else other than her lover. All Y/n had to do was flatten her ears and just ever so slightly tilt her head, eyes locked on his the whole time for Ao'nung to get the message, loud and clear. His shoulders lower and visibly calms himself under her stare, and in response, Ao'nung merely nods. The young Metkayina backed down, stepping away from Toruk Makto and glancing off to the side, eyes and ears lowered like an injured nantang pup. Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing between Ao'nung and his daughter, trying to figure out what had just happened.

From beside Lo'ak, Kiri silently gasps behind her hand as she whispers to the younger brother, "Oh, my Eywa. He's so whipped for her."

"Bro-- shut up," Lo'ak hissed back, glaring at his sister's tiny amused smile while Spider laughed under his breath.

Jake didn't have time to berate his other children as he shook off his confusion and his wife's arm, letting go of Y/n's bicep but keeping her frozen to the spot under his cold, scrutinizing glare, "Look at me, young lady," she refused at first, eyes flicking elsewhere in shame and fear, "Look at me."

Her frown twitches just as the fear dissipates, her usual distaste for authority returning. Her eyes harden as she purposely and slowly glares up at her father through her eyebrows, her entire posture now defiant and standing strong against him.

Either Jake didn't notice this subtle change in body language or he didn't care, glaring right back at her, "Tell me the truth. It's a simple yes or no. Did you mate with him?"

She flashed her fangs, grinding out her response between her teeth, "No, sir."

"Do you plan on it?"

"I do not see how that is any of your business anymore."

"Y/n, where I'm from, you're still too young to have a family," he points back to Ao'nung without ever taking his eyes off his daughter, "And he is the chief's son--"

"You can't tell me who I can or cannot be with when Mom went against everyone and everything she believed in to be with you," her tone was strong and accusatory, throwing Jake into a state of shock as he nearly stumbles back. Y/n stood strong against her father, her words bold and as destructive as a tsunami wave, "I would not exist if you hadn't gone off and mated with the chief's daughter so don't you dare try to sound as if you are above such scandal."

"Oh, snap," Spider muttered, earning an elbow to his chest from Lo'ak.

The entire commotion had been driven to silence, everyone waiting with bated breath as to what would happen next. Neytiri felt both fear and pride for her daughter, again, feeling history repeat itself through the eyes of her child. Tonowari finally broke the silence and the stand-off by stepping between Jake and Y/n and placing a comforting hand on Toruk Makto's shoulder, all the while pointedly staring at each and every Na'vi who was openly watching the family feud, "I think it is time for everyone to return to their meals."

Ronal backs up her mate's demand by glaring at all the bystanders, "Go on."

The Metkayina scatter, either to return to their seats or avert their eyes back to their food, the silence now filled with casual mumbling among the People. Jake's ears droop when he realizes the size of the audience he attracted by his outburst and he has the decency to look ashamed. He peers back to his family and mutters, "Lo'ak. Spider. Take the girls home."

"I can walk myself home, thank you very much," Y/n snarled dangerously, stepping around Tonowari and her father and stomping through the parting sea of Na'vi who dared to get in her way.

Tuk pouted and stomped her foot defiantly, "So can I!"

Kiri sighs in mental exhaustion toward her baby sister, "Tuk..."

Once the other Sully kids gathered and vanished from the meal, Tonowari glanced between Ao'nung and Jake, "Let us return to my home to further discuss this."

Ronal gestured Neytiri over to her before looking over her shoulder to address Tsireya, "Stay here, ma'ite."

Tsireya nodded appropriately, keeping Kailani close to her chest as she flashed a small look of encouragement to Ao'nung. She watched her parents and brother walk out of the community marui, the Sullys following suit. Neytiri walks out into the night with her husband's hand in hers, squeezing his fingers in encouragement.

Once the group was safe inside Ronal and Tonowari's home, Jake immediately apologized, "Brother, forgive me for my actions against your family. I was out of line and your son did not deserve my behavior toward him."

Tonowari raised his hand to gently silence him, "I will not fault a father for just trying to protect his child. There is nothing to forgive. Ao'nung is still young and has much to learn. Before he began to court your daughter, he should have gone to you for your blessing immediately."

Ao'nung, clearly embarrassed, kept his head down while he quietly whined, "Father, please--"

"You are the one who wishes to court Toruk Makto's daughter, boy," Tonowari directed his gaze to his son, eyes darkening but not as a threat, but in disappointment, "As the future of our clan, you should have done what tradition demands."

Jake took pity on Ao'nung, watching the way a father looked down on his son, immediately thrown back to the past when he, too, looked down on Neteyam and Lo'ak, and instantly knew he had to speak up this time, "No. I don't blame your son for not coming to me. I don't deserve that sort of respect. Y/n is strong-willed and she knows I don't deserve the respect of being her father or any traditions that require me to be so. If anything, she would much rather have Ao'nung ask for my sons' blessings over my own because her brothers respect her as an individual who can make her own decisions... unlike me."

Tonowari nods, looking back to meet eyes with his mate. Ronal shares a silent conversation with him before the chief turns back to the Sullys, "If it is any consultation, Jakesully, Ronal and I have approved of this match a long time ago."

Ao'nung's head perks up with interest, "You did?"

Jake's question echoed Ao'nung's, equally shocked, "You did?"

The chief explains with a distant look in his eyes, "I was much like my son at that age. Arrogant, crude, and desperate to please the other reef boys around me. All it took was to find Ma Ronal to get my head back on straight. From that day on, I only ever ran after her."

Ronal pointedly looks at Neytiri, her chin held high, "Even though he is destined to be olo'eyktan one day, my son has never shown interest in a mate. Never. Not once. That is... until he met your daughter."

Neytiri took Ronal's stare as an opening for her to add to the discussion, raising her hand to gently take her husband's arm to grab his attention, "Jake. I already knew."

Jake turned back to her, still shocked and sounding like a broken record, "You did?"

"Everyone did," she nodded, smiling slightly, "Apart from you. Why do you think none of us have said anything before now? It is because we have accepted it and even approved of the match. We all would have said something sooner if we were against it. Y/n is taronyu now and she does not need our permission to live her life anymore. She never had."

Jake takes a moment to collect his thoughts, breathing deeply in and out slowly through his nose. He stared off into space, conflicted with a war going on in his head before Neytiri simply squeezed his arm and he returned to the present. Jake looked back at his wife before raising his white flag, turning his gaze onto Ao'nung with an expression of guilt.

"I am sorry, Ao'nung. I shouldn't have accused you of anything. I know Y/n is capable of taking care of herself and I know she wouldn't have given you the time of day if she didn't think you were a good man," Ao'nung stands up straighter, appearing grateful and nodding to Jake before the former marine turned to Tonowari, "We'll take our leave now. I apologize for interrupting your supper."

Jake takes Neytiri's hand again and they walk home, speaking as they walk so their conversation is kept private before they would have to face their children, "Does he have to court her now? They're too young."

Neytiri hums in agreement, "Courting sometimes takes years, Ma Jake."

"It wasn't with us."

She hums again, only it was full of fond amusement, "If I recall, you never courted me."

A small grin played on his lips, a little drained from tonight's events, but it was genuine all the same as he playfully spoke, "No, but if I recall, you knew exactly what you were doing taking me out there to the Tree of Voices, alone, wearing your hair like that and wearing that lovely top--"

"Ma Jake!" Neytiri gasped in astonishment, gently slapping his chest and laughing as they finally made it home.

The parents quiet their amusement before they walk into the marui, instantly met with five pairs of eyes, four yellow and one brown. While the rest of their children stared expectedly at them, Y/n immediately looked away, ears pulled back in embarrassment and tucking her knees up to her chest.

Jake immediately beelines for Y/n, slowly sitting down beside her as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry."

Conflict flashes over her face. It felt as though she and her father were back at square one, fighting as though they hadn't already sorted out their issues. Then again, this wasn't Neteyam, or the war, or Y/n's depression. Jake was just trying to be the classic overprotective parent he was always meant to be. He wasn't acting as a soldier. He was acting as a father, and that's all Y/n had ever wanted from him. Slowly, she melts into her father's embrace and sighs, "I know. You were just being my father. That is not something I'll ever blame you for. Just... don't be so embarrassing next time."

Jake and the rest of the children laugh while he just holds Y/n close. Neytiri smiles at the scene, trying to memorize it as best as she can so she can share it with Neteyam the next time she visits her son. After all, Y/n was one step closer to moving out of their family marui and wouldn't be able to hug her father like this as often as they used to. As sad as that made Neytiri feel, she was comforted by the fact that Ao'nung was kind and good to her daughter, and she would never be alone again.

A/N: The next part will be the final! Basically, I wrote everything that I wanted for this story, and the rest of it can be told in just one more chapter, so I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have!

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sehaedazokla · 2 months ago

Text

he that dares

part three

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems.

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, assault, death, grief (death of parent, partner & friend mentioned)

word count: 8.5k

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The morning light offers no solace to Lady Tyrell’s troubled mind. She wakes with an ache in her head that she knows will only serve to make her quite irritable as the day goes on if it is allowed to continue. Her plush silk comforter is drawn off of her figure as she calls with a hoarse throat for one of her maids to fetch something from the maesters that might offer relief from the dull throbbing pain in the back of her skull.

One hand reaches up to gingerly press to her temple as she rubs it tiredly, rising from her bed as some creature from a ghostly afterlife clad in a long white nightgown. Her hair has been mussed from her tossing and turning, and the sad longing in her chest lets her know she dreamed of that which she no longer has in this life.

But every dream she has is meaningless and a waste. There is no future to be found in the mind of someone whose blood comes from dirt and weeds and wildflowers. Only bitter shards of a fragmented mirror of a past that cut her hands when she tries to piece it back together.

She does not allow the thought to deepen, well aware that if she does, she will not have the mental fortitude or energy to carry out the tasks that need seeing to that day. Instead, she slides her feet into her satin slippers and sighs wearily as Adelin enters the room, carrying ribbons for her hair. Lady Tyrell sinks down with slumped shoulders into the chair in front of her vanity mirror, taking note of how lifeless and dull her own eyes are staring back at her.

Adelin takes note of her lady’s visage but does not comment upon it, knowing well the weight upon her mind and heart. The handmaiden stands behind the chair, taking Lady Tyrell’s hair into her hands and working through it softly.

Fingers brush against the girl’s scalp and she closes her eyes for a moment, allowing nothing but the soft touch and faint sound of birds outside to fall upon her in a gentle wash. When her lashes flutter open again, she stares half-lidded at the ornate wood of her vanity for too long, and then up at Adelin’s hands that weave ribbons gently into her hair. The satins are rather girlish, but she finds that they portray sweet innocence rather well if added subtly.

There is a comfort in the familiar silence that comes with Adelin’s presence in the morning hours. Adelin has served the Lady Tyrell since she had come to live at King’s Landing all those years ago and had quickly become one of the only people who knew her true character. A thing the Lady Tyrell does not usually like, but there is no hiding anything from Adelin. Not when the handmaiden has been present to witness everything in the lady’s life at court. Every success, every loss, every heartbreak, every true feeling. All of them: beautiful and hideous and everything in between.

Perhaps Adelin is the only living person who knows her to that complete extent. Who sees a person, in a full sense.

The comfort is brought to an end by the creaking of a panel by her bed. Lady Tyrell does not need to look up to see who it is. Her eyes are still cast dully to the wood of her vanity table. Adelin pauses and turns, before looking down at the lady. When the young woman gives no indication of any hurry or rush, opting rather to leave her glassy stare and tired posture firmly in her chair, Adelin quickly twists a final ribbon through her hair and then turns to leave the room. Her hand hovers on her lady’s shoulder for a moment longer than needed.

With a heavy sigh, Lady Tyrell rises from her chair and makes her way across the room, stepping across the wooden floor still in her slippers and nightgown. Drying roses sit on her bedside table, many of them downturned and hardening. Adelin had asked to bring her fresh ones recently, but the lady is not quite ready to part with them yet.

The panel by the bed has been opened like a door, and the cloaked figure that stands obscured in the shadow of the passageway is wearing black, a dark hood pulled low over most of their face. Lady Tyrell needs not ask whom the figure is, and she does not believe she will ever get a name. Not a true one, anyhow. She draws to a stop in front of the figure, eyes dark as she waits expectantly with a serious expression on her delicate features.

A hand is produced from beneath folds of the inky fabric, like a comet emerging from dark heavens. A single scroll with a seal rests in the extended appendage, and Lady Tyrell takes it wordlessly. Her face gazes down at the sigil upon the wax seal with an unreadable expression, her eyes beholding the rose.

The ink is a dark blue, reminiscent of the sky before the darkness encases it fully. The favorite color of only one person she knows.

The girl’s hands tear through the seal, the nails of her fingers breaking the wax. A fragment of it lodges itself under the nail of her pointer finger. She pulls it out with a calm click of her tongue, before unrolling the scroll in her hands. The parchment crinkles as she demands it show her its contents.

It is not a long message. Direct and commanding, as her mother so often is. The woman has to be, to lead her House alone. As the girl’s eyes scan the dark ink that her mother’s words have been inscribed in, her eyebrows draw lower and her grip on the edge of the cream-colored paper becomes tighter, crinkling the sides she holds between her fingers.

A soft inhale of breath is let out through her nose when she finishes, and she turns to the candle by her bedside. The paper is dangled lazily above the open flame, and she watches with unimpressed eyes as it catches. The burning paper remains in her hands as it dwindles in size, and the lady’s attention returns to the figure in the shadowed passage.

“She has made her choice, then? She never did like the sea.” The Lady Tyrell’s tone is cool and clipped. There is no need for formalities with her mother’s network of anonymous messengers. The figure remains still and covered in darkness, but a voice carries out low and clear. A voice she has heard before, she notes. Her mother sent different messengers depending on the importance of secrecy.

This is one of her mother’s favorites. How worried the lords and ladies outside of the Red Keep must be.

“No, but she likes the snow less so as of late.” The messenger speaks with a formal directness that implies nothing of emotion or opinion. Lady Tyrell’s eyebrows raise in a brash acknowledgment, her eyes looking to the side as she tilts her head. The feeling of flame licking about her fingertips tells her that the paper has finished burning.

“The South does not like what it is not used to,” Her lips drip with words that hide little of the sharp edge in her tone. “And so fair is our climate, as I have been told.”

Eyes slide back towards the figure, intent flickering in their depths. The figure’s face cannot be seen, but the girl imagines them looking back at her.

“And you have spoke of the weather often?” Is the offered reply, just as intentional as her own. The girl looks down, a small smirk dancing across her pinkish lips as a cool amusement fills her pupils. Asking if she is making any progress on her mother’s task, on gaining the favor of this Northern lord that has everyone’s feathers ruffled and hackles raised.

“As often as I can. There is only so much one can say about the weather.” That icy amusement gives her words a frosty sheen. She chews the inside of her cheek before she catches herself, releasing the bitten skin.

“Do endeavor to make it interesting, then. She has expressed to you that she wishes it so. There is a growing discontent over this…visiting storm.” The messenger’s voice drifts over to her as she continues to stare down at the ground, deep in thought. As if she is not poignantly aware of how unhappy the majority of the nobles are with the Northen presence in the capital.

But what can she do? Out of everyone, she should be amongst the most unhappy. She is trapped in the Red Keep, a prisoner in a place she had once been free to go and come from as she pleased. Left to offer herself up as bait to some stranger in hopes of bending him to her will. No different than cheese in a rat trap. It is a situation that leaves much to be desired.

“I am well aware of her wishes. It shall be done, as she commands.” Lady Tyrell is not in the business of ignoring her mother’s requests, nor in disappointing the woman. It is not that she fears her mother, but the thought of letting her down when so much of her family’s safety and status depends on her own actions in the capital leaves her with a heavy weight in her heart and between her ribs.

The messenger stands as still as a statue. She wonders briefly if they get hot, covered in such dark and heavy fabrics, skulking about the hidden passages of the castle at this early hour of the day. Lady Tyrell has not even dressed for the day yet. “She wishes to know your opinion on the nature of the storm.”

She brushes a lock of loose hair over her shoulder, her eyebrows drawing closer while thoughts of the Lord of Winterfell are strung together to spin a likeness of what she has glimpsed of his character. As the lady recalls their distinct encounters, she feels her head begin to throb again. Delightfully fitting.

“It is difficult to say for certain,” Her shoulders lower as her head tilts again, an expression of near annoyance upon her face. Her eyes drift to the stones within the passage, cracked and worn from time and age. Small vines snake between a few of them, and cobwebs hang in silvery droplets in the corners.

She knows well what her mother and many of the Southern lords think of the Northmen. That they are savages, brutal men raised among the snows with no manners and no civility. And Cregan Stark’s descent upon the capital with his pack of soldiers has only seemed to add fuel to those rumors. Many believe him to be a bloodthirsty beast of a man who wants heads rolling and war to rage through the Seven Kingdoms like a wildfire.

Lady Tyrell cannot truthfully say that this is the impression she has gained of Cregan thus far.

“It is not as brutal as was foretold.” She finds herself murmuring, much against her better judgment. It is not in her nature to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. But her mother will not wish to hear this, so she amends her words. “Not mindlessly bloodthirsty. Intense, certainly, but there is calculation and thoughtfulness. It is a storm that can be reasoned with, I do believe this.”

The messenger dips their head slowly, their tall hood drawing lower over their face.

“She will be most pleased to hear this. Rumors have grown dark as of late. The storm takes many prisoners. Several are destined for spikes, it would seem.” Eerie yet direct, the words reach her ears and give her pause. She has heard of the arrests that are being made. Yet there have been no direct proclamations of punishments from anyone who holds power at present. She is not familiar enough with the Lord of Winterfell to bring it up to him yet.

“Rumors grow and grow as they please. Useful, yes, but I will only tell what I have seen with my own eyes.” There is a certainty to her voice that does not quite reflect the worry gnawing at her heart. No, she shall keep that to herself. Let her mother believe that the girl is confident in her task and the future of their House until she has ample cause to truly fret.

The messenger turns and disappears into the darkness of the passageway. She looks into the inky depths, her mind racing with all sorts of questions and wonderings. The war had been terrible, and the neutrality decided upon by her mother had made Lady Tyrell’s place in the capital dangerous. She had only had the protection of being Helaena’s dearest companion, that was all that had stopped many powerful men from kidnapping her and threating her mother with the girl’’s safety. She knew they had wanted to. She had seen the way they had looked at her.

It was Helaena that had kept her safe and alive. Now, it is only herself that she can rely upon. That her mother can rely upon. Sharp nails dig into the palms of her hands.

The thought of Cregan Stark ordering heads upon spikes fills her mind as she walks the halls of the Red Keep that morning. He has made it quite clear to all in the capital that he intends to carry out justice to the fullest extent, but she does not know what justice looks like in his eyes. She is the last who should cast judgment, perhaps, but she wonders why his seemingly intense desire to keep the war going is as such.

Her heels click against the tile floor as she passes two ladies who greet her softly. She returns in kind, offering them a gentle smile. The morning has proved to be nothing but irritation, and she wishes to spend the remainder of it in the castle’s library. Ideally unbothered and left to research and scheme as she sees fit.

The sunlight drips in through openings, gathering in pools beneath her feet as she walks by eastern-facing windows. It is rather quiet this morning, much to her relief, as the thought of being ambushed by mothers with hungry eyes and bachelor sons makes her nauseous and discontent.

Despite the effort she is putting into weaseling her way into the Lord of Winterfell’s life, the girl fears it is not enough to save her from her own mother’s desire to see her daughter married. She has long since passed the expected age to marry, due to the extended betrothal to Daeron, and her younger sister grows close to the age as well.

Daughters are such excellent pieces on the chess board. She banishes the thoughts from her mind, wishing to enjoy what little time she has to herself.

Her momentary peace is ruptured quite violently for the second time that day by the slamming open of a door in front of her. She draws back quickly, shock flickering across her face as the thick wood bounces against the stone wall with a crash. The scene that is unfolding in front of her is nothing short of madness, and she wonders for a brief moment if the universe wishes her to see.

Her eyes land on the two Northmen first, dressed in their full armor, yanking a man out of his chambers as he shouts and thrashes his body in their arms. The man is red-faced and flailing but she recognizes him instantly as a first cousin of Lord Redwyne, who had sided with Aegon II during the war. There’s a muffled shout from inside, likely one of Redwyne’s own guards.

She jumps back, half on her toes, her eyes wide even at her safe distance down the hall from the altercation. Redwyne is screaming. One of the Northmen jerks him forward by the arm, trying to stop the man’s kicking and striking. She can barely make out what he’s saying, his high-pitched voice screeching something along the lines of not knowing who he is and his family’s wealth.

There is blood on his face, dripping down the man’s nose in crimson droplets that pool at his chin and fling in every direction as he whips himself about against the Northerners’ hold. If something is being said, she cannot make it out clearly. The lord grips the door with white and bloody knuckles, as if he intends to hold on for dear life and not let these men drag him wherever they please.

One of the Northern men strikes Redwyne across the face in an attempt to put an end to the man’s screaming, but it only serves to increase the lord’s panic. Blood from the strike splatters onto the open door, staining the oak with thin red streaks.

Redwyne’s frantic eyes snap up to her figure down the hall.

Her breath catches in her chest. The lord, with renewed vigor now that he has spotted her, drives his elbow into one Northman’s face. The other man draws back with a howl of pain, and Redwyne takes the opportunity to slip out of their grasp as everyone’s hands seem to be covered in blood. The lord runs at her like she will save him.

She has no strength with which to move or even draw breath. There is no enemy in front of her – House Redwyne has served House Tyrell loyally for centuries. But with all that has occurred in the war and even in recent days, Lady Tyrell has found herself growing wary even of those who are sworn to her family. The Reach was divided during the war, some of the houses turning on each other in the brutal succession dispute.

As a prudent person, it is only wise to consider everyone a potential enemy in a time of war. Redwyne could ask for her assistance. He could just as easily hold a knife to her throat and threaten to kill her if the Northmen did not leave him alone. But she does not have the time to spy or scheme or draw conclusions as the man barrels down the hall to her.

There is only the fear that she feels each and every time she is violently reminded of her own helplessness.

Redwyne, despite what little luck Lady Tyrell might consider herself to have, trips and falls to his knees in front of her. Determined still, he crawls to her as the Northmen come running down the hall after him, their steps heavy and echoing. Redwyne’s hands clutch at her skirts as she tries to step back, balling up the pastel fabric of the gown in his hands and looking up at her with sheer panic, eyes wide and pupils beady.

“Please my lady, put a stop to this madness! These savages will kill me!” His voice is a shrill scream, breaking through the air hysterically. Her lips part in shocked silence, her eyes nearly as wide as his own as she looks down at this man, one of the lords sworn to her House, begging for her help. Beaten and bloody, on his knees.

As the Northmen reach them, one man bending down to yank Redwyne away from her skirts as he clings on and shrieks, heart and head tug her in two very different directions. Redwyne’s arms, however, seem to have the strongest pull. She knows she is falling.

Lady Tyrell does not have the time to put her arms behind her in a fruitless attempt to break her fall. Redwyne has too strong of a hold on her dress and she lacks the stature to pull back with equal weight to balance, even as the Northmen rip him off of the fabric.

What little faith she holds in divine intervention might be strengthened when she discovers she does not hit the unforgiving stone floor. It is arms she collapses into rather, her back hitting someone’s chest and her weight behind held up by arms that have hooked underneath her underarms. Her head whips to the side with the rush of adrenaline that has at last has kicked in, as if her body has only remembered moments too late that she retains some semblance of a wish to live.

She nearly bashes the back of her skull into Cregan Stark’s face.

Breaths burst out of her mouth in ragged gasps as she lurches her right shoulder forward so she can turn her head around to see him. His thick brows are knitted together in serious worry, searching her face for some sign that she is unharmed. She has no ladylike comfort to offer him in that moment, her chest heaving with the panic that is utterly useless due to its lack of timeliness.

Her own brows are drawn low, a cross between fear and shock. Rapid blinks flutter her lashes as her panic twists to confusion. One of Cregan’s arms draws her closer, his wide hand pressing tenderly into her stomach to bring her nearer. Her left shoulder bumps against his chest and she jolts at the touch.

“Are you harmed, my lady?” His low voice is deepened by urgency, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity that, coupled with the way his hand is splayed over her stomach, sets her already fraught nerves alight with a richer, warmer hum. Her slightly frantic eyes flicker up and down his face as Cregan holds her, his broad arms and shoulders gathering her to him.

“No,” She breathes, and his frown deepens at the airiness of the word.

In the panic that had set in, she had not noticed that Cregan had fallen to one knee to catch her, as her lower half is on the floor. And there he remains, her figure pulled upward into his much larger frame, his knee pressed to the cold stone. His other hand comes to rest overtop of the first on her stomach, his elbows drawing back towards himself as he holds her torso up easily, arms still hooked under her shoulders.

She can hear Redwyne’s screams echo against the walls as he is dragged down the hall and out of sight by the Northmen. Out of sight, yet not out of earshot. His bloodcurdling shrieks can still be heard after he disappears from view. There are red stains on the soft skirts of her dress, crimson handprints and trails left from the lord being ripped off of her.

Dull eyes stare down at the blood, still wet and sticky. There is no need to wonder when she last had drying scarlet soaked into the fabric of her clothes. It had seemed so much starker last time, perhaps because it had stained the white of her nightgown. How long had she waited for the body to be pulled from the iron spikes and brought to her?

Men had tried to usher her back inside the Holdfast, but the screaming girl could not have been dragged there short of a blow to her head to render her unconscious. Redwyne’s thrashing was so eerily reminiscent of her own. She recalled her limbs hitting armor, open palms pushing at a blurry face who was attempting to keep her from climbing into the moat herself.

It was slow work, guards twisting the Queen’s body off of the shining iron. The moonlight had caught the sides of the metal in an almost celestial glow. Is there anything so sickeningly ironic, to see a glimpse of heaven in one’s worst hell?

Lady Tyrell’s throat had gone hoarse from the howls that had torn their way from her chest, deep and primal horror and shock. It had been too soon to call it grief. She must have woken the whole castle by the time she had the lifeless frame in her arms. Flames had begun to dance in the windows, voices and footsteps approaching in faint, slow echoes. No sooner had she been yanked away, her outstretched fingers clawing for her dearest friend. Her only friend.

Give her back to me.

As with tearing fabric, she rips her mind from the onslaught of memories with such force that her torso jerks back, her shoulder driving itself into Cregan’s wide chest. He gives no indication of it bothering him, his grip on her stomach only tightening in case he needs to keep her from fully collapsing to the floor.

Her mother’s handwriting from that morning flashes through her mind, as the woman’s words so often do. They swirl across the back of her eyelids in looping scroll, long and elegant, commanding and absolute.

There is work to be done.

Mustering every ounce of strength she has, all feelings plaguing her mind are crushed down in the cavity of her chest like ripening fruit to be juiced. Wrenching for a semblance of the efficiency which she normally finds herself operating with, she paints a soft smile on her face when she turns her head to meet Cregan’s eyes again.

“No, I am perfectly alright my lord,” Airy yet sweet, the words are presented as one would bring out a tray of pastries and candies. It comes back to her rather quickly, even in the wake of her panic. Muscle memory, even if the indication of this is slightly more alarming. Shoulders droop elegantly as she lowers her gaze. “Although I imagine I would not have been, if you had not come to catch me. You have my gratitude, Lord Stark.”

If Cregan were not so worried about her wellbeing, the Lord of Winterfell might be appalled by the speed at which the lady’s persona has returned to her. As if someone has drawn up a porcelain puppet by its strings, the girl flickers to life with fluttering lashes and a downturned chin.

“Are you sure of this?” It is quieter a tone than he has ever spoken to her in. Not warm, not soft, but low and wary. A hesitant peace one might offer to a wounded animal. But she does not wish to be perceived as prey.

“I promise, I am unharmed. You needn’t worry.” There is no feeling in her words, merely polite gratitude. She pulls herself from Cregan’s hold gently, and he rises from his knee, one large hand beneath hers so that she might steady herself enough to stand when she puts her legs beneath her. To her relief, her limbs do not tremble.

Cregan’s heavy gaze remains locked on her eyes as they stand in front of each other, her hand still pressed down into his open, offered palm. Her skin is warm to the touch, he notices. As soft as it looks.

She withdraws her hand first, fingers curling in on each other when she pulls her elbow in towards her side, arm dropping slowly. Cregan’s hand remains between their bodies a moment longer before he lets it fall. The skirts of her dress brush against the stone floor when she turns slowly, to gaze down the hall at where Redwyne had been dragged off and out of sight.

It had been Cregan’s men that arrested him. As shocked as she had been by the man’s grabbing at her, Redwyne is still one of the men under House Tyrell’s protection. And she had stood there, mute and wide-eyed, while Northern men had dragged the lord off to the dungeons in such a brutal scene. Useless.

Cregan cannot guess exactly what Lady Tyrell is thinking, but he can begin to. A heavy sigh escapes his lips and he runs his hand down his face, letting it rub over his mouth. He had told his men not to be so rough. Yet given how much hatred the Southerners had for them, the Lord of Winterfell can only imagine the vile things said to the Northerners when they came to arrest a lord of the Reach, especially one who had sided with Aegon in the war.

Full blame cannot be given to them, but Cregan finds himself irked that such a scene was caused, especially in front of a lady. A lady who had very nearly been harmed in the process. Despite his mistrust of the Lady Tyrell and her intentions, Cregan does not fancy himself a leader who drags women into fights. Dropping his hand heavily, his strong gaze fixes itself on the back of her head.

“I apologize, my lady. It was because of actions I ordered that you were nearly harmed.” Cregan can acknowledge when his actions cause damage, even if it was not his intention. Yet he has to stop himself from explaining further. This line of thinking comes as a surprise to him.

Why should he feel the need to explain himself to this girl? Is it because he has stormed into her home and taken power with an army at his back, demanding everyone do as he commands? When he phrases it like that in his head, he sees quite clearly what he must look like to her.

A northern savage come to spoil for war and bloody the floors of the Red Keep as he tramples peace beneath his heavy boot.

“I bear no grudge against you for it.” Sweet and soft, her voice floats over to him like notes from a string instrument. Cregan cannot see the expression on her face as she keeps her back to him.

There is that nagging pull in the back of his skull again, to reason with her and justify the need to round up the final turncoats. The need to plant himself firmly in the viper’s den until he has torched them all out into the open. He clenches his fists tightly instead.

“Such is how things are, in times like these.” It is a gentle acquiescence, served to him in a tone of agreeable pleasantness. The raise of her chin makes her hair fall even lower down her back.

Cregan has begun asking questions. About her, and her role in the war, and where her allegiances lie. He is gathering what information he can in an attempt to find her motivations or intentions with him. In his quest for information, he learned she remained here in the castle for the entirety of the war. The Red Keep had not been free of bloodshed. “Certain actions must be taken to prevent further tragedy from befalling the Realm.”

Her eyes flick down to the floor, and she is glad her back is turned to him as a cold curl of her lip twists onto her face. If Cregan Stark fancies himself a great protector of the Realm, whatever is he doing pursuing further fighting? Whatever is he doing ignoring Corlys Velaryon’s attempts to plead for peace?

“I am sure you are only doing what is necessary, my lord.” Lady Tyrell manages a small, imperceptible breath to calm herself and returns a smile to her face before she turns to look him in the eyes again. And there he stands, face as stern and serious as ever, shoulders low and heavy, jaw tense. She finds irritation at the realization that she has seen him enough times to have an expectation for his appearance.

Her mother would be so pleased. The woman would happily send one of her lesser bannermen off to the dungeons if it gave her darling daughter a moment alone with the now resigned yet apologetic Lord of Winterfell, the strongest power in the capital at present.

She dips her head, voice lowering and a faintly timid wobble ghosting her lips. “Forgive me if I do not seem certain in my words. I cannot say violence agrees much with me. I know not what to do in the face of it.”

Cregan does not think the role of timid maiden suits her, yet he had seen firsthand how she had frozen when Redwyne had charged. She is wickedly smart and worryingly bright, but fearless does not seem to be among her many shining qualities. He nods slowly, his eyes maintaining their hold on hers. “That is perfectly understandable.”

As the blood on the edges of her dress continuously makes itself known to her, a quiet draw that has grown into a more persistent yanking of her attention, she feels the sudden and unshakable urge to rip the clothing from her body. As sure as it would be to draw Lord Stark’s attention, with dry humor she thinks to herself that it is not the sort of attention she is seeking.

Her palm presses into the back of her hand as she squeezes them together too tightly.

“If it would not trouble you, Lord Stark,” She begins with renewed determination, eyes bright as they gaze up into his. “I have been hoping for a chance to know you further. Perhaps dinner tonight might be a more suitable location for such a discussion?”

If Cregan had not come to expect this sort of request from her, he might have deemed her truly mad. Instead, his eyes narrow a flicker, and his head tilts slightly. With cool neutrality, he appraises her before another dense sigh falls from his lips. He gives her a nearly scrutinous look.

“I imagine if I say no I shall still find myself encountering you sooner rather than later, my lady.” Her persistence is nothing short of intense, despite the delicate manner in which it is packaged. Cregan will acknowledge this of her.

Lady Tyrell finds his response nearly entertaining but does her best to hide this. Still, bitter amusement glitters in the depths of her eyes like stars obscured by hazy cloud cover.

“You would honor me with your presence.” Is all that she offers him instead.

It is only when she turns to leave that she realizes she had felt no fear when Cregan Stark held her in his arms.

The gardens are quiet at the late hour in the evening. Few stroll within its pathways, and even fewer venture far enough in to stumble upon the Lord of Winterfell and the Lady Tyrell. The stone gazebo offers an open yet secluded spot for meals that require propriety yet privacy. There is nothing scandalous about meeting in the open air, many viewpoints offering full sight past the white archway with hanging flowers and the stone columns snaked with vines. Her handmaiden Adelin remains a respectable distance down the pathway that approaches, busying herself by pulling her fingers through delicate needlework. From the far side of the patio, a view of the bay is offered. Ships twinkle across the dark waves like golden stars.

Cool wind drifts in lazily from over the open ocean, flickering the abundant candles that decorate the round stone table. It picks up loose strands of Lady Tyrell’s hair as she sits opposite Cregan. Opting for a softer appearance, much of her hair has been left free of any sort of arrangement and her gold gown is much simpler in design than the other extravagant dresses he has seen in her. The edges glow in the candles that dot the table in front of them, placed in between trays of meats and cheeses. Her beauty has far from escaped his noticed. If she is shaken by the events that occurred earlier that day, it does not show anywhere upon her.

She cuts at a thick portion of meat, the juices flowing out onto the plate below as she draws her knife through the slice gracefully. Her eyes remain drawn to her task, giving Cregan the opportunity to stare as he pleases. He watches as she takes her fork, pressing it tenderly into the meat before she pulls it to her lips. They part around it as she places it onto her tongue, chewing slowly before she swallows. His eyes flick to the movement at her throat.

Lady Tyrell has had the entire afternoon to calm and compose herself. It was not an easy task, not at first, but it was managed with a silent day spent reading in the library and a glass of red wine. This she normally denies herself, especially when she is meeting with a stranger she wants something from, but it was the only way to bring ease to her troubled mind.

She wishes to be relaxed this night, to portray a semblance of peace to Cregan. Here in the darkness of the evening, the soft smell of vanilla and pumpkin and candle smoke drifting to her nose, the waves languidly drawing upon the rocks far below, it is quite easy for her to pretend. A full moon can be seen hanging lazily in the cloudless sky, nestled amongst twinkling stars.

As she finishes with the first bite of meat, her eyes flicker up to look across the circular table at Cregan. He has not touched his own food but is instead staring at her quite intensely. It would seem he possesses the decency to return his attention to his plate when she catches him. Her smile is faintly amused at the sight, her gaze returning down to her own silverware.

“Your family, Lord Stark,” She begins in a clear tone, hoping to attain some further understanding of the man besides what her information network has told her. “I hear you have a sister. Is she well?”

It is not the most delicate question she could begin with; she knows that most of his immediate family is dead. But it is an expected question when one gets to know someone. She shall face it head on. A breeze flutters in from the sea, setting the candleflames flickering.

“Aye, she is,” Cregan tells the lady truthfully, the words low yet somewhat less gruff than the tone she has grown used to him using. He seems genuinely fond of this sister, and not offended at her asking after his family. Lady Tyrell considers this a good start. “Although she was not pleased that I left her behind to go south.”

Amusement crinkles at the corner of Cregan’s eyes as he remembers his sister’s insistence that he not lead the men himself, or at the very least that he allow her to accompany him. Sara certainly has all their father’s Northern stubbornness.

Lady Tyrell finds herself nodding as she reaches for a bunch of grapes, plucking the ripe fruit up by its stem. “My own sister has often expressed similar sentiments to me in her letters.”

Cassia is the most darling thing in Lady Tyrell’s heart. Her dear younger sister, kind and gentlehearted and smart as any maester. The girl has often written long letters of parchment, begging her elder sister to return home to Highgarden and visit, or to convince their mother to allow her to visit the capital. Lady Tyrell can think of nothing more horrifying than her sister here, among the snakes and scorpions.

Cregan’s eyes glance up from his food to look at her, the lady across from him delicately popping a grape into her mouth.

The fruit bursts sweetly onto her tongue.

“It is hard to be parted from them, is it not?” The Lord of Winterfell’s face retains that polite yet reserved expression, his hands returning to wielding his fork and knife to carve into the meat atop his plate. There is a regalness to which he does the simple action that draws pause from her. The tides encroach idly onto the rocks far below.

She reaches up to brush a strand of hair that has fallen into her face, her other hand using her fork to pick up a cube of thick cheese. “It is.”

“You have a brother as well, is that correct my lady?” Calm grey eyes rest upon her face as the man awaits a response to a question he very well knows the answer to. One can only expect him to have done his research, even if only at surface level. Her head tilts slightly, causing some of her hair to spill off of her shoulders and cascade down her back. Wind rustles the hanging flowers that dangle from the stone roof of the gazebo.

“Indeed.” Soft is the reply, pleasant and straightforward. Lady Tyrell once again takes note of the effect that the abundance of candles has on his hair. She understands the old sayings, of those with red hair being kissed by fire, quite plainly when she sees Cregan Stark in the candlelight. Her eyes drift to her plate as she takes a small bite of the cheese. When she finishes eating it, she gives Cregan a wry smile. “The Lord of Highgarden, yet he is only three. Much growing shall be done until he takes his place as the head of our House.”

Her little brother is almost entirely unknown to her. She has met him but once, when he was only a moon old. Still, he had been such a sweet and happy baby. His little hand wrapped so tightly around her finger as he laughed up at his big sisters. Lady Tyrell’s father had not often bothered himself with his daughters. He wanted a son, an heir. It was not for her mother’s lack of trying; many babes had been lost in between the births of the three children, who were rather far apart in age. Yet the man had died before his son was born. The son that he had desired above all else.

It has been three years now since her father’s death, and she does miss him. The former Lord Tyrell had been older than most married men when Lady Tyrell had been born and exceptionally old at the time of her mother’s latest pregnancy. His death had been sad, yet somewhat expected. She’d had much time to prepare, and as had her family.

“Three, is he?” Cregan breaks through her thoughts. When she looks up there is an emotion on his face that she hesitantly deems as fondness, or a gentle pride. “Mine own son is as well.”

The fire atop the cream-colored candles dance and jump about, the tips of their flames reaching up towards the roof of the patio. Crisp night air flows in from over the balcony, cooling the temperature yet not making it unbearable. She imagines Cregan still finds it rather warm for his taste.

“Does he take after you, my lord?” Lady Tyrell presents the inquisition delicately, before she raises the white cloth of her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth softly. She takes careful notice of how Cregan’s eyes fall to the table for a moment, their stormy depths gazing into one of the tiny candle flames. His expression grows distant, yet not cold.

The stars above the open ocean shine brightly. It is a long moment before he speaks once more.

His lips part slower, his eyes remaining drawn to the flickering glow of fire. “Nay, he favors his mother.”

Lady Tyrell knows of Cregan’s first wife, the former Lady of Winterfell. She had been married to Cregan when they were both eighteen, and she had died in childbirth. This is as much information as she has been able to compile; not much is known of Arra Norrey nor her family. House Norrey is a minor Northern house, and Lady Tyrell cannot pinpoint why Lord Stark had married her. The question had rattled about in her mind when she had first learned this history.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, I do not wish to…” She begins with faux hesitantly as she tries to determine if the conversation topic is a safe one to venture into or better left untouched. Cregan shakes his head, slowly still, and his eyes lift from the candle to meet hers. They are neutral and somewhat weary, but the same fondness present when he spoke of his son remains.

“It is alright,” Cregan has learned how to speak of Arra by now. “I am glad of it, in truth. To see her in him still.”

Lady Tyrell looks down at her plate, dropping her eyes from his. Beneath the round stone table, her fingers press together tightly, and she digsa one into the skin of her palm. She never can drop the habit. It is in her own interest to ask further, now that the topic has been proven somewhat safe, but a rare twinge of guilt catches like embers in the pit of her chest. Burning orange in the black depths of the coal in her tired heart.

“And your wife, she was of House…?” The girl poses the question softly, unwilling to lift her gaze quite yet. She has not taken another bite of her food.

“House Norrey, my lady.” An answer provided with reserved politeness, in that low Northern cadence. Her chin tilts down further a moment before she raises her head, a neutral. The candlelight creates golden orbs in the dark of her pupils.

“Norrey,” Soft repetition, quiet and delicate. “I cannot say I know much of them”

“That does not surprise me,” His thick brows raise as he casts his attention down to the food remaining on his plate, cutting into the meat once more. The tone of his voice picks up to a more conversational pace despite the heaviness of the topic.

Lady Tyrell taps her foot beneath the skirts of her evening gown before she stills her leg, resting her hand in her lap. The soft rumble of a ship horn echoes out over the dark water, low and distant. Cregan takes a juicy square of meat onto his fork and chews it thoughtfully before continuing. “House Norrey is a smaller house, hailing high in the northern mountains.”

There is a delicate nod given at this information, and she offers him her full attention — eyes resting on his face and her hands still. The remaining grapes and cheese upon her plate reminiscent of those in a still life painting. Cregan continues to eat despite her unwavering gaze, fork and knife held rather tight in his calloused hands.

She has not had her fill of the conversation yet. A hand reaches out to take hold of her golden goblet, which she has been cruelly neglecting, the stem between her middle fingers and weight of bowl resting on her palm. With Cregan’s attention on the meat, she can fix him with the distantly scrutinizing look that accurately reflects her true thoughts.

“If you will forgive my asking, how did your union come about then?” Innocence flutters at the edge of the question, a simple, girlish curiosity about her words. Her head tilts as Cregan’s eyes flick up to her, mid-bite, and there is that signature saccharine smile.

He notes the glass in her hand and wonders briefly if she has any intention to drink the wine or if she will merely tease it about the edges of her lips as she did the other night.

“It was what we both wished. There was nothing more to it.” He tells her after swallowing, his head moving a bit with the words. A straightforward answer but not the one she seeks. Cregan Stark can see it despite her commendable efforts to appear nonplussed; like a shark on the scent of blood, trying to find what he got out of his marriage to Arra.

Wispy lashes are set aflutter when she looks down a moment before continuing her line of questioning.

“You loved her then?” Lady Tyrell’s eyes return to hold Cregan’s steadily. The warm smell of the gourmand candles wafts without hurry up to her nose. There is a long pause before the Lord of Winterfell continues and she finds she does not much like the way he is looking at her. Reserved and proper as any gentleman, yet there is a searching in his eyes that makes her feel as if he is the one pseudo-interrogating her rather than the other way around.

Nails press into the palm in her lap once more. She cares little to be picked apart under a man’s gaze. No, she much prefers to do the analyzing herself.

“Aye, I did.” Cregan affirms, his words holding a matching intensity to his eyes. “I do.”

There is no true way to discern if he is lying, but Lady Tyrell finds herself with the rare certainty that there is no deception in his words. Perhaps a flicker of understanding alights in her chest when he amends his statement to the present tense despite Lady Arra’s death. The persistence of love in the absence of a place to put it is such a difficult thing to replicate.

She takes a breath through her nose, her shoulders raising slightly as she sets her glass down and reaches for a single grape from her bunch. “Such a match is quite rare. I cannot say I know of many.”

This, Cregan believes. Especially if since she has spent so much time in this castle where ambition and falsehood seem engrained into the stones that compose the foundation. He gives her a slow nod. “I was fortunate.”

“So you were.” Charming and wide, she smiles graciously at him before plucking another grape. The fruit does not taste as sweet any longer.

The concept of marrying for love does not fit well into the portrait of Cregan Stark she is painting in her head. Or rather, the criminal record is she compiling for her own reference to better increase her chances of winning his favor. All he has droned on about since arriving is the importance of duty and honor: love seems to have little place among those two things.

In her opinion, no one marries for love but commoners. It is true that occasionally love can be found in matches made among the noble houses, but it is rare. And rarer still that a union is created because love already exists. Unless ‘love’ is instead an improper coupling.

And the information calls slight irritation to her mind; it is much easier to convince a man he is attracted to one’s wealth and body than to convince him that he loves someone.

She casts her eyes to the moon and the horizon, where the water meets the inky sky. So often has she sat here in the gazebo, bathed in soft candlelight and dining on fine foods. Surrounded by smell of salt and sea and gourmand delights, by the flowers and vines clinging to the stone giving off fragrant scents of their own.

“Do you intend to marry again, Lord Stark?” Lady Tyrell asks suddenly, her eyes still lingering on the sky. Cregan’s gaze remains drawn to her visage, taking in her lips and the turn of her nose and the height of her cheeks. Here in the garden, away from the crowded halls of the castle, she continues to shine. But in a quieter, muted sense. Even as she lies to him and puts on her lovely act.

Cregan shall tell her what she wishes to hear. “I imagine I shall. It is my duty, as Lord of Winterfell.”

“An honorable thing to do.” She breathes sweetly.

The candles upon the table flicker and jump in the wind once more.

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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 1 year ago

Text

The List (3)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Thank you for all the continuous interest expressed in this mini-series. Your comments influence my writing so I’m just as excited as all of you to see how this series ends. Tumblr only lets me tag 50 accounts at a time. If you are not listed blow, you will be tagged in the comments. If you would like to join the taglist for this series or would like to be removed let me know!

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3

Tony had been right; every news station had been reporting on the gala for weeks. When they weren’t discussing the night of the gala, they opted to report on Bucky. With her eyes and ears glued to the television and her phone, the days blurred together for Y/N. There was no word from Bucky. She was sure he would use his first call to contact her, but he didn’t. The only update she received was from the reporters who didn’t know Bucky the way she did. They didn’t know the way he would stare at her or bush his thumb over her lips before planting a gentle kiss on her lips. They didn’t know about the sweet nothings he would whisper in her ear as he held her at night. They didn’t know he protected Steve years before Steve worked for him or that Bucky took in Peter to give him a community after the death of his guardian, Aunt May. Instead, the media painted him as a monster, choosing to focus on his involvement with the mob. Loki, however, was never mentioned. He was quick to cover his tracks like a snake shedding its skin.

The number of people sent to assassinate Y/N and Bucky at the gala told her everything she needed to know. Her ex-fiancé knew that she knew it was him. With Bucky’s fate all over the news and Y/N not being one of the bodies recovered at the gala, Loki knew they were still alive. He called her several times over the past three weeks, but she never answered. He wasn’t the one that was supposed to call her. It was supposed to be Bucky. It was always supposed to be Bucky.

Twisting in the bedsheets Y/N ran her hand along the space beside her. The smooth silk that was usually welcomed felt wrong beneath her hand. She longed to reach out and touch Bucky like she had many times before. The soft glow of the tv cast the bedroom in a blue hue. The last time she felt this grief-stricken was when she had been going through her divorce from Bucky. Once again, the man was alive but just out of reach, this time, psychically. Yet, she was sprawled out on his bed like a widow refusing to leave her husband’s grave. He was alive but gone again and she was mourning. The only shade of blue she wanted was Bucky’s eyes staring back at her.

A muffled voice echoed down the hall. Most of Bucky’s men had frequented his house lately. Steve had moved everyone in during Bucky’s absence. Y/N didn’t know how Bucky would feel about that. He had always been a private person, but Steve had assured Y/N that it is what Bucky would do. After all, Bucky had told Y/N to find Steve. He was his right-hand man and Bucky had entrusted Steve to take care of business while he was in prison. That included taking care of Y/N and the rest of Bucky’s men all awaiting their names to become active on the hit list. The voice grew louder, and Y/N knew it was Steve. He was the only one who lingered by Bucky’s bedroom.

“Not good. She breaks down every time he calls.”

Was he talking about her? Y/N pushed herself up, wrapping the sheet around her nude chest. She could hear the dismissal of Steve’s end of the conversation loud and clear followed by a knock. Tightening her grip on the sheet, Y/N forced her focus onto the muted television, pretending to be reading the captions as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Come in,” she called out, her voice hoarse.

Steve trudged into the room, just as exhausted as he had every other day, he checked in on her. It was a stark contrast to the way Bucky always checked in on her. Bucky was resilient, never letting his work consume him wholly. Steve on the other hand, always gave everything he did 110%. Taking over Bucky’s position was no exception.

“You shouldn’t be watching all of this stuff,” Steve grunted, snatching up the remote and changing the channel.

Y/N didn’t have the energy to fight him. She was desperate for information on Bucky. She had shot him the last time she saw him, and all the news cared about was that a mob leader was captured at the site of the crime. Steve tossed the remote on the bed beside Y/N. She stared up at him, his eyes the wrong shade of blue.

“Steve, was that Bucky on the phone?” Y/N questioned; her voice laced with misery. Steve remained expressionless, not giving her any hints as to who was on the other end of the phone. She didn’t blame him for not saying anything. It was part of his job to keep information confidential. If someone told Steve a secret, he would guard it with his life. She just hoped he would keep her in the loop since she was a part of whatever this was now. Y/N’s lip trembled the longer Steve remained silent.

“Has Loki called again?” Steve crossed his arms.

He had been asking her about Loki every day since the gala. At first, she wanted to help so she cooperated, answering his questions but then they became repetitive. He was trying to give her something to do to feel useful. Steve didn’t need information from her. It was a distraction from one man in her life with another. She was spiraling like the loose thread of a sweater; with each question, she unraveled until she was bare.

No longer willing to entertain Steve’s questions, Y/N dropped her shoulders letting just how exhausted she truly was show. “Why hasn’t he called me?”

Steve ran a hand through his darkening hair. His once golden locks had begun to brown at the roots. With his busy schedule, he didn’t have time to shave his beard or cut his lengthening hair. It reminded her of when she first met Bucky. His dark hair was long, and his beard was slightly overgrown. Over time, he cut his hair for a cleaner, more respected look. He no longer needed his intimidating appearance to get ahead, his name alone was enough to scare his enemies. Y/N supposed it was Loki’s long hair and charming personality that had won her over. He reminded her of Bucky when they had first met. It was her longing to reconnect with Bucky that drove her into Loki’s arms. It also was the reason both of their names were on a hit list, and Bucky was sitting in a prison cell.

“Come on, get dressed.” Steve turned his back walking toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Y/N clutched the sheet tighter, scrambling after him.

The corner of his lips lifted in a half smile. “A little birdy told me you could use some practice.”

“You brought me to a warehouse?” Y/N frowned. She squinted, a hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. The swish of cars zipping across the bridge above them pierced her ears. The livelihood above a strikingly different atmosphere beneath the bridge. The water sloshed against the pebbles, seeping into her shoes. Her face twisted into a grimace as water expelled from her socks with each step.

Steve chuckled, untangling a heavy metal chain from the door handles. The chain landed in the pebbles with a heavy thud. “After you,” Steve held the door open ushering her inside.

Her eyes scrunched up as Steve flipped a switch, the light blinding her momentarily. She could feel a slight breeze as Steve moved around her, the door slamming shut behind her seconds later.

“And that, right there is exactly why we’re here.”

Y/N frowned, peeling her eyes open. The blonde’s back was turned to her as he fumbled with something on the table in front of him. Peeking around his shoulder a series of firearms were laid across the table.

“What?”

Steve sighed, turning his whole body to face her. His large cold left hand seized her right. His right shoved a gun into her hand before clasping her left over the gun as well. Y/N stood stock-still, dumbfounded by the gun in her hand. The last time she held a gun she killed a man. She also shot Bucky. “I-I don’t-”

Steve silenced her as his long legs carried him to the other side of the room to set up a paper shooting target. Clipping the paper along a wire Steve began, “You closed your eyes the last time you pulled the trigger.”

Y/N paled at the memory. She didn’t want to shoot anybody; she didn’t even want the gun in the first place.

Steve stalked up to her with a pair of earmuffs in hand. “That is why we’re here.” He slapped the earmuffs over her head, his hands securing them over her ears. He then repeated the process himself.

A million questions scrambled around Y/N’s brain but the only one she was able to voice was, “How?” Steve said nothing, just nudging her into position across from the target. Remembering the earmuffs, Y/N repeated her question louder this time.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes cast downward. “Bucky.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, flinging her hands in the air in disbelief. “You talked to him?!”

Steve ducked, his hands covering his head. A growl escaped him as he stood up, “Watch where you’re pointing that thing.”

Y/N waved the bulletless gun in his face, “It’s empty.”

He knew that. He had been the one to hand her the gun. He unloaded it. A frown crossed Steve’s face, “Rule number one, always treat a gun as if it’s loaded. Your negligence is the reason we’re here. You could’ve killed Bucky when you pulled that trigger.”

“But I didn’t,” Y/N pressed. “He wanted me to shoot him.”

Steve ignored the edge in her voice, picking up a loaded gun he fired three rounds in the exact spot Y/N had shot Bucky. His accuracy was so precise there was only one hole in the paper; the other two bullets followed the first one. Heaving Steve glared down at Y/N, “Bucky told me to take you here. When you can fire that gun without closing your eyes, I’ll take you to see him. Until then, you better start taking this seriously. Keeping your eyes open could mean the difference between life and death next time. You got lucky last time but I can assure you, luck runs out eventually. It always does.”

As promised, Steve had dropped her off to visit Bucky after a thorough explanation of what would happen. She had been searched leaving her feeling violated but that was the least of her worries when Bucky rounded the corner donned in an orange jumpsuit. Even in a prison jumpsuit, he managed to remain attractive. The orange flattered his chocolate locks that appeared to have been buzzed on the sides, his beard fuller. If it wasn’t for his bent left arm preventing the handcuffs from pulling his right arm out of the sling, she would have thought he was thriving in prison.

As Bucky approached Y/N abruptly stood to greet him. Silence permitted the space, separated by a piece of plexiglass as a guard removed his handcuffs. Tears pricked her eyes at the sight. She murdered a man. She should be behind bars with him.

Bucky’s steel blue eyes held Y/N’s gaze. It was intense. For weeks Y/N had only met with the man in her dreams. Which wasn’t many. Sleepless nights swallowed up any time she would have had with Bucky. Now that she was standing a foot away from him, unable to touch him she didn’t know what was worse.

The guard stepped away, his lingering hand shoving Bucky into the chair. Bucky hissed at the contact but other than that, he didn’t react. His focus remained solely on Y/N standing before him. They only had an hour and he intended to use every second of it.

Y/N’s eyes were wild. She wanted nothing more than to yell at the guard’s rough handling, but Bucky wasn’t causing a scene, so she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t make this any worse for him. Her eyes snapped back to Bucky as she finally sat across from him. Her eyes raked his body for any other injuries, but his jumpsuit made it impossible.

After her third scan, she caught Bucky’s lips moving. The silver cord already stretched across his chest; the phone rested in his left hand. “Pick up the phone, princess,” he mouthed, causing her cheeks to puff as she smiled. Bucky’s eyes crinkled in delight at the sight of her red-manicured nails wrapped around the glossy black phone.

After weeks of being in the dark, Y/N couldn’t help but ask Bucky the questions Steve refused to answer, “Are you okay? Did you tell them-”

“Y/N,” Bucky’s gruff voice interrupted. “Anything you say here can be recorded and used in court.” It was his polite way of telling her to shut up. It wasn’t her fault; he had kept this part of his business away from her. It was all new to her and the court would use it against him. They would use her against him. Noticing the dejected look on her face, Bucky's face softened. “Look, all I can tell you is that a lawyer who represents some big names has kindly taken my case. Don’t worry about me baby, he’s one of the best.”

Reading between the lines, Y/N had gathered that Stark had offered his lawyer. Tony usually got his way, and he didn’t settle for less, so a sense of relief flooded Y/N. Bucky leaned forward, his left elbow on the table.

“Good. I um- I brought you a suit for the trail. The guards took it. Said they would have it sent to you on the day of the trial.”

Bucky hummed, “What color is it?” He didn’t really care about the color of the suit. He would have worn anything she brought. It was the simplicity in their conversation he craved. A moment where he wasn’t giving orders or looking over his shoulder.

A dreamy look crossed her face, “Blue to bring out your eyes.” That and Steve had said blue was associated with innocence and honesty in the courtroom.

With a dramatic eye roll, Bucky joked, “It’s not a fashion show, Y/N, but tell me," he cleared his throat. “How was training with Steve today? Is he taking care of you?”

A storm cloud hovered above Y/N as she suddenly remembered their betrayal. “He was mean. You called Steve instead of me?”

“I had some affairs to get in order. I'm responsible for you. Steve kept me updated. I knew you were safe. If I would have called you, you would have distracted me.”

“Distracted you?” Y/N asked in disbelief.

Bucky shrugged his good shoulder, “It’s kind of lonely in here. I would’ve used all my time thinking with my other head.”

A fire raged behind Y/N’s eyes, her knuckles turning white against the phone. Is that all I am to you, Buck? A distraction? So, what if you knew that I was safe. What about me?! All of my information about you came from the news which is hardly fact.”

The brunette’s jaw clenched, “Of course not, Y/N.” Resting the phone on his shoulder, he ran his good hand down his face. “I talk business with Steve. You get the rest of me. Besides, you were the one who asked me to protect you, not the other way around.”

Y/N scoffed leaning back in her chair, legs crossed. “Yeah, and if I remember correctly, I saved you. I don’t want fragments of you Bucky and I don’t won’t be kept in the dark.”

Bucky ran his tongue along the front of his teeth staring her down. They had been caught in a haze the past few weeks. Their latest interaction left a bitter taste in his mouth, a reminder of their fights leading up to their divorce. If he was stupid, he’d make the same mistake twice, but Bucky was a predator, a hunter. He knew it was time to change tactics and give in.

Mirroring Y/N, Bucky settled back in his chair. “Okay, princess. You want in on all of the secrets, you want to meet the dark side of me, I’ll let you meet ‘em.”

Y/N blinked back in surprise. He was giving in. So easily? “What’s the catch?”

Bucky grinned like the devil. Y/N once again found herself ready to make a deal with the devil, a habit she had yet to break. “No catch, baby doll. You want me and my lifestyle, you want to be treated like a big girl, the whole nine, you'll get it. No more playing house. If you wanna be a big girl, then you have to make big girl sacrifices. You want to be a queen, then you gotta marry a king. Just remember, you asked for this.”

The color drained from Y/N’s face. “Bucky, you can’t be serious.”

“I am dead serious princess.” Bucky pressed his left hand against the plexiglass staring her down from beneath his eyebrows. “Marry me.”

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@vicmc624 @winterslove1917 @unaxv @hangmanscoming @globetrotter28 @athenabarnes @shara-ne @mal-adaptive-dreams @d3m0n8ch1ld @ppbhquinn @alysianc @firstcashheroathlete @malum-forev @missvelvetsstuff @animegirlgeeky @blue786sworld @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @alessandraavengers @ozwriterchick @nerdgirljen @emily-roberts @pandabearrrrrrr @venting402 @barewithme02 @introverbatim @buckybarnessimpp @mega-kittyglitter-1 @a-poor-gryffindork @samahenoyrhye @motivation-idontknowher @pics-and-fanfics @po55um @keeperofsecrets6411 @natasha-died-4-our-sins @marvel-marauder16 @sugamilkteaxkookiesxcream @mcu21lover19 @imgaybutimstraight @buckysbarne @playboystark @quethekillerqueen @barewithme02 @buuuuuuucky @reader-without-a-story @5lutty5arah @queerqueenlynn @kandis-mom @hisredheadedgoddess28 @elizacusi-blog @alysianc

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awkward-tension-art · 5 months ago

Text

Darkess on Umbara Chp.13 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 12. Epilogue

Carnage Of Krell

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, betrayal, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

You abandoned the title of healer in order to pursue vengeance. It went against your oath. You were supposed to save lives, not end them.

But monsters shouldn’t be saved.

Which is why you joined the squad. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kix, Tup, and other troopers of both the 501st and the 212th. Everyone around you wanted justice.

“What I'm proposing is highly treasonous,” Captain Rex stood in front of you, speaking with authority, “If any man chooses to opt out do it now,”

Everyone remained silent but stepped forward, heads held high.

“From this point forward we are entering uncharted territory,” The captain emphasized, “my orders are to arrest General Krell for treason against the Republic!”

You followed his lead. Pistol in hand, senses sharp, and focus hardened. Your gaze met the man you love, and you hoped he understood.

I’d follow you into Hell, Rex.

Every step to the airbase had a purpose. Every soldier was geared-up and ready to take down the ruthless Jedi. Jesse and Fives were freed and given their own rifles.

The ARC trooper looked especially determined to arrest Krell. It would only be fair that he was the one to toss the former General into a cell. You were just happy to be helping him achieve such a thing.

With your pistol loaded and ready, you kept your eyes forward as the doors opened to the top floor of the tower. Soldiers filled in, surrounding the Jedi. He didn;t seem bothered, simply staring out the window over the dark landscape.

You followed Fives, deciding to keep out of Rex’s way as he walked forward, “General Krell, you're being relieved of duty.”

The besalisk turned slowly, keeping his hands behind his back, “It's treason then,” He growled.

Rex aimed his pistols, keeping his voice steady but commanding, “Surrender General.” The other soldiers shifted with their leaders' movements. Everyone was primed, ready to strike.

Krell’s steps were slow and deliberate as he walked forward before stopping, “You're committing mutiny, captain.” He sounded so…uninterested in the situation at hand.

Tup and Kix moved from their spots to keep their rifles pointed at the devious generals back. They remained firm and determined, fingers on the triggers of their guns.

“Explain your actions,” the captain of the 501st snarled. They deserved an explanation for everything.

“My actions?”

“For ordering your troops against one another!” Rex snapped.

Krell seemed smug, “Oh…That,” His tone was clearly that of someone who was bored with the topic, “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out. For a clone.” He spat the last word.

Fives motioned to the squad and they moved, taking two steps closer to the former general. Yet, he still seemed unbothered.

“Surrender, General.” Captain Rex commanded, You’re out number-”

Krell stomped forward with one foot and shot all four arms out. He used the Force to shove everyone back.

You slammed into the wall, knocking the wind right out of your lungs. The other soldiers were in a similar state, but everyone recovered quickly. You began firing your pistol, aiming towards the corrupt Jedi. The other soldiers did the same, hoping to overwhelm him with the sheer number of blaster bolts.

“You dare to attack a jedi!” the besalisk shouted, twirling his now activated lightsabers. He moved with practiced skill, deflecting every shot.

Damnit! Not good!

He leapt forward, slashing down two soldiers. They collapsed, dying almost instantly from the power of the strike.

A 212th trooper rushed forward attempting to charge the bastard, but was swiftly cut down as well. His body was kicked forward, slamming into the wall, narrowly missing Rex.

“I will not be undermined,” Krell twirled his sabers, pausing his movements to glare at the 501st captain, “By creatures bred in some laboratory!” He turned swiftly, breaking the window of the tower and leaping down to the airbase below.

“Follow him!” Rex commanded.

He, and the other soldiers began to rush down to the ground floor, but you stopped. Most lightsaber strikes were instantly fatal, but you checked for a pulse from the troopers Krell cut down anyway.

Even if you craved vengeance, you were still a doctor.

No pulse. Nothing. For all of them.

Confirmed to be dead, you left them and followed the soldiers down. Your steps caught up, and you kept next to Fives as the clones gave chase. However, the small group had been stalled by Dogma stepping out from behind a starship.

“Hold it right there!” He demanded.

Rex pulled his pistols and aimed on the younger trooper, “Lower your weapon, Dogma.” His voice was steady and calm, hoping to talk down the clearly conflicted clone.

He shook his head, “I can’t do that, sir!”

“That's an order!”

“It's my duty!” Dogma aimed his rifle at Jesse, then you, then Fives, “You’re all traitors!”

Your lover lowered one of his pistols and removed his helmet to speak, “I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you, that's how they engineered us,” He looked over at you before staring right at Dogma, “But we're not droids. we're not programmed, you have to learn to make your own decisions, Dogma.”

Tup approached his batchmate before raising his own rifle on the panicked trooper. He kept calm, even when Dogma shifted and pointed his weapon directly at him, “Dogma, don’t do it.”

Thankfully, that's as far as Dogma went. He dropped his rifle and looked down. His turmoil was clear, even as he was tackled by other soldiers.

“Take him to the brig.” Rex commanded, putting his helmet back on, “Troopers, don’t let General Krell escape!”

The chase was on.

You remained out of the captain's way, pretty much attaching yourself to Fives. You’d defer to him if you weren’t able to stay close to your lover. Afterall, under your thirst for justice, you were still a doctor. A healer intended to protect and save, not fight and kill.

Krell broke something inside of you. You’ve abandoned your purpose, becoming a vengeful, angry shell of your former self. At least for now.

“I got you,” the ARC trooper spoke next to you as you both navigated the dense, black and red Umbaran jungle, “That's what you say when you take care of one of us,” His stepped over a glowing root, and you followed, “Since you’ve had all of us, let me have you this time. Follow my lead.”

“Thanks, Fives.” You responded, keeping your eyes forward. The land was covered in a gray fog, making it difficult to watch exactly where you were going.

“Anyone got anything?” Rex spoke lowly into his communicator.

“Negative, Captain. We lost him.” The soldier on the other end responded. However, after a second, the familiar sound of whirling lightsabers pierced through the communicator, “Wait! He’s too powerful!” Blaster shots echoed in the distance and the trooper cried in his com. You could also make out the distinct cruel laugh of the Jedi.

Fives knelt, focusing his scope, “He’s coming!” The ARC trooper warned.

There was a thick silence that fell over every soldier around you. It was only broken by more gleeful laughter from Krell, “You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain.”

You got back-to-back with Fives, pistol raised and ready. That damn Jedi’s voice seemed to come from every direction.

“He was right, I was using you.” More laughter from that bastard. Krell leapt from the branches above you and landed on top of a group of clones. His large foot crushed one of them, and his green lightsaber stabbed through another. He activated his blue saber and twirled the lethal weapons, “You’ve all been my pawns!”

“Get him!”

The corrupt General began laughing again as he was shot at. Unbothered by the blaster bolts, he dashed forward, cutting down the closest clone. He turned, slashing two others, sending them to their graves.

You and the other soldiers continued to fire, hoping to find a way to get past the defense of his double-ended blades. He stepped forward, spinning his weapons, blocking every shot aimed towards him. Without even looking he managed to kill three more clones.

This was a game to him. You realized with horror. He was having fun.

Something, the Force, wrapped around your body, restraining you. Krell had an open hand raised, laughing cruelly. You tried to aim your pistol only to fail, “You’ve fascinated me, Doctor.” He taunted before throwing you. Your back slammed into a tree, ripping a groan from your throat, “What do you see in these…inferior creatures?”

One of his large feet slammed next to you, the tip of his green lightsaber was level with your throat. Your pistol had fallen out of your reach when he threw you, leaving you unable to defend yourself.

“Bastard!” You spat. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Fives trembling in rage and Rex damn near frozen in terror.

No pistol, but you had an idea. Your hand reached into one of your packs and wrapped around one of your surgical tools.

Krell didn’t seem very interested. He continued to use his blue lightsaber to deflect the blaster bolts as he stood over you, “That didn’t answer my question, Doctor.”

Your eyes glared up at him, “These soldiers are better men than you ever were!” In a surprisingly quick movement, you brandished your laser scalpel and stabbed his foot with it. You took a sick sense of satisfaction hearing him yelp in pain.

“Ingrate!” He shouted, leaping back to defend himself from the barrage of blaster shots. The Force restrained you again, and the Jedi threw you. Your body hit the hard plastoid of a soldier's chest plate as someone caught you. However, they remained standing, wrapping one arm around you and keeping you up as well. Once you got your bearings, you looked up to Rex holding you with one arm as he fired his pistol with the other.

“Hi.” You greeted him sweetly, “Thank you, for catching me.”

Now wasn’t the time, but…Damn, you really loved this man.

You felt his grip on you become tighter. He was shaking, ever so slightly, but remained focused.

Krell Jumped forward, grabbing another soldier. The 501st trooper cried out in panic before being raised in the air and brought down on the general’s knee. The snap was audible and loud. To add insult to injury, he threw the trooper to the side like trash.

Dead? Most likely. I need to check.

You broke away from your lover and ran to the trooper. Feeling for a pulse, you found nothing.

His name was Faux.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter. Faux.

You looked up just in time to watch Krell throw Tup deeper into the dense, dark jungle. Without thinking, you sprinted in that direction, hoping and praying your friend would be alright. Your steps slowed when you saw him get up and raise a hand to stop you.

Behind him, the tendrils of a fanged beast underground waved around. The bioluminescence of its mouth was rather distinct. Tup saved Dogma from one of these earlier.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, taking slow and deliberate steps towards him. That beast scared you.

“I have an idea.” was his response to you. Tup got to his feet and activated his comm, “Captain Rex, this is Tup. if you can, force the General towards me.”

Rex’s confusion was apparent over the comm, “What? Why?”

“Trust me, Sir!”

With Tup’s certainty, you stepped a wide circle around the Umbaran creature, getting to his side. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it worked.

You really couldn’t handle losing another friend.

After a moment, Rex commanded through the communicator, “Troopers, listen up. Circle around, lure him towards Tup!”

“Tup…” You followed him, making sure to watch where you placed your feet. Your laser scalpel was warm in your hand, prepared to use it to fight that damn beast under the ground if need be, “Can I at least get a heads up before you get yourself killed?”

His rifle was tight in his hands as he watched the battle in the distance. Through the fog and darkness, you could make out the bodies of soldiers running past Krell, towards your location. Tup fired his blaster once he spotted the corrupt jedi.

The former General skidded to a stop and whirled to face him. The trooper shouted, ticking him off even more, “Hey ugly! Come and get us!”

“Tup!” You stepped back, raising your small weapon. Mentally, you calculated how fast you’d have to get the fuck away from the deraged besalisk.

Krell sprinted at the both of you. His sick smile became more and more clear as he approached. His lightsabers were activated at his side, prepared to kill the both of you.

Tup didn’t move. He lowered his blaster and tensed, lowering his head.

Was he trying to get himself killed!?

You took a step forward, hoping maybe you could tackle him out of the way before Krell got to him. However, it turned out that you didn’t need to worry.

The Umbaran beast lashed its tendrils out, grabbing the Jedi and swinging him in the air. He cried out and grunted, waving his lightsabers around, trying to get the creature to drop him. His blades managed to sever the creature's tongue, sending the damn thing into a frenzy.

Tup you absolute genius!

Krell was thrown to the ground before getting picked up again. His green lightsaber slipped from his large hands and you dove down to grab it. Sadly, he still had his blue saber, which he used to kill two other troopers.

Despite the disorientation, the Jedi proved to be a great warrior, managing to keep an eye on his surroundings. The soldiers had regrouped, firing their blasters at him, only to have their shots continuously deflected. The beast waved the besalisk around, giving him the chance to slice off the calf of a 212th trooper.

Instantly cauterized. Pain management will be key. Calm him before he goes into shock.

Your instincts kicked in. You were a doctor, damnit! Abandoning your drive for vengeance, you skidded to the troopers side, immediately tending to him. The painkillers were in his system before he could fully process what happened.

The sound of a lightsaber slicing followed by a thump and a groan filled your ears. You looked up fast enough to watch Tup fire a stun bolt on the besalisk. Krell let out a choked growl before collapsing on the ground.

“I stunned him, sir.” Tup sounded triumphant.

Rex kicked the Jedi rolling him on his back, “Nice work, Tup.” He nodded to the younger trooper.

Fives and Jesse got cuffs on the bastard, ending the fight then and there.

“Get the fucker in the brig.” Your lover spat, “Drag him if you have to.”

It didn’t take long to return to the air base. Krell hadn’t managed to run far, so even with his unconscious body and the injured, you all managed to return before he even woke up.

You wanted to be there when he did, though. So you asked Jesse to inform you when the Jedi opened his eyes. It gave you enough time to help any injured that survived the lightsaber wounds.

Not many. You noticed bitterly. Krell killed too many good soldiers.

You were putting one more trooper to his permanent rest when you got the com. You left the injured with Kix and left the medical bay. Rex, Fives and Jesse were at the tower by the time you and Tup both arrived. Wordlessly, all of you went down to the air base prisons.

Dogma scrambled to his feet, seeing the captain again. Regret and shame was clear on the trooper, as he kept his gaze downward.

The Jedi was seated on the floor as if meditating. As soon as he heard you come down the lift, he raised his head and snarled.

“Why, General?” Rex spoke first, approaching the cell, “Why kill your own men?”

Krell chuckled darkly as he stood, “Because I can.” His voice was smug, and full of ego, “Because you fell for it. Because you're inferior.”

“But you’re a Jedi! How could you?”

“A Jedi?” The former general laughed again, “I am no longer naive enough to be a Jedi,” His words dripped with hate and venom as he spoke, “A new power is rising, I’ve foreseen it. The Jedi are going to lose this war and the Republic will be ripped apart from the inside,” Even from a distance, the darkness inside of him was clear in every word, “In its place is going to rise a new order and I will rule as part of it!”

You turned, sharing a look with Jesse before staring back at the former Jedi.

Rex growled, “You’re a Separatist.”

Krell shook his head and stood tall, looking down at everyone in the room, “I serve no one's side. Only my own, and soon, my new master.”

Master?

“You’re an agent of Dooku.” Your lover stepped forward, keeping his hate filled gaze on the disgraced general.

“Not yet, but when I get out of here, I will be.” The fallen Jedi sounded certain in his words, “after I've succeeded in driving the Republic from Umbara the Count will reward my actions and make me his new apprentice.”

Dogma cried out from his cell, “How could you do this? You had my trust! My loyalty!” Even through the barrier keeping him in, you could see his eyes, glossy with tears, “I followed all of your orders, and you made me kill my brothers!”

You honestly felt bad for the poor trooper. He really thought he was doing the right thing.

“That’s because you were the biggest fool of them all, Dogma!” Krell cruelly laughed at the distressed soldier, “I counted on blind loyalty like yours to make my plan succeed!”

“Fucking bastard!” You spat, “That will never happen!”

“You’re a traitor, General, and you will be dealt with as one.” Rex seethed, keeping eye contact with Krell.

“You never learn, Captain.” He sounded smug as he turned and sat back down, “The Umbarans are going to retake this base, and when they do, I will be free.” The besalisk lowered his head and closed his eyes, as if meditating again.

The conversation was over.

“Sick, twisted fucking…” Fives crossed his arms and grumbled as you all got on the lift and raised out of the brig, “General Skywalker will want to punish Krell himself.”

“Agreed.” Jesse mumbled.

You stepped forward, taking a hold of Rex’s hand, “Cyare.” Your voice was soft, “It’ll be alright.”

He looked back at you, giving you a ghost of a smile.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jesse nudge Tup before whispering, “Don’t say a word to anyone about the captain and doctor.”

“Understood.”

“Good man.”

Once the doors to the outside opened, you were immediately greeted by Hana, “Captain,” She saluted Rex, “We’ve repaired the transmitter. It looks like it was sabotaged,” The trooper explained, “Despite that, we’ve received a message from General Kenobi. His forces have captured the capital, but the remaining Umbarans are heading here.”

Another battle…

“Get everyone on the perimeter! We need to prepare for a full scale attack!” The clone captain barked his orders.

“Yes sir!” Hana saluted before putting her helmet on and turning to rush off to do as he commanded.

Rex turned back, facing you and the others, “Krell sabotaged the transmitter. He's been against us from the beginning!” Everyone has been played for fools, and the clone captain was taking it especially hard.

Without pause, Fives spoke up first, clearly angry, “If the Umbarans get to him, he’ll turn over all our intel! The defense codes, everything!” The ARC trooper took a step back, motioning to the door you all had just walked through, “He’ll strike a crippling blow to the Republic!”

Jesse stepped up, “something has to be done! We can't risk the possibility that he might escape!”

“As long as Krell is alive, he is a threat to every one of us.” Tup reasoned, looking towards the Captain.

It was clear your lover was conflicted. Clones were made to serve the Jedi and the Republic. Killing their General, even as an act of justice, goes against their very creation. It wouldn’t be easy…

“Rex,” You abandoned protocol. Right now, you chose not to be the 501st field surgeon. You chose to be his cyare. You took his gloved hand and squeezed it, “He’s a traitor. One who has done irreparable harm to you and your brothers. If the Umbarans let him out, he’ll hurt even more people.”

You could see the conflict in his beautiful eyes. With a sigh he nodded, “I…agree.”

The five of you went back into the tower, lowering into the brig. Once there, Fives approached Dogma’s cell and opened it, getting him to his feet.

Rex stepped forward, keeping a steady glare on Krell, “Turn around, and step toward the wall.” He commanded, readied one of his pistols.

The former General rolled his small eyes and turned.

“On your knees.” Your lover growled.

Damn…not the time. But damn…

Jesse pressed a button on the console, opening the cell. Tup remained next to him, stock still.

The former Jedi chuckled darkly, turning his head slightly, “You’re in a position of power now. How does it feel?” He sneered.

“I said,” Rex steadied his pistol, aimed right at Krell’s back, “On. Your. Knees.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” The disgraced General taunted, voice smug and full of hate, “But I can sense your fear.”

There was a shift in Rex. Suddenly, he seemed uncertain, and even scared to a degree.

He’s trying to go against his very purpose.

Your eyes roamed over to Fives and the rifle on his hip. If Rex couldn’t pull the trigger, who would?

Could you?

“You’re shaking, aren’t you?” Krell continued to poke at the clones' anxiety, “What are you waiting for? The Umbarans are getting closer.”

The captain tried to steady his trembling aim, “I have to do this.”

What would happen to Rex if he did? Court martial? Arrested? Decommissioned? Would Kamino call for his mind to be wiped?

You took a subtle step towards Fives, hand slowly reaching for the rifle on his hip.

The fallen Jedi laughed, “You can’t do it, can you?” His fucking voice was smug and overconfident, “Eventually you’ll have to do the right thing and-”

In one swift movement, you slipped Fives’ rifle into your hands and pulled the trigger, ripping Pong Krell's life away.

He collapsed, choking on his last words and hitting the ground.

Save them. Protect them.

All of those Krell hurt and killed ran through your mind.

The 501st.

The 212th.

Your eyes met your lovers. Rex looked at you, surprised, fearful and devastated. You went against your purpose as a doctor. All so he didn’t have to.

You’d do it again. To protect him. Save him. For him.

Rex.

#reader insert #tcw x reader #captain rex #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #clone trooper tup #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper jesse #arc trooper fives #pong krell #darkness on umbara #umbara arc #tcw x you #tcw rex #star wars x reader #star wars tcw

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orime-stories · 2 years ago

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A Knight’s Calling

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

Part two of the Warrior of Light's experiences in the Vault, where fate proves that things can always take a turn for the worse. Full story below the cut. (518 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

The shield clattered to the ground, pierced clean through. Aetheric residue lingering on the jagged edges of the wound, each pendulum swing of metal against stone slowing into stillness. Into silence.

Running to its weilder, now collapsed to the ground beside it. Red trailing from his mouth, each gasping breath slowing into stillness...

Circling her hands around what meager magic she had left. His hand closing on the bottom of her staff to stop her.

"No my friend," Haurchefant protested with a wheeze, as Aymeric knelt beside him to carefully cradle his head. Lifting him so he could see them all. So he could address them all. "We both know this one is too much. Even for... even for one as capable and worthy as you. You have given so much already—" He broke off into coughing, and she tried not to look at the jagged hole that had been torn right through him too. Still crackling with energies more powerful than the Heavens' Ward had any right to be wielding, leeching the aether from him in a way she didn't understand but she had to look, had to fix—

He shook his head once more, the effort shuddering through him. And she didn't want to hear it.

But she knew that he was right.

"Save your strength," he gasped. "The fight continues. And it needs... its hero." He reached a hand towards her, her staff clattering into solem rest beside his shield as she dropped to her knees to grasp it.

"Such sadness on your face," he continued, looking up at her, fond and calm. "A smile... better suits a hero."

She made herself do it. For him. Fought the wobbling of her chin and the prickling of her eyes to give him the biggest smile she could. A smile that she hoped said "I love you" and "I can't bear this" and "please please please don't go oh gods."

And she saw the peace settling across his face. The relief. The love there too.

Softening his last exhale.

The hand in her grasp fell limp.

Smile breaking, tears spilling down her cheeks. Looking desperately to the others kneeling around their fallen friend, the Archbishop all but forgotten and lost to the skies beyond.

Estinien was perfectly still, his mouth set in a grim line.

Lucia's eyes closed, head bowing with a weary release of breath.

Alphinaud watched on frozen, eyes wide and glistening.

Aymeric carefully lay Haurchefant back down against the stone, closing the man's eyes with a gentle efficiency. One that made her wonder just how many times he had been made to do this. How many brothers he had lost so needlessly to the dragons. And now to his own father.

His eyes held some measure of that resigned pain when they met hers, and she wondered if he yearned to comfort her as she yearned to comfort him. But even now there was a line they couldn't cross in public, it seemed. Still appearances to keep.

Heart breaking and nowhere safe to put it, she put her face into her hands and wept.

#final fantasy xiv #heavensward #heavensward spoilers #oc: aurelle silmontier #haurchefant greystone #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #lucia junius #alphinaud leveilleur #aymeric x wol #character death #opt out tag: grief #orime's stories

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ruvviks · 6 months ago

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PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC OR PAIRING.

Nathan and Ruben share a bond more powerful than most; mutual understanding through past experiences no one should ever have to go through, and through past actions so horrible they cannot be spoken of. Their grief and the blood on their hands binds them to the STEM technology they created, which has alienated them from the rest of the world— but they give each other the comfort they have both longed for so desperately for years, and that is all they need. They are each other's counterpart; you cannot imagine one without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Through their pain, their grief, their desire, and their regret, they have become one.

anna akhmatova, the guest // bones; equinox // 'i won't become' by kim jakobsson // agustín gómez-arcos, the carnivorous lamb // by oxy // achilles come down; gang of youths // czeslaw milosz, from 'new and collected poems: 1931-2001' // 'extended ambience portrait from a resonant biostructure' and 'migraine tenfold times ten' by daniel vega // a little death; the neighbourhood // marina tsvetaeva, from 'poem of the end' // by drummnist // katie maria, winter // 'nocturne in black and gold the falling rocket' by james abbott mcneill whistler // micah nemerever, these violent delights // body language; we are fury // 'the penitent' by emil melmoth // chelsea dingman, from 'of those who can't afford to be gentle'

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

#tew #edit:nathan #nuclearocs #nuclearedits #so much shame in my body but still used my taglist but um let me know if you want to be excluded from oc/ship web weaves #just really wanted to share this one because i'm very proud of it and i want it on my blog. so. :]#recognition of the self through the other + wanting so desperately for the other to be deserving of a second chance #because if there is hope for them than there is hope for you etc etc and so on. that's the core of their dynamic i think #they understand each other on such a fundamental level that no one else comes close to because they are in so many ways the same #like how in in the first game leslie could sync up with ru/vik and all that? nathan would be a VERY good candidate for that as well #and it makes me insane!! and then the added layer of nathan being lead developer of mobius' new and improved STEM system #which makes him the same as ru/vik AGAIN but in like. the way that they're both men of [computer] science #and there's the fact they both have a dead sister. they both killed their parents. they were both mobius playthings for YEARS #and they've happily killed and tortured during all of it. they're angry they're out for revenge they're completely disconnected from #the normal human experience and they're working with what they have. and then after all of that is over then what is left?#their story focuses on them picking up all the pieces. everything that's still salvageable at least. and try to start over in a way #they cannot be forgiven for what they've done but they can move on from the past and do different in the future #there's still things left undone and left unsaid... in my canon at least. i know there's not gonna be any more games. it's fine #anyway they end up going to therapy and then they get better they're not a doomed couple they just like being dramatic #if you read all of this we can get married tomorrow if you'd like

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lostelfwriting · 9 months ago

Text

Bury Me with a Rose, We Both Have Thorns (Prologue)

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Death & Dream, Dream & Hob, Dream/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Death of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Jessamy, Matthew, Corinthian, Lucienne

Additional Tags: NO Major Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Terminal Illnesses, Thoughts about death and dying, Decaying Health, Refusing Treatment, Strong Language, Unrequited Love, Enemies to ?, Past Minor Characters Death(s), Protective Death of the Endless, Doctor Human!Death of the Endless, Alternate Universe - Human, Tattoo Artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Flower Shop Owner Hob Gadling, Blood, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word count: 32k

I'm posting the whole work here on the 1st of March, but I strongly reccommend you read it on AO3, where I will be posting one chapter per day. Either way, click Read More or go to AO3 to read the Prologue!

Written for the event @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang. With beautiful art by @five-and-dimes!

It is a slow day at the studio, so while he is waiting for his next appointment, Dream is – like he does almost all of his free time – sketching new tattoo designs to add to his portfolio and listening to music loud enough to completely shut out his own thoughts. He is sketching a snake, having no doubt that it will catch someone’s eye. There is always someone who wants a tattoo of a snake. He pauses to look at his progress and ends up snorting in disbelief.

The drawing is truly a snake, but the reptile is weaving among the stems of flowers instead of a dead branch like Dream had intended. And they are ugly flowers at that. He is pretty sure that he gave a pot of those flowers to his secondary school teacher, who always called him Murphy, even though he hated that nickname. He can’t resist snapping a picture of the flowers with his phone and trying to look up what they are, but once he finds the name – cyclamen – he refuses to look up their meaning. It would surely be something stupid, like forbidden love, or maybe hopelessness.

Even the snake’s scales seem to actually be made of flower petals, and Dream rolls his eyes as he flips the page of his sketchbook. The downside to trying to tune his mind out is that he doesn’t notice when his subconsciousness begins to interfere with his process, and it has led to many flowery paintings in the past months. With a sigh, he starts copying the usable parts of the design onto another page until an insistent thought makes him pause mid-movement.

Just a few weeks ago, he would have been furious if this had happened. He used to tear those ruined sketches to pieces and then go outside into the late winter chill and glare at every passing person who dared to look his way. He wished they all felt as bad as he did, and most of all, his neighbour with his shop opposite Dream’s studio, with its bright, flowery logo.

Today’s drawing incident feels like just a small inconvenience. He feels zero anger, though he might still opt to destroy the sketch later, just for the miniscule satisfaction that the action will bring him. Or maybe he will keep it. Pin it to the wall next to his bed and look at it every night. He will look at the ugly flowers and realise with wry amusement and aching hollowness that he has finally accepted his fate.

He, Morpheus Endeles, is going to die.

He thinks about it and waits for anger or grief to appear, but they don’t. Good. He was getting sick of the self-pity. It has been months since he noticed the first symptom – the occasional cough – as something seemed to tickle his throat, easily blamed on a bit of dust. And then, a bit later, when he lay awake late at night and everything around him was quiet, he heard the soft rustle of leaves as he breathed. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that he had the Hanahaki Disease. He tears the ruined sketch out and shreds it into tiny pieces, enjoying the bit of satisfaction that it brings him. Maybe he is still harbouring some badly suppressed anger. He doesn’t need a fortune teller to tell him that he has no chance of getting affection from the person he hopelessly loves. Because it is his neighbour, the owner of The White Rose, Robert Gadling, a straight man who rightfully dislikes Dream.

+*+*+*+*+

Cyclamen: resignation and good-bye

#my writing #bury me with a rose #centennial husbands big bang #dreamling #hanahaki disease #angst #happy ending

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nowimjustastranger · 18 days ago

Text

Somebody to Call My Own Lore | Part 2

This was too big to fit in one post so I had to split it into two parts, you can find part 1 by clicking on the AU tag! Please feel free to pop into my askbox if you have any questions about any of my AU's, I'm itching to ramble about them.

Trigger warning for suicide. Also, 77/H Ford's relationship with his brother is mentally & emotionally abusive.

Ford has far more advanced technology than what earth is capable of, taking inspiration from the dimensions he's visited to design a tattoo made of nanobots that allow him to teleport short distances, he still has to use the gun for long distances. But if he can see his destination, he can teleport there using the tattoo. The ink is red and the tattoo is the outline of the Stan o' War.

When Ford comes across dimension 77/H, he is pushed to the breaking point. Stan’s fate is to eventually take his own life after his brother guilt trips/emotionally manipulates him into staying by his side while Weirdmageddon swallows the world. Stan wouldn’t even be an official part of Bill's freaks, seen as akin to Ford’s pet by the group (Bill included).

Stan would end up suffocated with survivor's guilt and the worst self-esteem ever seen in a Stan, regarding himself as Ford’s loyal dog instead of a person. His hopelessness and despair wear him down until he is driven to take his own life, Ford wiping their dimension out entirely in his grief. The kicker is that Bill could’ve stopped it but didn’t because he wanted Ford all to himself, jealous that Stan got the majority of Ford’s attention and affection while Ford was reserved and cold with Bill. So Bill simply let Stan die, and that was ultimately his downfall.

419”3 Ford stays up for days in order to scour the timeline for a series of events that doesn't end with Stan killing himself, but most paths lead to the same destination while several others are decidedly worse and are immediately discarded. Ford gets more manic as his window to step in without catastrophic consequences to the timeline rapidly closes, his self-inflicted sleep deprivation and desperation pushing him to act rashly.

Stan had received the postcard like in canon, but the difference is that Ford had teamed up with Bill and opened the portal to bring Weirdmageddon onto earth. Ford had planned to have one of the freaks fetch his brother for him once they came through the portal, but the anti-weird barrier surrounding Gravity falls was an unexpected setback. So Ford opts to send his brother a postcard and work on finding a way to break the barrier while waiting for Stan to arrive, Bill doing his best to convince Ford that his brother would only be a distraction.

Ford didn't take kindly to Bill’s poor opinion of Stan, proving a point by ignoring his work for several days until Bill reluctantly apologized and agreed to spare Stan from the apocalypse by letting him live in luxury in Gravity Falls with Ford.

419”3 Ford steps in quite literally at the last minute, Stan’s car unknowingly approaching the barrier that separates the rest of the world from Weirdmageddon. Stan, of course, panics and yanks the wheel when a man dressed in all black and wearing a biker helmet darts into the road in order to avoid hitting the stranger. Stan’s car swerves into the ditch, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel when he hits a tree.

Stan is –understandably– disoriented as the figure pulls him out of the totaled car, Stan's awareness coming in waves. Stan thinks he sees a giant pink woman on fire watching them from the other side of the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign before the stranger adjusts his grip on Stan and his vision is overtaken by blue as he’s effortlessly hauled into a wormhole that deposits them in 419”3 Ford’s current headquarters in a different dimension.

#gravity falls #somebody to call my own au #lore #ford pines #stan pines #lee pines #stan and ford #lee and ford #stan twins #bill cipher #writing #tw: suicide #tw: manipulation #tw: unhealthy relationships

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l0velylecter · 2 years ago

Note

I LOVE your ghost hc’s!!❤️, if you’re up for it can you make more angsty/toxic relationship (sorry if that sounds weird or if it makes you uncomfortable) headcannons with ghost? ❤️

imagine going through a divorce with simon ‘ghost’ riley, told through the five stages of grief

— going through a divorce with simon ‘ghost’ riley, told through the five stages of grief rating : m for mature and suggestive themes pairing : f!reader / simon ‘ghost’ riley tags : angst, a lot of angst, minor mentions of violence, he won’t be a good partner no matter how much you want him to be, i wouldn’t say toxic because i’m can’t really stomach writing that, but more or so unhealthy relationship, he has anger issues and this might induce anxiety, he is self destructive and afraid of intimacy, mentions of sex/smut fandom : cod mwii warnings : cursing, suggestive themes, mdni (minors don’t interact)

01 | You've lost count of the times you've denied that something is wrong between you and Simon. Once, you made the mistake of waiting on him for dinner, and he had entered the house with his mask pulled up to his nose — carrying a busted lip and several scars down his arms, his boots tracking blood and grime along the floor. Almost immediately: your concern was dismissed with anger — " Fucking hell, this is precisely why I didn't want you to wait. Cause you'd start running your mouth and asking all these bloody fucking questions."

With that, he stormed off into your room, leaving you to eat your home-cooked dinner alone: chewing on the cold meat so you won't cry. Ever since then, you keep telling yourself that he was just having a bad day, that he was just tired, that he was just trying his best. You never complained, even when his deployment grew longer, nor when he doesn't sleep in your bed anymore: always opting for the couch. Even when you barely talk and check up on one another. And even when he leaves almost immediately after you fuck without a kiss or a goodbye, you still convince yourself that Simon wasn't hurting you. That instead: he was just so full of hurt that it was overflowing out of him, and sometimes you can't help but be there when he spills.

02 | But Simon lives and breathes on anger, and it has become him. You were afraid of how much closer to a weapon he was than a man; how could he not hurt you when his jaw would clench at every minor inconvenience? Whether it was because you passed him the wrong tool when fixing his motorcycle or because you had locked yourself out of the house: Simon was always finding reasons to snap, and the worst part is that Simon doesn't realize it. Passive aggressive comments would turn into full-blown arguments, and worse, he would start throwing things. While your husband was not aiming at you, the cup had smashed into pieces — one of the strays flying to scratch you on the cheek. Immediately he fell on his knees in front of you, arms reaching out as if to touch. Yet when you flinched, he immediately slinked back. You couldn't take it anymore: breaking down into a sob, and as always, Simon only watched. That night, when he had left for his mission: you finally found the strength to sweep through the house. Somewhere into the argument, he had knocked over your picture together — your marriage had been a private ceremony between Simon and you. You couldn't stop the tears when you noticed for the first time in years that even at his wedding, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

03 | Not wanting to give up just yet, you tried to bargain. You suggested that speaking with a professional might help — even going as far as booking appointments without Simon knowing. While he wasn't happy, your husband went nonetheless, proving that there is still hope. And slowly, you were starting to see him smile again. Oh, how you've missed it, missed him: you miss teaching him how to make paper cranes with the napkins as you wait for takeout. You miss his army humor over dinner and how he wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb when you had sauce stuck there. You miss being able to kiss him goodnight and have him kiss you goodbye. It's just a shame that the good times are not enough to cover the bad. What's the point of all that hard work if he's just going to throw himself into battle again? It was like taking one step forwards and three steps back, and in the end, it doesn't matter how much you try, you were in love with a ghost; a shadow of a husband who used to exist in the past and now only lives in your head. 04 | To see the house so empty was more than depressing; without any furniture or tables, it was hard to believe that you once used to share a meal with Simon here almost every night. It was hard to believe you were ever married at all. You knelt to pick up the last box, nearly dropping it when Simon appeared by the doorway. Immediately you denied having gone through his things, and for a second, his eyes withered at the sight of you panicking — eyelids puffy and nose red. You both worked in silence, and while Simon kept his belongings to a minimum, it didn't stop him from staying to help you. It makes you feel worse knowing that within an hour, you felt more loved by him than in the years you were together, and it was on the day you both signed your divorce. For the sake of his identity, your marriage wasn't even on official records, so it was just an informal signing of the little paper you had kept for yourself. When he loaded the last box into your car, you couldn't help but burst into tears when you saw a miniature paper crane peeking out of his motorcycle bag.

" Quit crying now," Simon murmured, pulling you into a hug for the first time in ages. He had a hand behind your head, stroking your hair, " It wasn't your fault. You made the right choice. Don't make this any harder for the both of us."

It all happened so fast: he lifted his bacalava to his nose to give you one last kiss on your lips, your scar, and your forehead. He even kneeled to tie your shoelaces when not even you realized they were loose. And when your ex-husband drove off, you didn't start the car until an hour later. 05 | Soap knew it was better not to poke around other people’s business, but he wasn’t the only one who found it strange that Ghost didn't carry any dog tags — and it was even stranger to see that he had two rings on his neck instead: the smaller band slotted perfectly inside the other. He asked Gaz about it, who asked Laswell about it, who asked Price about it, who eventually shut the ‘gossip’ down. Until Ghost got shot in the fucking chest, and a paper crane fell out of his pocket.

“ Hey, Lt.” Soap asked through the comm, “ Why cranes ?”

There was a pause where Soap thought that this would be the part where he gets ignored for the third time that night.

“ They’re easy to make.”

“ So are planes. And frogs.”

He’s heard the man frustrated and angry, but Soap never heard him sad. Until the lieutenant finished recoiling his gun to curtly reply, “Because she said they mate for life.”

His tone had been stern and final as if that was his way of accepting the past: Ghost never brought it up again.

a/n : first of all anon i’m sorry i suck at making head canons, i have to literally turn it into a story so the hcs have to be read in between the lines 😔 and i can’t make it purely toxic cause i can’t really stomach it so i have to make it more on the sad side, but i hope you enjoy this nonetheless ! Thanks for requesting <3

imagine the ‘exes who still love each other but know that being together is too painful’ trope + simon ‘ghost’ riley

headcanons of simon ‘ghost’ riley in a relationship with you ( and eventually, out of it )

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aceghosts · 6 months ago

Text

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Title comes from Being As An Oceans' Find Our Way.

Rating: M

Warnings: PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE! This deals very explicitly with Rooney's grief and violent loss of their family. (Rooney is originally from Mass Effect with a Colonist background. This fic is adapting that background.) They are in a dark place, and thus, some of Rooney's thoughts, such as not wanting to exist, may be triggering. It also relieves Rooney's memories of that day and the traumatic things they saw, including watching someone die in their arms. Other warnings are depiction of violence, survivor's guilt, childhood trauma, discussions of dysfunctional childhoods (kind of), and drinking to cope. I think that covers everything, but if I need to tag for anything else, let me know.

Words: 5,188 words

Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before. I strongly encourage you to read Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning if you have not, as this fic directly references events in that fic.

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @derelictheretic, @imogenkol, @theelderhazelnut,

@strangefable, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92

AO3

The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney’s normally unflinching, steady demeanor turns brittle. Their mood is an ever-vicious cycle of grief looping into numbness with static in their brain, which eventually loops back into a grief that threatens to swallow them whole, pulling Rooney beneath its dark depths. Their sleep schedule goes to hell, ghosts haunting their dreams. Even in their waking hours, the ghosts haunt them, always in the corner of their mind. Nothing holds any interest for them, and they’re nauseous all the time, only able to pick at their food. The weight of a broken promise weighs heavily on their shoulders, and Rooney feels like they’re drowning underneath it all, exhausted from fighting the tide. All they want to do is hide in their room underneath blankets until the storm passes, when they finally grasp onto some sense of normality. Most years, Rooney powers through, only taking the day of their family’s death off. Their usual ritual is to spend the day alone, writing unsent letters to the ghosts they carry with them.

Their grief takes on a different form this year, a more malevolent form. It hits harder, a dark, black cloud hanging over them. It’s so hard to breathe, to simply exist. Their limbs are tied down, each movement more difficult than the last. They feel so numb to it all, to the whole point of their existence. All Rooney wants to do is to stop existing, simply dissipate into nothing. They want to let the waves pull them under, to simply stop fighting and give in for once. Rooney wonders if this year is harder because they died and now know death intimately. Maybe, it’s the fact they’re stuck in this Arasaka facility, amongst enemies and isolated from their comrades. Maybe, it’s that small glimpse of what they saw between life and death. Maybe, it’s the fact that they know they will be denied death, doomed to walk this earth as long as someone else demands it. If they died now, Rooney knows Arasaka would pull them back, deny them the dignity of simply being able to die.

And then, there is Yorinobu, Rooney’s only friend in this lonely place. They avoid him, leaving sessions early and ducking into hiding places when he searches for them. He doesn’t need to see Rooney like this, doesn’t have to know about any of this. Rooney doesn’t want him to think less of them, if he doesn’t already know. They need to focus on getting information for him. They need to focus on their mission. And, perhaps selfishly, Rooney does not want Yorinobu to worry about them. No one should have to worry about them. The grief will pass like it always does, and Rooney will be fine...right?

“We’re done, Shepard,” Leah, one of the scientists, says, openly disappointed with their poor performance, a common theme this week, “Go to your next session.” Right, another combat test. Leah had just run through a short test of their quickhacking capabilities. Miles, another scientist, wanted to put Rooney through a combat test with their optical camouflage.

“I will escort them to their next session.” They slowly look over in Yorinobu’s direction, unaware he was there. Arms crossed over his chest, he smiles at them warmly, eyes only on Rooney.

Rooney stares at him blankly, unable to muster even the smallest smile. They should be excited to see Yorinobu, ready to dish out what they know to him. Instead, Rooney feels nothing, hollow, like every other day of this forsaken week. Leah, who must have only realized he was here as well, bows. Shooting a glare at Rooney for their perceived rudeness, she replies, “Yes, Yorinobu-Sama. Shepard would be honored to accompany you.”

Yorinobu’s smile drops, brow furrows in concern as Rooney lethargically walks toward him. Shit, they need to act normally. They fall into step with him as they leave the room, still mute. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Not nearly a convincing enough answer. “Shepard,” He starts, voice soft, “I know you would prefer to talk with one of your fellow soldiers, but I would like to listen if you need someone.”

Rooney feels a lump in their throat, swallowing it down. “I’m okay,” They assure him, gently brushing their hand against his, “I’m just tired.”

He eyes them suspiciously, eventually relenting. “I have some news that you may be interested in. Some of it I can tell you now, the rest later.” As he talks, Rooney tunes him out, his voice becoming background noise like everything else. Their brain is unable to concentrate, thinking sluggishly. Every once in a while, Rooney offers a nod or a small noise of acknowledgment to keep up the appearance they are listening. “Now, I know you must not be listening.”

Shaking their head as they stop in their tracks, Rooney apologizes, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Yorinobu stops beside them, placing his hand on their shoulder in concern. Guilt burns within Rooney. He shouldn’t worry about them; no one should. They’ll power through this, just like everyone expects them to.

“I-.”

“Shepard!” Fucking hell, all of the goddamn people it had to be her, Rooney’s least favorite person in the facility. Dr. Naomi Kimura, their psychologist, dredged up every single awful thing mentioned in their psych profile as if it would magically convince Rooney to talk. Instead, Rooney shut down, staring at their hands quietly until their time was up. And this week, she was at her worst, mentioning their family constantly, how hard it must have been, and how Rooney could talk to her. It took every inch of their being to resist punching her, especially when she mentioned Jack. How dare she even mention his name. Rooney prefers dying again to having to talk to Dr. Kimura about one of the worst days of their life. “How are you feeling today, Shepard?” she asks, catching up to the pair.

They look down, staring at their shoes, fists clenched tightly. “I think Shepard is tired,” Yorinobu intervenes, “You should give them space.”

Dr. Kimura sighs. “Yes. Of course, they would be tired,” her pitying voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and Rooney bites the inside of their cheek, fighting the urge to scream. “I wanted to make sure that my patient was feeling well, especially on the anniversary of something so tragic.”

“Something tragic?” Yorinobu echoes.

“Their family,” They start walking, unable to listen. Rooney won’t give her the satisfaction of them telling her to shove it. And they don’t know if they can stomach Yorinobu looking at them like…like…

“Excuse us, Dr. Kimura.” Yorinobu excuses himself, catching up to Rooney. “Where are you going? What is goi-?”

“I should go,” Rooney cuts him off, their voice robotic and detached, leaving a confused Yorinobu behind.

—

Later that evening, when Rooney reaches their room after an afternoon of tests, Yorinobu stands outside their room. In his hands, he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Would you like to talk? Or drink?” Yorinobu holds the bottle of whiskey up for Rooney. They soften, recognizing the name on the bottle. It’s the same brand, the one that led to their first real conversation. To Rooney becoming an informant, and eventually, they suppose, a friend. Their eyes water, a sob stuck in their throat. “Did-Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s complicated,” Rooney wipes at their eyes, clearing their throat, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Yet, Yorinobu’s brow is furrowed, watching them carefully. “We should talk,” Rooney says, knowing that they owe Yorinobu the truth, “Can we go to your office?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. Rooney leans into him, resting their head on his shoulder. He feels so sturdy when they are so weak, like a small boat being tossed upon the waves in a storm.

—

Making themselves comfortable on the black leather couch in Yorinobu’s office, each with a glass of whiskey, Rooney takes a sip, needing to work up their courage. “I…um…” they start hesitantly, the words reluctant to leave their mouth.

Yorinobu slides an arm behind them, hand on their shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Right,” Rooney takes another sip, “Do you remember what I told you about my family?”

“You mentioned they died when you were sixteen,” a horrified look comes over him, quickly connecting the dots, “Is this the day they-?”

Rooney nods, confirming his suspicion as Yorinobu takes a sharp breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now how they’ve died.” Everyone knows. In the Militia, it was an open secret that being around Rooney was likely to get you killed. Unlucky Shepard. Go with them on a mission, and you won’t come back.

“I have not.” Wait, what? They look over at him in confusion. “I knew you would tell me on your own terms,” Yorinobu admits, “You are honest with me. I can be patient if you need me to be.”

Their guarded heart softens at his admission. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me.”

Silence washes over the both of them as Rooney thinks through their next words. They’re so used to people knowing them by their reputation. The Soldier who got shit done. The Sole Survivor. With Yorinobu, none of those expectations are placed upon them. Rooney is free to be themself. It is an oddly wonderful feeling; it is an oddly terrifying one. “I guess I could start at the beginning…”

He nods, allowing Rooney to continue. “I grew up in a small Biotechnica Company Town. My mom, Hannah Shepard, worked as the head of security.” They remember their mother, a former Militech officer, brave and fearless. Never backing down. “She was really brave, taught me how to shoot my first gun too. Taught me that it would be my responsibility to look after Jack.” From a young age, their mom had taught them how to shoot, simply stating: ONE DAY, YOU’LL NEED TO PROTECT YOUR BROTHER. A duty that Rooney solemnly took. A duty they failed. “My dad, Aiden Shepard, was an agricultural engineer. He was so kind, always encouraging my brother and me.” Rooney always remembers their dad as a soft, kind man. He had a green thumb, teaching Rooney all he knew about plants and farming. Their favorite memories of him are sitting with their dad on the porch bench on summer evenings, both reading together in silence, yet enjoying each other’s company.

“I had a younger brother, Jack, and a cousin, Danny, my age. Jack was so bright and so sweet. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I’m sure if he were still alive, he would have done something great.” In their mind, Jack smiles brightly at them, fiddling with some machine he was working on. His enthusiasm was infectious. Jack deserved to be alive; he should be alive. Not Rooney. “Danny was always getting into trouble, but it was trouble I always wanted to be a part of.” They remember the way he would grin mischievously, ready to drag Rooney and Jack into some of his schemes. Despite the trouble the trio would get into, Rooney wouldn’t trade any of those memories for the world.

“Home was gorgeous.” Rooney still feels the sun on their face, the warm breeze flowing through their hair. They hear the rustle of the wheat as the breeze flows through it. “The skies were always a soft blue with a gentle breeze blowing through the wheat. It was like paradise.” How naive Rooney was. They should have appreciated it more, enjoyed what little time they had there. Now, home was a memory, a place they could never return to.

"I…understand.” His soft utterance surprises them. Yorinobu sips his whiskey. “When I think of my childhood, I think about how wonderful it was sometimes, how happy I used to be…”

“How you wish you could go back,” They finish, “But you can’t, you can never go back.”

“Yes,” the understanding look in his eyes makes Rooney feel a little less lonely, “After what my father had shown me, the veil over my eyes had been lifted. It was a lie, a lie to make me complacent, dependent. He used that lie to mold me into the son he thought I should be. Obedient, Deferential. He had destroyed the home I had known. Your situation is different.”

Rooney sips their whiskey. “Yeah,” their voice cracks, “Home doesn’t exist anymore, wiped off the map, all the people gone.” They pause, their throat tight. “Except for me.” Cursed to live; cursed to survive.

“Shepard,” His thumb rubs comfortingly against the bare skin of their freckled shoulder, “You do not have to tell me this. I will respect-.”

“No, I want to,” They cut him off, inhaling a deep breath, “It’s a little raw considering…”

“I do not want to push if it makes you feel unwell.”

“You’re not pushing; you’re the first one who hasn’t pushed me to talk about this,” Their mind flashes back to Dr. Kimura, always pushing and prodding, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“I am glad I can be here for you.”

Rooney gives him a watery smile, dropping it a second later. “The first thing I remember about this day is the night before, especially the fight that I had with my mom.” Yorinobu raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “We were fighting a lot. I wanted to join a Corp, Militech specifically, to see the world, and she thought I was naive, that I was going to make a huge mistake.”

“Militech?” Yorinobu blurts out, surprised.

They nod. “Imagine how differently things would have turned out if I still joined Militech afterwards.”

“We would not have met.”

“Yeah, I know how Militech and Arasaka feel about each other.” Rooney looks down at their whiskey glass. “I can’t forget what I told my mom that night. I told her that hated her.” I HATE YOU SO MUCH, the awful words reverberate around in their head. “I told her that I hated her for trying to keep me in that stupid town, that I wasn’t going to be stuck there forever, miserable like she was.” YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE. I WON’T BE STUCK HERE IN THIS TOWN AND END UP A MISERABLE BITCH LIKE YOU. Their hands shake, tears welling in their eyes. Rooney would give anything to take those words back, to reverse the hands of time, and tell their mom one last time that they love her. They love her so much. Rooney would tell her that they were naive and stupid, understanding what Hannah was trying to protect them from. “What a pair we make, huh? You with Saburo, and me with my mom.”

Yorinobu smiles. “It is natural for children to rebel, to want differently than the path their parents planned for them. You are not wrong for wanting that.”

“I suppose so.” Rooney isn’t sure if they were wrong for wanting, but they should have spoken to their mom differently. “The next day, a group of bandits attacked our town. I’m not sure how they managed it. We fended off attacks before with little damage, but this was different.” It was slaughter, an act of cruel and senseless violence. “Jack, Danny, and I were hanging out in the fields. We were up in an oak tree, watching the clouds as we talked. Then, we saw the smoke. We went to check it out.” Rooney still remembers the tree bark scraping against their palms, barely registering the sting as they fling themself from the tree. “We met Mom at the edge of the field. She handed me a pistol and told me to protect Jack and Danny. The last thing she ever told me was for us to hide and for me to be brave.” ROONEY, TAKE THEM AND HIDE. BE BRAVE FOR ME. The last time Rooney sees their mom is with her back turned to the three as she charges into town, red ponytail with strands of gray swinging in the wind. The pistol is heavy in Rooney’s hands, the full burden of responsibility weighing down on them. “Do you ever feel like you have to protect Hanako?”

“Yes. As children, Hanako and I were close. We only had each other, and I knew I needed to be there for her. I would protect her from any trouble. Even now, as adults, despite our distance, I still want to protect her, free her from my father’s influence. Hanako should be allowed to determine her own path, not a puppet of my father.” Yorinobu takes a sip of his whiskey, conflicting emotions on his face. “Now, Hanako feels she must protect me by playing mediator. In her eyes, all would be right if I became the son my father wanted me to be. If I were to be someone else.”

“You shouldn’t be,” He raises an eyebrow as they awkwardly clarify, “You shouldn’t have to be someone else. I like you as you are.” Yorinobu looks taken aback as they backpedal, “I mean-.”

“Shepard, I understand,” Yorinobu replies cutting them off, “I like you as you are too.”

“Thank you.” Another question comes to them. “What about Kei?” In all their time at the facility, Rooney heard about Kei the least. Possibly because he had been dead since 2023. But they wondered about Yorinobu and his relationship.

“Kei and I were not close. As children, Hanako and I rarely saw him, a distant figure in both our lives. Kei always thought of himself as the dutiful older son, the protector of Arasaka’s legacy. When I left,” Yorinobu’s voice turns bitter, “He saw it as his responsibility to strike me down for daring to defy the family, for not falling into line. Kei paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. I stand, still alive, while he is dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yorinobu shakes his head. “It is not your fault. One day, my father will pay for Kei’s death. Continue.”

“I suggested that we should hide. There was a storm shelter beneath the farmhouse where no one would be able to find us. But-.” I CAN’T LEAVE MY MOM AND DAD. WE HAVE TO FIND THEM. They remember how terrified Danny looked, a sixteen-year-old who just wanted his parents. “Danny wanted us to find his parents. He wouldn’t listen to me or Jack.” Danny’s glare is fierce, and he is defiant at Rooney’s suggestion. He storms away with Jack quickly following behind as he tries to calm Danny. “He couldn’t be stopped.” Rooney finishes their glass, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey, and pouring another.

“So, we head to town.” The moment the three teenagers reach town, they all look at each other, knowing they’ve fucked up. Rooney remembers the thick smell of smoke and dead bodies, nearly choking on it. They hold the pistol with the safety off, ready to fire like their mom taught them to. Yet, at the thought of shooting a real person, Rooney’s hands shake, the pistol wobbling. “Danny thought we needed to head to the center of town.” COME ON, MY PARENTS SHOULD BE AT THE CITY HALL. “I try to argue with him, but he takes off running and rounds the corner. And then, I hear it.”

Yorinobu’s mouth drops in horror as a sick feeling rises in their stomach. The gunshots echo in their ears, deafening, as Rooney sprints towards the alley. Danny is on the ground, red pooling beneath him as a bandit stands over him. Rooney raises the pistol, pulling the trigger. The first shot hits the bandit’s shoulder. The second one hits him in the chest. Later, when Rooney learns to shoot a sniper rifle in the militia, they promise to never miss, to always make sure that their bullet hits the target. They will not let another innocent pay with their life. Rooney sips their glass, before continuing, “Jack and I grab Danny,” Danny’s green t-shirt is soaked in blood, only groaning as the two pull him off the ground, “The local town doctor is only two blocks away. If anyone can help Danny, it’s her.” It is only later that Rooney will find out that this was a fool’s errand, that the local doctor is already dead.

“Jack and I manage to get Danny to the clinic. We think we’ve made it, that the three of us are going to be safe.” It feels like a journey of a thousand miles, but relief washes over Rooney as the clinic door slides open. They’re safe; Jack, Danny, and Rooney are going to make it. HEY! Rooney turns as a Bandit turns to face them, raising his rifle at the trio. “As we enter the clinic, another bandit finds us.” Rooney raises the gun, preparing to fire. Jack, blue eyes wide, shoves Rooney and Danny through the doorway. JACK! Shots ring out, deafening as Rooney screams, a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to help. Jack slumps to the ground as Rooney lets Danny go. They raise their pistol, flicking the safety off as they unload the pistol. Rooney empties the pistol into the bandit, each shot ringing loudly in their ears. When the pistol finally clicks empty, long after the bandit has fallen to the ground, Rooney drops it, the pistol clattering loudly to the ground. “He shoots Jack. I’m able to stop the bandit, but it’s already too late.”

“I grab Jack and Danny, dragging them into the clinic. I find an empty room, somewhere we can hide.” Grabbing Jack and Danny, Rooney pulls them into the clinic, a herculean effort fueled by pure adrenaline. They find an empty room, hiding with Jack and Danny in a dark corner. Danny’s eyes are unfocused, his mouth slightly open. Rooney doesn’t need to feel his pulse to know that he is dead. They turn to Jack, who reaches out for his older sibling. “Jack grabs onto me. I beg for him to let me go, but all he wants is his older sibling. His grip loosens…” He wraps his arms around Rooney’s neck tightly, clinging to them as he bleeds out in their arms. Rooney holds him, alternating between telling Jack that they love him (JACK, I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!) and begging him to let go so they can help him (YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH HELP!). Eventually, his grip loosens, Rooney silently sobbing as their brother dies. In the Unification War, when they hold dying young men, trying to comfort them in their last moments, they will always remind Rooney of Jack. They will always be Jack, terrified in their final moments, begging for some sort of comfort, that everything will be okay. “And my brother is dead.”

Tears stream down their face as Rooney grips their whiskey tightly. “I hide in the clinic for what seems like an eternity.” They wait until the screaming dies down, and even then, Rooney doesn’t leave, afraid the bandits will be waiting for them. After the screaming has been dead for a long time, Rooney makes their way out of the clinic, looking upon the destruction of their town. Every corpse is a familiar face, someone they’ve known their whole life. “Eventually, Nomads, who regularly traded with us and did odd jobs for Biotechnica, pass by, and…” Well, the rest is history.

“Rooney, I’m-I’m so sorry…” Yorinobu seems to be at a loss for words, unsurprising. No one ever seems to know what to say, and Rooney can’t blame them.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” They finish off the glass, pouring themself another. Yorinobu tilts his head in confusion, perhaps concerned by their harsh, detached tone. “It’s the bandits fault for destroying my town. It’s my fault that Jack and Danny are dead, that I couldn’t protect them.”

Yorinobu sits straight up, removing his hand from their shoulder. Rooney misses his touch, a sole comfort, perhaps more than they deserve. He places his glass down on the table. Yorinobu grabs their glass, placing it down beside his. Rooney doesn’t fight him, unable to look at him, only looking down at their hands. Yorinobu takes their hands in his, his touch desperate. “You cannot blame yourself. You were sixteen.”

“I can blame myself,” They look at him, meeting his eyes, “It was my job to protect Jack. He’s my younger brother. He needed me, and I failed him. Danny, too.” After their town, Rooney swore that they would protect others from suffering the same fate.

He looks slightly horrified, and Rooney wonders if he is thinking of himself and Hanako, perhaps seeing a mirror image of Jack in Hanako. Yorinobu releases their hands, only to cup their face, wiping away the tears. “It was not your fault.” He stresses every word, like a general giving a command to a stubborn soldier. On some level, Rooney knows this is irrational. Their psych in the militia, a no-nonsense woman whom Rooney felt safe talking to, used to tell them the same thing. So did their fellow soldiers in their support group. But Rooney couldn’t let it go, not when it had driven them their whole life. Not when their family had rejected them for it. Their tears fall faster, a sob escaping from them as Yorinobu’s eyes widen in surprise. “Something else troubles you.”

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me.”

“Remember our first conversation, when I told you to leave something alone?”

Confusion briefly crosses his face before the realization dawns. “You looked upset when I asked,” They hear a touch of concern in his voice, “Did it involve your family?”

“Yes,” the vision of their family around the dining room table is startlingly clear in their mind, “I saw my family.”

“You…saw them?”

“Don’t know what it was. Might have been a hallucination; might have been my mind playing a trick on me, but I saw them.” Rooney’s voice trembles, “I got to go home, see them all again, and they...they…” Their throat tightens, the words too difficult to speak. “They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“Rooney,” Yorinobu exhales their name, distraught as he wipes away more tears.

“I failed to protect Jack and Danny, and I wasn’t allowed to come home,” Rooney swallows back a sob, “I wasn’t good enough so I couldn’t stay.”

Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his lap. They straddle his waist, trying to openly sob as they lay their hands on his chest. “Rooney,” His right hand lays on the back of their neck, “You did not fail. You were sixteen. No one could have asked more of you.” Rooney doesn’t believe him; they don’t know if they ever will. This guilt will gnaw at Rooney for the rest of their life until they take their final breath. If Rooney is ever allowed to take one. “Believe me,” Yorinobu pleads sincerely, “Please.”

Yorinobu’s earnestness cracks the stone walls around their heart. They collapse into his chest, burying their face in the crook of his neck. Rooney tightly grips the fabric of his black and magenta silk shirt, holding onto him like an overboard passenger holds onto a raft, adrift in the ocean. A sob escapes them, and Yorinobu’s hand comes to their back, rubbing circles in the black fabric of their tank top. His other hand rests on their thigh, thumb stroking along the seam of the black fabric. “If you need to, cry.”

They can’t fully break down, not for a lack of trying. Instead, Rooney holds him tightly, crying softly as Yorinobu comforts them. His voice is soothing, a tether to reality for them.

—

Eventually, Rooney finds they have no more tears left to cry. They’re exhausted, worn down to the bone. “Thank you.” Their voice feels raw and scratchy, their throat tight.

“Do you feel better?” He asks, watching them with concern. “Please be honest with me.”

Honesty is the least of what he deserves; Yorinobu deserves so much from them. “No,” They’re not sure if they will ever be okay, “I don’t know if I will be, but you being here….”

Yorinobu releases the breath he was holding. “Do you need-?”

They shake their head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Allow me to take you to your room.” Rooney gets up off his lap, untangling themself from Yorinobu. He follows them off the couch, slinging an arm around their shoulder.

They slide their arm around his waist, resting their head on his shoulder. Together, the pair walk silently down the Arasaka halls alone. Rooney feels a swell of affection towards him. There was no reason for him to be this kind to them, and yet…he was. Perhaps Rooney and Yorinobu were kindred souls, both alone in a hostile place looking for someone who would see them as they are.

When the pair reaches Rooney’s room, Yorinobu asks, “Will you be fine if you are left alone tonight?” Maybe. Rooney isn’t going to hurt themself, but the nightmares worry them. Sometimes, they relive the scenes over and over, a gruesome horror movie on repeat. Their silence is enough to answer his question. “I am staying.”

Rooney frowns. “You don’t need to stay.” They won’t be more of a burden on him.

“I want to stay with you,” Yorinobu opens the door, “Please let me.”

A small spark of humor arises in them. “I didn’t know you were eager to get into my bed.”

Yorinobu laughs, slightly surprised. “You must be feeling better.”

“Somewhat,” They smile at him shyly, “Thanks to you.”

He looks smug, clearly proud of himself. “To bed.”

A few minutes later, the duo crawl into bed with Rooney on the right and Yorinobu on the left. The tiny bed is meant for one person, but Rooney and Yorinobu make it work, spooning close together. Rooney’s metal arm wraps around his chest, Yorinobu’s hand resting on top of their hand. They are pressed tight against his back, cuddling him. “Are you comfortable?” He asks, his tone a little unsure. “Would you prefer I hold you?”

“No. I feel better holding you, unless you want to change positions.”

“I like this,” Yorinobu replies softly, his voice sending a warm and tingly feeling through them.

“Good.” The darkness and silence of the room descend upon them. A short while later, as they doze off, Rooney hears a soft snore from Yorinobu. They bite back a soft laugh, striking them as slightly cute. Rooney whispers, careful not to wake him, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you today. It’s the first time I haven’t felt alone on this day. I don’t know if I can ever return the favor.” They pause briefly. “But I promise I will try to be there for you in any way you need me to be.”

Closing their eyes, Rooney allows themself to fall asleep, comfortable and safe with Yorinobu in their arms.

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mystique-6 · 9 months ago

Text

Kinktober (It's really Whumptober) Day 7: Spanking

Summary: Ailis' unresolved trauma is triggered and she takes her feelings of guilt and remorse out on her companions. Astarion makes her pay a price for it.

Hello! My hyperfixation on Astarion has got me in the writing mood so I will be participating in Kinktober using @flightlessangelwings Kinktober list. The pieces may be part of a bigger fic(s). I have started the fic. If you like this please consider checking out my main fic, This is Me Trying. (Can you tell I like Taylor Swift?) Either way, I hope you enjoy. I do plan on completing the 31 prompts though it will take me past October. I also have the fic posted on AO3.

Warning: Anyone under 18 do not interact. Please pay attention to the tag warnings below.

Tag Warnings: Spanking, Light BDSM, Safe, Sane and Consensual, Un-Resoled Trauma, Guilt, Survivor's Guilt, Nudity, Snuggling & Cuddling, Aftercare, Whump, No Sex, NSFW

Additional Note: This fic involves Spawn Astarion. I have stated that some of these prompts will be used in my main BG3 fic, This is Me Trying. This one definitely will be. This is actually a very important chapter for my OC and I saw an opportunity to have a practice run of the chapter. I'm glad I did it because I know now for sure that a flashback chapter will be needed. This ended up being too much exposition. Still, I hope there will be some people who enjoy this fic. If you are reading This is Me Trying and don't want spoilers though, you may want to skip this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from BG3.

Ailis felt her headache growing as her group argued over how to rescue the tieflings…again. Two days ago, they’d entered the Shadow-Cursed lands. Earlier this day they’d met a group of Harpers and had helped them in a battle against a batch of shadow monsters. This had gotten them an invite to the Last Light Inn, the final sanctuary left in these lands.

Once there, they’d been revealed as true souls. The leader of this faction of Harpers, Jaheira, had made to attack her group, but thankfully the tiefling child, Mol, had convinced the woman to give them a chance. It was clear now, though, that Jaheira just saw her group as a tactical maneuver. She wanted them to use their status as true souls to infiltrate Moonrise Towers and find a way to kill Kethric Thorm; the person who had taken over these lands.

She didn’t necessarily oppose to looking into Kethric Thorm. He seemed to be involved with the Absolute Cult and they were in desperate need of answers about their tadpoles. Looking into Thorm and getting information on the Absolute and their tadpoles aligned with each other. However, Jaheira also wanted them to go on a rescue mission.

While her team had scouted around the inn on their arrival, they found some of the tieflings they’d helped at the grove. About half of the group was missing. It turned out that the road they had intended to follow to Baldur’s Gate had been destroyed. They had opted to travel above land through all the Shadow-Curse instead of cutting out most of it by going through the Underdark. The group had been attacked by Absolute cultists. Many had been killed or captured, but the rest had found their way here.

Ailis was sympathetic to their plight. She could feel the hopelessness, grief, and guilt from those who remained. She couldn’t stop Rolan’s angry words towards her earlier in the day from playing on repeat in her head. But they had their own problems. They needed to start putting their whole attention on getting rid of these tadpoles.

“This arguing is ridiculous!” Wyll’s shout caught her attention. He made eye contact with her. “Chief, tell this lot we need to save the tieflings first. Thorm can wait.”

“If we go in and bust their prisoners out, we’ll make the cultists hostile towards us and we won’t be able to get the information we need,” Shadowheart protested. “The tieflings have to wait.”

“There are ways around that,” Gale said. “We could use confusion spells or disguise spells. Or we could make it look like the prisoners broke out themselves.”

“That seems like a lot of effort when we can just rescue them after we take care of Thorm,” Shadowheart said.

“I agree with Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said. “Though it pains me to say it.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Wyll sighed. “Ailis, come on. Set this lot straight.” She felt a surge of anger course through her. She always had to be the one to solve all their problems or play mediator. It was growing tiresome. It was draining her. It was too big of a job with this crew. She could feel her skin crawl with anxiety over the overwhelming job of managing all their egos. Her nerves prickled at their expectant stares.

“Ailis…”

“We don’t have time to be wasting on the tieflings again,” she snapped as her emotions boiled over. A part of her was horrified at what had just spewed from her mouth and her gut roiled with guilt from the shocked and dismayed looks on Karlach’s and Wyll’s faces.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Gale said in a saddened tone.

“As am I,” Lae’zel agreed. “I didn’t think you had it in you to ignore people in need.”

“Oh please,” she said. “I’m hardly a hero.”

“You are to these tieflings,” Karlach stated.

She ignored a fresh stab of guilt and shook her head. “We need to focus on these tadpoles,” she said. “We don’t have time to spend on a group of people who are clearly doomed.”

“Wow,” Shadowheart said. “I would expect that level of callousness from Astarion, but not you.”

“Well, that’s rather rude,” Astarion whined. “I probably would have kept that thought to myself. Probably.”

Ailis sighed. “Look, what happened to the tieflings is tragic, but we need to focus on our own problem,” she said.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll investigate Thorm, and then we can free the tieflings,” Shadowheart said sounding pleased.

“Well, that depends on what we find out about these tadpoles while looking into Thorm,” Ailis replied. “Don’t forget these parasites are time sensitive. At some point we will transform into mindflayers. If we discover that’s going to be sooner rather than later, we won’t have time for the tieflings.”

“You’re seriously saying you don’t want to help the tieflings at all?!” Karlach cried angrily.

“I’m saying, that our tadpole problem is more important right now,” she said.

“I suppose if we take out Thorm, that would make it possible for the Harpers to help the tieflings,” Gale cut in. The wizard was always trying to find the middle ground. He wanted so desperately to be liked. She usually found this endearing, but right now it only fueled her anger.

“I suppose that’s an option if we need to take out Thorm at all,” she muttered. More incredulous looks greeted her.

“If we need to take out Thorm?” Wyll repeated, astonished. “Ailis, have you not paid attention to these realms? Look what the man has done!”

“What he’s done doesn’t concern us,” she argued. “Our focus is getting rid of these tadpoles and if we can do that without spending time killing Thorm, then that’s what we’ll do. End of discussion.”

“I think there’s a lot more to discuss,” Karlach snapped. The floor around her began growing scorch marks.

“Easy now,” Wyll soothed. “There’s no need to get worked up. This is just a disagreement.”

“One that we’ll all work out,” Shadowheart added. Ailis snorted and the cleric glared at her. “And what did that mean?”

“Oh, I just thought what you said was amusing,” Ailis replied. “‘We’ll work it out’ Ha!”

“What are you getting at, Ailis?” Shadowheart snapped.

“I just think it’s cute that you think you all will figure it out,” she replied. “What you really mean is I will figure it out because I am always the one to figure out what we’re doing. I am always the one who manages everyone’s opinions to come up with a solution. I am the one who manages everyone’s ginormous egos!”

“Now, that’s not really being fair,” Gale tried to intervene.

“Fair?” she shrieked. “No! What’s not fair is dumping all your trauma on me and expecting me to deal with it for you.”

“Darling, I think you…”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me,” she snapped at Astarion. “I have to do everything for everyone! And no one ever helps me. No one ever checks in on me to see how I’m doing. So the only one whose opinion matters here is mine. We need to learn about these tadpoles. If that leads us to needing to take out Thorm fine, but if not, our next step is whatever gets rid of these parasites.”

“You’re out of line, Ailis,” Shadowheart growled.

“Now, hold on,” Wyll intervened. “Ailis did make some fair points. We could put more effort into controlling our emotions and…egos. However, Ailis, you are the leader of this group and it’s your job to…”

“Yes, I am the leader and I’m doing my job,” she cut him off. “I’ve told you what we’re going to do. That’s the end of the discussion.”

“So, we just have to do what you say now? Our opinions don’t matter?” Shadowheart scoffed.

“That’s exactly, right,” Ailis replied coolly.

“And if we’re not willing to go along with that?” Shadowheart asked through gritted teeth.

“Then you can leave,” Ailis said. She knew she was going too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t bring herself to back down. The frustration of the last few weeks was bubbling over. Still, her guilt increased at the look of hurt on her companions’ faces.

“You’d really kick out any who disagreed with you?” Lae’zel asked in a tone of surprise.

“Don’t tell me you suddenly disagree with that philosophy,” Ailis replied. “You’d have had me kick out most of this group a few weeks ago.”

“I…”

“You know what? I’m done with this,” Ailis cried. “Whoever decides to join me, meet back here in the morning.” She turned and stormed out of the building. She stalked angrily down to camp and began pacing the rocky shores of the lake nearby. As she paced, she could feel her anger and anxiety turn inwards. She shouldn’t have yelled at them. They didn’t deserve that. She just couldn’t stop thinking of Rolan’s words from earlier that day. He was right.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the ground if you keep pacing like that,” Astarion’s snide voice called out.

Ailis glanced up at him and scowled. “Go away, Astarion,” she said. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” he replied sitting down on a large boulder. “Still, someone needed to check on you.”

“And they decided to send you?” she asked.

“I sent myself,” he replied sounding a little annoyed. A stern look crossed his face when he noticed her look of disbelief. “I’m not completely callous to your well-being, Ailis. I care that something is clearly upsetting you. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

“You don’t want to know,” Ailis replied bitterly.

“Ah, but I do,” he said. “It must be something big to make you go off like that. Now go on and tell me. It will make you feel better.” She began to pace again.

“You just want me to go back to being complacent,” she grumbled. “You don’t care. You just don’t like it when I’m a bitch, but it’s not my…” She cut off when he stepped in front of her to stop her pacing, and gripped onto her shoulders.

“You’re not a bitch, Ailis. You’re just upset. And yes, I do care,” he said. “If you talk to me about whatever has you so upset, maybe you’ll feel better.”

“I…I can’t,” she replied.

“Yes, you can, darling,” he said. “Just tell me what has you upset. It was what Rolan said, wasn’t it? You’ve looked agitated since that conversation.”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll leave if I tell you. You all will,” she cried, tearing herself out of his grip. She began pacing anxiously again. This time, he didn’t try to stop her.

“No one’s leaving, darling,” he said.

“You would if you knew,” she said. “You’d have never agreed to travel with me if you knew.”

“Well, now I think I have to know,” he said, trying to teaser her to a lighter mood.

“I’m serious, Astarion,” she replied, though she did stop pacing.

Astarion nodded. “I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “Still, I think you better tell me. I think it will help.” She sighed and closed her eyes. She opened them when she felt his arm wrap around her waist, and he led her over to the boulder he’d sat on before. “Here. Sit down here and we’ll talk.” She gathered herself for a moment and stared out at the still water of the lake.

“This isn’t my first time leading a group of people,” she said slowly.

“I gathered that,” Astarion replied. “You lead troops in the Espax War, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I have plenty of guilt over that, but that’s not what’s bothering me now,” she said, and then glanced up at him. “How much do you know about the Espax War?”

Astarion shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied. “I’d get bits of news when hunting targets, but that’s it. Espax is a long way from Baldur’s Gate.”

Ailis nodded. “The war started as a rebellion against Espax’s government,” she began to explain. “By all accounts, Espax had an incredibly corrupt government. There were two factions running the rebellion. Both wanted to take out the existing government, but their ideas for the future government differed.”

“A recipe for disaster,” Astarion commented.

“Exactly,” she said. “The factions managed to overthrow the original government, but they couldn’t agree with each other enough to build a new one. They began fighting and it turned into a full out war. Both sides began recruiting soldiers, originally from their own people. However, one faction was more popular than the other amongst Espax’s citizens and most went to fight for them.”

“So, the faction you fought under had to resort to other methods of recruitment,” Astarion said.

“By the time I was press-ganged into service most of the people fighting were doing so unwillingly,” Ailis replied. “Even those who had originally joined freely had turned against this faction by that point. They committed horrendous atrocities. Many even said they’d rather have the old government back than continue to support this one.”

“And you led people in attempts to escape?” he asked. “Or overthrow?”

“Escape,” she answered. “When I first got there, I tried to escape on my own. When that didn’t work, I started recruiting others who wanted to leave. There were a few of these attempts. They all ended with many of my group dead or tortured as punishment.” Her hand came up to her face to worry at the deep scar running down her cheek to her jaw. She had a smaller one below her right eye.

Astarion gently moved her hand away from the scar and rested their intwined hands on his lap. “Is that how you got those scars?” he asked. “Trying to escape?”

“Helping someone else to escape,” she said and then smiled bitterly at his incredulous expression. “I had given up trying to escape by the time I got these scars.”

“But you were still helping others to escape?” he questioned.

“Not at first. For a while I just gave up and did what they wanted me to,” she said. “I’d accepted it as a just punishment for my previous crimes. I proved to be a good soldier. After a while they trusted me with training new recruits and then leading small groups in battle. Eventually, I began to form friendships with others there. The two relevant to this story were Nash and Marissa and her three kids…”

“Kids?” Astarion said. He looked surprised.

She nodded. “They recruited anyone they could,” she said. “They’d take criminals being transported to the gallows like I was to travelers just passing through. Many of the travelers had children.”

“Is that what happened to your friend?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Marissa was in the war almost from the beginning. Her husband was part of the rebellion and was a supporter of this faction. Marissa had no idea until after he was killed in one of the first skirmishes. The faction blamed her husband for the loss of so many lives in that skirmish and so did a lot of the dead’s’ families. The faction told her if she worked for them, they’d forgive her husband’s failure and keep her and her children safe.

“There was no choice for her. She agreed. She mostly did secretarial work for them. She wasn’t thrown into battle until the last few years when things were growing increasingly desperate,” she explained.

“They started putting the kids into battle, didn’t they?” Astarion guessed.

Ailis nodded. “When I first arrived, all children stayed in camp,” she said. “The older kids kept the barracks in order and watched their younger siblings. But the war wasn’t going well and they couldn’t get enough soldiers. In the penultimate year of the war, they decreed sons that were fourteen or older would be put into battles. They would ‘try and keep them off the frontlines’ they said, but we all knew they’d end up there eventually.

“Marissa was beside herself with worry. Her oldest son was nine months off from fourteen,” she continued. “We all saw the war would be ending soon, but not soon enough for her son. On a night off, me and our other friend, Nash, took her out for drinks to let her vent her worries. She kept repeating that she had to do something. That she couldn’t let this happen to her son.”

Ailis closed her eyes and sighed. “I was the one who suggested escaping,” she said. “Marissa was hesitant about it at first. Punishment for runaways by this point in the war was almost always death, and if they didn’t kill you, they’d make you wish they had.” She worried at her scar again.

“You got her to agree to the attempt though, didn’t you?” Astarion said.

“She came around to the idea,” Ailis said. “She didn’t like it though. It didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t think it was fair that just she and her kids would get out.”

“Why would she care about that?” Astarion asked perplexed. “She should have just worried for herself…and her kids, I guess.” Exasperation and amusement settled across her expression. The vampire spawn’s lack of empathy tended to reveal itself in inopportune times. There was no point admonishing him, though. She’d accepted by this point there were some things Astarion would just never truly understand.

“Marissa wanted to get more people out,” she continued. “After some convincing she got me and Nash on board. Well, she got me on board. Nash only agreed to it because I was going to be involved.”

“You and him were involved?” Astarion asked. She could see he was trying to just sound curious, but she heard a jealous note in his tone.

“We had an arrangement. Like ours, really,” she admitted. “There weren’t any deep feelings. We both got what we wanted out of the other. And Nash wasn’t exactly hard to look at.”

Astarion snorted. “So, did it work?” he asked. “Whatever plan you concocted to free people.”

“For a time,” Ailis said, “but after six or seven months they were cracking down. Nash insisted we had to stop, at least for some time. But Marissa’s son would be turning fourteen in just over a month and there was already talk of lowering the age to thirteen. I insisted that we do one last escape to get Marissa and her kids out.

“Nash didn’t like it but he agreed if it was just Marissa and her kids I led out. The night started like every other escape night, but…it all went wrong,” she said, closing her eyes against the painful memory.

“Nash betrayed you,” Astarion said.

“No. Not Nash,” Ailis said. “The night guard he bribed to ignore anyone he saw escaping. He might not have done so willingly. I’ll never know. They killed him. Guns went off when we breached the camp. We ran off into the woods, but they knew our routes. Marissa and I tried to gather the kids together and come up with an alternate route, but a soldier shot off a gun near us and her little girl ran off frightened right into the open and they…they shot her.”

“Ailis…”

“We went back with them after that,” she continued through her tears. “They brought us to the General’s tent to interrogate us. They wanted to know everyone who was involved in the operation. We did our best to conceal who’d been involved, but in doing so, Marissa incriminated herself by admitting it had been her idea to help families escape. I tried to intervene; to convince them it was all on me. I had the history of escape attempts, not Marissa. All my attempts got me was a knife to the face. They then forced me to watch as they killed Marissa. They killed my friend right in front of me and her remaining children. That was my punishment. They wouldn’t kill me. I was too useful to them.”

“What happened to her two sons?” Astarion asked.

“Nash got them out,” she replied woodenly. “He was high ranking in the army. One of the lead officers had a niece who couldn’t have children. They lived away from the fighting. They weren’t involved at all. They were willing to take them in.”

“Nash couldn’t have done anything for you or Marissa when you were captured?” he asked. She could tell he was judging her old friend.

“No,” she replied, harshly. “He made it very clear from the beginning when we were planning the operation he wouldn’t lose his position for something he thought was foolish. He did what he could for us when we were captured and that’s it. What happened to Marissa and her daughter wasn’t his fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault either, Ailis,” Astarion said. “None of what you’ve just told me was your fault.”

“It was though,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t planted the idea of escape in her mind, Marissa wouldn’t have thought to include other people in it. I should have insisted that night that we would only get her and her kids out. Or I should have caved and agreed with Nash. He had high rank. There were things he could have done to keep her son safe.

“I got Marissa killed. I got her daughter killed. I got all the people from my original escape attempts killed,” she said. “I can’t help the tieflings. I’ll get them killed. I’m going to get everyone killed!”

“Ailis, darling, look at me. Look at me!” he repeated when she turned her face away. She reluctantly turned and met his gaze. He looked very concerned. “Ailis, what happened to your friend and the others was not your fault.”

“It was. I…”

“Did you force them to try and escape?” he asked.

“What?” she cried, confused.

“Did you force them to try and escape?” he repeated. “Did you threaten pain or death if they didn’t follow you? Did you blackmail them into joining you?”

“No!” she cried, appalled. “Of course not!”

“Were they aware of the risks they were taking when they agreed to join you?” he grilled. “Did you tell them the potential consequences?”

“Yes. I drilled it into them what could happen if we failed,” she replied. “Astarion, why…”

“I’m asking you, darling, because I’m trying to understand why you think you’re at fault,” he said. “Based on everything you’re telling me, you only gave everyone an option to join you. You didn’t force them. You let them know the risks so they made informed decisions. I’m failing to see how you bare any responsibility for what happened.”

“I led the attempts. I was responsible for all their lives. I am responsible for their deaths,” she said. “You should leave. You should let the others know what a failure I am and leave. Nothing good will come of following me.”

“I’m not leaving, Ailis,” Astarion said. “And neither is anyone else. If you told the others what you just told me they’d tell you the same thing I am. What happened was not your fault.”

“I was responsible for all of them. That makes it…”

“That does not make it your fault,” he said firmly. He gave her a soft expression and gently wiped tears from her face. “The burden of the failures may be ours, but what happened to those people…that’s not your fault.”

“You’ll feel differently when I get you and our companions killed,” she whispered.

“You’re not going to get us killed, Ailis,” he said. “We’re all getting out of this alive. We’re not like your previous groups. You have a group of skilled individuals with you. You’re not alone in defending everyone. You have us to reply on. Everything is going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“No, but I have a feeling,” he replied with a smile. She said nothing in return. She just sat there and stared out at the calm waters. He began to massage her scalp, probably hoping to help her relax, but she couldn’t let her failures go.

“Sometimes I think it would have been better if that wagon had reached the gallows,” she said. His hand stopped moving through her hair.

“You really think it would have been better if you had died?” he asked.

“A lot of people would still be alive right now,” she replied.

“You don’t know that,” Astarion said. “They could have died later in the war. They most likely would have.”

“They’re not the only lives I’m responsible for losing,” she said. “Trust me, Astarion. I deserved to be brought to the gallows.”

“You don’t think four years forced into a war that wasn’t yours was punishment enough?” he questioned. “You don’t think your guilt is punishment enough?” She shook her head. “Well, I do.” He stood up and she felt her mood plummet even further. She had wanted to be alone when she came down here, but now it was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from her though. She’d just encouraged him to do exactly that.

He didn’t walk away, though. Instead, he turned back towards her and held out a hand for her to take. “I think I know a way to help ease your guilt,” he said giving her a smile. “Do you trust me enough to give it a try?”

When they’d first met a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have agreed to anything he proposed. At least not without a detailed breakdown of what he intended. Now though, she took his hand and let him lead her through their camp. She was relieved to find it was still empty. She didn’t want to face her companions yet.

Astarion led her through camp to the abandoned building they’d found. There had been a squabble over it as most of the group had wanted to take up residence there as it had a bed. It was decided that no one would set up permanent camp there. They would use it for group meetings or personal time only. She guessed the latter was what he had in mind now as she looked at the clean sheets that had been put on the bed. She felt a spark of irritation. She should have realized he thought sex would make her feel better. It was the last thing she wanted right now.

Still, she would go along with it. It would be easier than trying to explain why his action was insensitive to her feelings and the argument that would ensue. It wouldn’t be the first time she endured sex to please a man’s ego and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. And Astarion was very skilled in bed. Maybe it would prove a good distraction from her thoughts. As they approached the bed he let go of her hand and then sat down on the edge of it with his feet shoulder length apart. He looked at her with a serious expression.

“Remove your pants and undergarment, Ailis. They get over my lap,” he ordered.

Ailis blinked and stared at him dumbly for a moment. This wasn’t how they usually did this. “I…what?” she said confused.

“You wanted to be punished, didn’t you?” he questioned and her face flushed a hot red as she realized what he intended to do. He smiled wickedly at the sight of her blush. “I do love it when you blush. It’s such a rare occasion.”

“I…I’m not a child,” she protested, though that statement certainly made her feel like one.

“Only children can be spanked?” Astarion replied with a widening grin.

“I…I’ve never…”

“You’ve never received a spanking before?” he questioned, surprised. “Your mother never had you over her knee?”

“My mother didn’t believe in hitting children,” she replied, defensively

“Well, as you’ve just pointed out, you’re not a child,” he said.

“I…” She didn’t finish her statement. She didn’t know what her statement was. She squirmed where she stood and stared at the floor, trying to come up with something to say. Astarion’s feet suddenly came into view, and then she felt his cook fingers caress her chin as he lifted her face so she was looking at him. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

“You’re rarely this flustered,” he murmured softly. “What has you concerned?”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to get out of this,” she said.

“He frowned, puzzled. “Get out of this?” he repeated.

She flushed. “I know some people do this for fun,” she said.

He nodded. “Yes, and you may find you enjoy this, but that’s not the intended purpose of tonight,” he said.

“Then what are you getting out of this?” she persisted. “My pain?”

His eyes widened. “Your pain?” he said shocked. “Ailis, how hard do you think I’m going to hit you?”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “I’ve never done anything like this, except for that Loviatar priest. I don’t know how this works. I know you enjoyed watching that priest strike me.” She expected him to get mad, but he just stared at her thoughtfully for a moment.

“Hold out your wrist, Ailis,” he ordered. Confused, she did as he asked, holding her arm out in front of her with her palm up. His own hand struck her wrist before she even saw it coming. She hissed and drew her arm back, cradling her wrist to her chest. She gazed at him with a shocked expression. His own was perfectly neutral. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” she replied in a tone that made it clear she thought he was crazy for asking.

“Is the pain unbearable?” he asked in the same neutral tone.

“No,” she answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s as hard as I intend to spank you, give or take a little,” Astarion said. “I’m not going to beat you black and blue. You’ll be able to sit down tomorrow.”

“But when the priest…”

“I didn’t know you very well when you let the priest beat you. I hadn’t fully decided I trusted you. I thought you must have been into that sort of thing and responded accordingly. I was surprised you never asked me to do anything similar when we began having sex.

“You’re not wrong that I get off on others pain. I’m not going to lie about that,” he said. “But the purpose tonight isn’t the pain. You carry a lot of guilt over your past. I just want to try to help you release some of it. As for what I get out of it, well, control. We don’t have to do this, though, Ailis. I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want.” She believed him. Even before she really began to tryst him, she’d trusted him to stop if she asked. He was always attentive of any boundaries set during sex.

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “What do I say if I need you to stop, though?”

“Just say stop,” he told her moving back to his previous position on the bed. She didn’t follow yet.

“Don’t people use specific words for this sort of thing, though” she questioned, “because they might say stop on instinct?”

“Yes. A safe word is usually put in place for that reason. However, due to our personal histories if you say stop, I’m going to take that at face value,” he said. “So don’t tell me to stop, Ailis, unless you really want or need me to, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay,” she agreed.

“All right then. Remove your pants and undergarment and come here,” he ordered pointing to a spot right next to him rather than demanding she get over his lap right away like he had originally. She moved slowly as she completed his orders. A nervous anticipation had her heart racing, and she couldn’t help trembling a little. Astarion noticed and took her hand in his, gently massaging her knuckles with his thumb.

“Are you all right, darling?” he asked, giving her a soft look. “We can stop.”

“No, I’m all right,” she said.

He nodded and his expression turned stern. “Do you understand why you’re being punished?” he asked.

“For failing to save…”

“No,” Astarion said and she gave him a puzzled look.

“You said this was to try to relieve my guilt,” she said.

“It is, but I’m not going to punish you for something that wasn’t your fault or something you already received punishment for,” he said. “Pick something else. Something more recent.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at our companions,” she said after a moment. “I was being unfair.”

“You certainly were,” he said. “You shouldn’t have taken your problems out on them.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know you are. Still, you need to receive punishment for your actions,” he said. “How many times should I spank you? How many have you earned?”

“I…I don’t…” she looked at him helplessly. She had no basis for this. She felt completely lost in the moment. Luckily, he seemed to understand. He gently squeezed her hand in reassurance.

“How about I give you two options, and you choose what works best for you?” he suggested and she nodded her agreement. “Option one: I give you ten harder strikes. Option two: I give you twenty with fifteen being the same strength I slapped your wrist earlier, and the last five a bit harder. Either way, you’re going to be able to sit tomorrow, Ailis.”

Ailis thought about it for a moment. Ten sounded more appealing than twenty. She wouldn’t have to be in an embarrassing position for as long. However, the slap he’d given to her wrist earlier had stung and the skin was still a little pink. The skin on her ass would be even more sensitive. She’d never done this and she wasn’t sure she was comfortable having him hit her any harder. Getting through five hard strikes seemed better than ten and if she couldn’t handle it and had to tell him to stop, she’d have already taken at least sixteen. She’d be able to say she gave it a fair chance.

“Twenty,” she said quietly. He nodded and gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go.

“All right then, darling,” he said. “Get over my lap.” She awkwardly positioned herself over his lap. He helped her maneuver so his one leg helped support her upper torso even as her head hung down just below his knee. She held onto his one knee with one hand and the sheets on the bed with the other. Her ass was completely exposed to him, and she trembled with nerves. She jumped when he placed a hand on the center of her back.

“Try to relax, darling. You’re safe,” he soothed, rubbing her back a little. She took a few deep breaths and slowly felt her muscles relax. “That’s it. Are you ready for me to begin?”

“Y-Yes,” she said. “Do I count them out loud?”

“Hmm, that is an appealing thought,” he said in a teasing tone before growing serious again, “but not tonight. We can examine that possibility another night if you decide you like this or find it helpful. I don’t want to push limits tonight. Now, take one last deep breath for me before I begin.” She did as he said, and the first stroke came as she let the breath out.

She let out a startled squeak. It hurt. It felt worse than the strike to her wrist had. Still, it was not unbearable. She hadn’t quite processed it, when the second strike hit, and then she stopped thinking as he continued to land blow after blow. By the time he struck her ten times she realized she’d made a mistake in choosing twenty strikes. Her skin where he’d hit her felt like it was on fire and the pain was increasing with each strike even though the strike’s strength hadn’t changed yet. When he reached the fifteenth strike her tears finally spilled over and down her cheeks.

He stopped after the fifteenth strike for a moment, but any relief she might have felt vanished when he shifted his leg so the seat of her ass raised to a higher position. She whimpered as she thought of where the last five, harder blows were going to land. He hushed her and comfortingly stroked her back.

“It’s just five more, darling, and then you’ll be done,” he assured her. “Do you think you’re ready to apologize now?”

“Y-Yes. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I couldn’t stop myself. I…I…I…”

“Shhh. Shh, darling,” he soothed. “Breathe for me.” She tried to do as he said and took big gulps of air in until her breathing found a rhythm again. “Good girl. I’m going to give you the last five strikes now. I want you to try and release your guilt with them, all right?”

She nodded and then the first blow hit and any thought of trying not to cry anymore escaped her. She started sobbing and it took everything in her to not ask him to stop as the next blow hit. She had felt worse pain before than this, but this just felt so intimate. She wanted to bare it for him. Right now, she would do anything for him, so at the last strike, she tried to release some of her guilt.

Astarion helped move her into a sitting position on his lap. He managed to adjust her so her ass was mostly between his thighs so nothing rubbed against her reddened skin. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed ash she clutched to him like her life depended on it. She stroked her back and hair and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Shh. It’s all right now, darling. All is forgiven. You’re all right,” he soothed. He repeated a variation of these words until her sobs turned to cries and then to whimpers until finally, she ran out of tears. She rested, slumped against him, feeling more exhausted than she had in her whole life. They sat like that for a few minutes and then she felt his hand slide between her legs and a cool finger split hear seam, running the length of it before brushing over her clit. She let out a shaky gasp.

“What do you think, darling? Based on how wet you are, you seemed to enjoy that. Should we move on to more enjoyable activities?” he asked. She thought about it for a moment. She was surprised to find she had evidence of arousal, but in the back of her mind she’d been aware of a stirring of heat between her legs that was different from the heat on her ass from the spanking.

Still, she shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t feel up to it,” she said, her resolve to endure it from earlier cracking. She knew he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. “I’m sorry. I know you were planning on having sex tonight, but…”

“It’s all right, Ailis,” he cut her off. “Don’t apologize. We both have to want it, remember?” She smiled and nodded. He moved his hand back to a more acceptable spot on her thigh. “So, what do you want, darling? How are we spending our time tonight?” She opened her mouth with an immediate response but then just as quickly clamped her mouth shut and looked down at her lap. “What’s wrong, Ailis.”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just, what I want…you won’t like it. I’m trying to think of something else.”

“Ailis, darling, look at me,” he ordered and she raised her face to meet his eyes. “You’re just tried something very new to you that had you completely out of your element tonight. You’re going to get whatever you want.” He grinned. “Within reason of course. So, tell me, what do you want.”

“I just want to naked cuddle,” she said. “And I want you to stay with me all night.”

Astarion nodded. “Very reasonable,” he said and kissed her forehead. He slid her to sit on the mattress. Her full weight was on her ass though and she felt the skin burn as it brushed against the sheets. She jumped up from the bed and clutched her ass. Astarion laughed and she gave him a hurt look.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said as he stood up. “The look on your face was just funny, that’s all. Here.” He helped slide her shirt and upper garment off. “Stand there for a moment while I undress and then we’ll get you on the bed comfortably.” He kissed her forehead again and she stood waiting as he quickly undressed. When he was naked, he sat down on the bed and then moved until he was lying down on his back in the middle. He held out his arms for her. “Come here, darling.”

She climbed onto the bed and crawled over to him. He pulled her down so she rested mostly on top of him. Her head rested on his shoulder. She hissed when he pulled the top sheet over them, but the sting only last for a minute. He stroked her back and left gentle kisses to her forehead every few minutes. Her eyelids grew heavy and she felt sleep trying to claim her. She tried to fight it, but Astarion wasn’t having it.

“Go to sleep, darling,” he ordered her gently. “You need to rest.”

“I want you to stay,” she murmured through a yawn. “I’m not going anywhere, Ailis,” he promised. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” She smiled sleepily as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. It was the last thing she felt before sleep finally claimed her.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav

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