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jhyoos · 3 months ago

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Of Roses And Steel

chapter one : where roses bloom

knight sevika x princess reader

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, strong reader (as in combat and intelligence), silco is king, reader is a heavy daddy’s girl, silco being soft around her daughter, sevika is only 5 years older than you, major character deaths, very long first chapter !

notes : let me know if you guys like the small text or should I go back to bigger words. another chapter will be released tomorrow!

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The night of the queen’s death remained seared into your memory like a jagged scar, a moment that altered the course of your life—and the kingdom—forever.

Your mother had always been the kingdom’s heart, her kindness radiating like the sun, touching the lives of every villager, knight, and noble. She possessed an innate gift for seeing the good in people, even when they couldn't see it in themselves. When she had married your father, her warmth had melted away the rougher edges of Silco, a man who was once feared for his ruthlessness.

Before her, Silco’s reign had been efficient but cold, his focus solely on maintaining power and expanding the kingdom's borders. But with the queen by his side, something shifted. She softened him, guiding him to rule with compassion as well as strength. Under her influence, roads were built, trade flourished, and the kingdom prospered. When you were born, the union of their love, Silco seemed to find an even deeper purpose. He adored you from the moment he held you in his arms, his mismatched eyes filled with awe.

“She’s perfect,” he’d whispered to the queen, who smiled through her exhaustion. “Just like her mother.”

Your early years were filled with laughter and warmth. Your mother would sing to you in the mornings while brushing your hair, and Silco, despite his busy schedule, would often sneak away from his duties to spend time with you. He read you bedtime stories, his deep voice weaving tales of adventure and bravery. You were his reason to rule with integrity, his reminder that the kingdom’s future depended on more than power—it depended on love.

But everything changed the day your mother decided to visit the village alone.

You were six years old, clinging to her skirts as she prepared to leave.

“Must you go?” you asked, your voice small and pleading.

She knelt before you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I must,” she said gently. “The children in the village are sick, and they need help. But I won’t be long, my love. I’ll be back before the sun sets.”

She kissed your forehead, her smile warm and reassuring, and then she was gone. You spent the rest of the day waiting by the window, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky.

When the sun finally set and she had not returned, unease settled over the castle like a heavy fog. It was Sevika—then a young squire barely in her teens—who came running into the throne room with the news. Her face was pale, her breath coming in short gasps as she fell to one knee before Silco.

“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s been… an attack. The queen—she—”

Silco rose from his throne, his voice cutting through her stammering like a blade. “What happened?”

“She was ambushed,” Sevika managed, her hands clenched into fists. “A group of thieves—they didn’t know who she was. She fought back, but…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Silco didn’t need her to. The look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver through the room, a mix of fury and anguish so profound it was almost unbearable to witness. He left the throne room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall.

The days that followed were marked by grief and silence. Silco locked himself away, emerging only for the queen’s funeral. You remembered the way he stood by her casket, his shoulders rigid, his mismatched eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse but steady.

“She was too good for this world,” he said, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. “But I will ensure her legacy lives on.”

He turned his focus to you, doubling down on his efforts to keep you safe. Guards followed you everywhere, even within the castle walls. He forbade you from going into the village, insisting it was too dangerous. His love became suffocating, a cage built from his fear of losing you as he had lost her.

You grew up under the shadow of that fear, but you refused to let it define you. Determined to honor your mother’s memory, you threw yourself into your studies, mastering everything from diplomacy to combat. Your father disapproved of your training, insisting that the daughter of a king had no need for swords or bows. But you persisted, finding solace in the discipline and focus it required.

It wasn’t until you were sixteen that you truly began to make a name for yourself among the knights. One of the senior knights, impressed by your determination, arranged for you to train with Sevika, who had recently returned to the castle after years spent serving on the borders.

Sevika was in her early twenties then, already gaining a reputation as a skilled and fearless warrior. She had a scar running down the side of her face, a mark of the battle that had earned her the rank of head knight. She rarely spoke, her focus entirely on her duties, but when she did, her words carried weight.

Your first session with her was a turning point. She showed you how to hold a bow, correcting your posture and guiding your hands with a gruff patience you hadn’t expected. “Don’t overthink it,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Just breathe and let the arrow fly.”

For a brief moment, you saw a softer side of her, a flicker of something almost kind beneath her stoic exterior. It was enough to make your heart flutter, a feeling you didn’t entirely understand at the time.

From then on, your crush on Sevika only grew, fueled by fleeting moments of warmth amidst her cold professionalism. She was everything you admired: strong, capable, and unyielding. But she was also distant, her loyalty to your father a wall you doubted you’d ever be able to breach.

You were every bit the spoiled princess, and you made no apologies for it. Your wardrobe was filled with the finest gowns in silks, satins, and velvets, each more extravagant than the last. Shoes adorned with delicate embroidery and shimmering jewels lined your chambers, matched meticulously to every ensemble. The maids who styled your hair each morning knew your tastes well—tight curls for formal occasions, elegant braids when you ventured to court, and soft waves for quiet evenings spent reading in your chambers. It was a life of luxury and ease, one that you embraced wholeheartedly.

Your favorite moments, however, were the hours spent with your ladies-in-waiting. Gathered in the sunlit parlor, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the fragrance of blooming flowers, you would sit for hours, gossiping and laughing with your closest confidantes. Together, you exchanged stories, whispered secrets, and speculated about the various knights, courtiers, and even the visiting nobility. You didn’t shy away from discussing the beauty of the women who graced the castle halls, often causing a ripple of giggles among your companions when your admiration turned bold.

Through it all, there was one secret you kept entirely to yourself: your growing infatuation with Sevika. It wasn’t the kind of crush you could casually admit during tea or in the middle of idle chatter. Sevika’s cold professionalism and the unyielding strength she displayed as the head knight made her a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Her rare moments of warmth toward you—brief, fleeting instances where she adjusted your grip on a bow or gave a quiet word of approval—were treasures you tucked away in your heart, replaying them long after they passed.

But secrets have a way of surfacing, and yours was no exception. One lazy afternoon, as Mel helped you reorganize your chambers, she discovered a bundle of papers hidden beneath your bed. They were scraps of poetry and unsent letters, scrawled confessions of your feelings for Sevika. Mel’s gasp of surprise as she read them turned your blood cold. You tried to snatch them away, but it was too late—she knew. Her teasing smirk was almost unbearable as she leaned against your bedpost, waving the papers at you.

“Sevika?” she drawled, one perfectly arched brow lifting in amusement. “You’re in love with her?” Mel, ever the quick-witted daughter of a noblewoman, didn’t let you live it down easily. Though she was sworn to secrecy, she took great delight in teasing you about your unspoken feelings, often poking fun at how flustered you became whenever Sevika was nearby. Despite your embarrassment, there was a part of you that found comfort in sharing your secret with someone, even if Mel’s constant smirking made you regret it at times.

The dining hall was bathed in warm candlelight, the long table laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruits, and delicacies from across the kingdom. Laughter and chatter filled the room, and for a brief moment, everything felt peaceful. You sat at your father’s right hand, the place of honor, dressed in a gown of soft lavender silk. The fabric shimmered with each movement, the embroidery catching the flickering light. Around you, nobles toasted to victories, knights traded boasts, and your ladies-in-waiting whispered behind their hands, no doubt commenting on which of the lords appeared most eligible.

You entertained their murmurs with a polite smile, but your focus drifted to the heavy doors of the hall. You noticed them before they opened, as if instinctively sensing Sevika’s arrival. She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the stone floor. She wasn’t in her usual armor but a simpler, dark tunic and breeches, though her presence alone was as commanding as any battle regalia. She moved with purpose, her scarred face set in a grim line.

“Sevika,” Silco called, his voice cutting through the noise. The room fell silent as she approached the king, bowing her head slightly.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low but carrying easily through the hall. “There’s news from the gates.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Silco’s eyes narrowed, his wineglass forgotten in his hand. “Speak.”

“The monsters at the borders are escalating their attacks,” Sevika began. “They’re not just striking in waves anymore. It’s constant now. The knights are struggling to keep them contained, and we’re losing ground. Reports suggest their numbers are too great for our current defenses.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles. Silco’s grip on his goblet tightened before he set it down with a sharp clink. “And the commanders? Have they devised a solution?”

Sevika hesitated, her silence answering for her. Finally, she said, “No. They’re holding the line, but we’re losing too many. We need to regroup and rethink our approach.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the chandelier above. Then, decisively, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll go to the gates myself. I need to see this for myself and consult with the commanders directly.”

You didn’t think—you simply acted. Rising from your seat as Silco and Sevika left the dining hall, you followed them into the dimly lit corridor. Your silk skirts swished as you hurried after them, your jeweled slippers clicking softly against the stone floor. You reached the shadows just in time to overhear Silco’s voice.

“I’ll leave at dawn with the first battalion,” he said. “The reports alone aren’t enough. If this is as dire as it seems, I need to see it myself. There’s no room for error.”

“Understood,” Sevika replied. “But it’s a risk. The journey to the walls is dangerous, especially with the creatures lurking along the roads.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Silco said firmly. “The kingdom’s stability depends on it. If we don’t act now, there won’t be a kingdom left to protect.”

“Father!” Your voice rang out before you could stop yourself. They turned, surprise flashing across Silco’s face before his expression hardened.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.

“It concerns me when you’re talking about putting yourself in danger,” you countered, stepping closer. “You can’t just leave. What if something happens to you?”

Silco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, child. I need to go. I won’t make the same mistakes as before by sitting idle.”

Your chest tightened, and the memory of your mother’s final words hit you like a blade. “The last time someone told me they’d come back, they didn’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “She promised me, and she never came home. How can you ask me to watch you walk out that same door and pretend it’s fine?”

Silco’s expression softened, though the steel in his resolve remained. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “I understand your fear,” he said quietly. “But I have a duty to this kingdom—and to you. If I don’t go, the threat will only grow worse. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll return. I promise.”

Before you could respond, Sevika stepped forward, her presence grounding the moment. “He’s right,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Your father’s not reckless. He’ll have me and the best knights in the kingdom with him. You don’t need to worry.”

Her words, though meant to reassure, did little to ease the ache in your chest. You looked between them, fighting the tears welling in your eyes. Finally, you nodded, though the knot of unease remained.

As they turned to leave, you stood alone in the corridor, your hands clenched at your sides. The weight of their footsteps faded, leaving only the faint flicker of torchlight and the hollow echo of your thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of hurried footsteps and quiet murmurs just beyond your door. The servants were already at work, preparing for your father’s departure. Their shuffling echoed in the hallway as they polished the portraits, hung banners in the kingdom’s colors, and arranged the grand send-off for the king. A knot formed in your chest as the realization settled—he was really leaving.

When your maids entered, they didn’t need to speak to know you were already awake. They moved with gentle precision, draping you in a gown of deep crimson, black, and silver. The silk hugged your frame, the silver embroidery catching the faint morning light. Your hair was styled intricately, each strand woven into a braid that they adorned with silver pins shaped like roses. They murmured compliments, but you barely heard them, your thoughts elsewhere.

As soon as they were done, you hurried to the throne room, your stomach twisting with each step. When you entered, the sight of your father nearly stole your breath.

Silco stood at the base of his throne, dressed in armor that seemed more fitting for a king from a storybook than the man you’d grown up with. The polished silver breastplate bore the royal crest, its sharp lines gleaming under the golden light of the chandeliers. A long crimson cape hung from his shoulders, draping elegantly to the floor. At his side rested a sword with a gilded hilt, its weight a reminder of the battle he was about to face.

You didn’t speak at first, your throat tight with the effort to hold yourself together. But when he saw you, his expression softened. For just a moment, the weight of his responsibility lifted, and he looked at you not as a king but as a father.

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a fierce embrace. He stiffened, surprised, before his arms came around you, holding you as tightly as you held him. His armor was cold against your cheek, but you didn’t care.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “be safe. I love you, Father.”

His grip tightened, his hand brushing the back of your head. “I love you too,” he said, his voice low and filled with something you rarely heard—uncertainty. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mismatched eyes searching your face. “You’ve grown so much,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Every time I look at you, I see your mother. Her strength, her heart… I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

Your throat burned as tears welled in your eyes. “Then don’t go,” you pleaded softly, your voice breaking. “Please, Father. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t…”

He cupped your face with one hand, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “I have to, my love,” he said, his voice steady despite the sorrow in his eyes. “This kingdom needs me. And more than that, it needs you. You’re stronger than you think—you always have been.”

His words were meant to reassure you, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “Promise me,” you whispered. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was lingering, full of the unspoken things he couldn’t bring himself to say. “You’ll see me again before you know it.”

You nodded, though the doubt remained, and reluctantly let him go. As he stepped back, you noticed Sevika standing near the doorway, watching the exchange silently.

You crossed the room to her, your steps hesitant but determined. She straightened when you approached, her expression unreadable.

“I need you to promise me,” you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart still raced. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, her usual coldness faltering for a moment. “I promise,” she said simply, her tone calm and even.

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer until you could see the faint scar on her cheek. “No, Sevika. I’m being serious. I know you just see me as some spoiled princess, but I’m not. He’s all I have. Promise me for real.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced briefly at your hand as it reached for hers. The warmth of your touch seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—something unspoken.

“I’ll protect him with my life, your highness,” Sevika said, her voice quieter this time. “He’ll come back. You have my word.”

You held her gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. Finally, you let her hand go, your heart still heavy but steadied by her promise. As she turned to join your father, you watched them walk away, the ache in your chest growing with each step they took.

For now, all you could do was trust—and wait.

Days turned into weeks, each one heavier than the last as you anxiously awaited your father’s return. The castle felt hollow in his absence, the echo of his authoritative voice replaced by an unnerving silence that no amount of bustling servants or lively courtiers could fill. You tried to busy yourself with your routine, but nothing seemed to dull the ache in your chest.

Mel did her best to distract you, her endless ideas for entertainment failing to ease your worry. She often led you to the gardens, coaxing you to admire the blooming roses or walk among the neat hedgerows. She’d chatter about trivial things—her mother’s letters, the latest gossip among the ladies-in-waiting, or the prospect of an upcoming festival—but her words felt distant, like a hum in the background.

On some days, she’d take you to the nearby lake, where you’d lounge by a small boat anchored at the shore. The gentle lapping of the water against the wood, the songs of birds in the trees, and even Mel’s attempts to make you laugh with exaggerated tales of court drama couldn’t pull you from your thoughts. You were miserable.

The anxiety seeped into your nights, turning them restless. You woke more often than not in cold sweats, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a suffocating shroud. Dreams of your father not returning—or worse—haunted your sleep, leaving you too afraid to close your eyes again. You’d toss and turn, clutching the heavy blankets as though they could shield you from your fears.

It wasn’t long before you could no longer bear being alone at night. Mel, ever loyal, started sharing your bed, her presence offering a sliver of comfort. She’d hold your hand or hum softly, her voice lulling you into uneasy sleep. But even with her there, the nights felt unbearably long, and the ache in your chest only grew.

You missed your father. His commanding presence, his sharp words that were always tinged with an undercurrent of affection. No matter how stern he could be, he was your anchor, and his absence left you adrift.

And, though you hated to admit it, you missed Sevika too. Her presence lingered in your mind like a ghost. Even though her words were often clipped and dismissive, there had been something in the way she spoke to you that lit a fire within you. A rare spark of interest, a momentary pause that felt like a flicker of attention just for you.

Her aloofness only made her more enigmatic, her sharp gaze and blunt demeanor stirring feelings that you didn’t quite understand. You replayed your interactions with her over and over in your mind, from the sarcastic comments to the way she’d adjust your posture during archery. It wasn’t much, but to you, it was enough.

It was foolish to feel this way, you told yourself. She was the head knight, loyal to your father and bound by duty. She likely thought of you as nothing more than the king’s spoiled daughter, another responsibility on her long list of obligations.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Each day that passed felt heavier than the last, the weight of your longing for both your father and Sevika pressing down on you. You clung to the hope that their return would bring relief, but until then, you were left to endure the suffocating stillness of the castle and the ache that refused to fade.

Mel, ever persistent in her attempts to lift your spirits, decided that simply resting by the lake was no longer enough. She wanted to give you a moment of true peace, something that might soothe the restlessness in your soul. With a few words to the castle staff, she arranged for a servant to row one of the small boats onto the still waters of the lake.

When the boat was ready, she guided you down to the shore. The late afternoon sun bathed the lake in a soft, golden glow, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of dragonflies and the occasional splash of fish breaking the surface. The sight was tranquil, almost idyllic, but your heart was still heavy.

Mel helped you onto the boat, her steady hand ensuring you didn’t slip on the polished wooden planks. You settled onto the cushioned seat, and as the boat pushed off from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water began to lull you into a state of calm.

You leaned against the edge of the boat, resting your head on your folded arm. The water was cool beneath your fingertips as you let your hand trail lazily through it, brushing against the occasional lily pad that floated by. The gentle sway of the boat and the soft rippling of the water were almost hypnotic. For the first time in weeks, you felt a fleeting sense of tranquility.

“If my father and Sevika come back…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like a confession you hadn’t intended to make. You glanced at your reflection in the water, your face distorted by the ripples. “I’ll actually obey him... and I’ll confess to Sevika about my feelings for her.”

The admission hung in the air, a vulnerable truth you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself before.

Mel, sitting beside you, turned to look at you. Her usual sharp wit and playful banter were absent as she took in the sincerity of your words. After a moment, she smiled softly, a flicker of warmth and understanding in her expression.

“We’ll see about that, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of skepticism.

You turned your head slightly to glance at her, catching the faint curve of her lips and the knowing glint in her eye. She didn’t press you further, didn’t tease or pry as she usually might. Instead, she simply leaned back in her seat, allowing you the space to lose yourself in your thoughts.

As the boat glided across the lake, the silence between you was comfortable. Mel’s presence was steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone in your longing or your fears.

For now, you could allow yourself to hope.

The following week arrived quietly, marked by the same monotony that had filled the days since your father left. You were seated by your vanity, your servant brushing your hair in slow, careful strokes. The rhythmic tug of the bristles on your scalp was almost lulling, but your mind was elsewhere.

Then, a sound shattered the quiet—faint but unmistakable. The trumpets of the king’s arrival.

Your heart leaped in your chest as you sat up straight, the brush slipping from your servant’s hand. “Your Highness?” they asked, startled.

But you didn’t answer. Without hesitation, you jumped to your feet and ran to your balcony, the cool morning air rushing to greet you as you flung open the doors. The grand stone entrance of the castle stretched below you, and there he was—your father, dismounting his horse in a flurry of movement.

As though sensing your presence, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His face softened instantly, a warm smile spreading across his features. He lifted a hand and waved to you, and you couldn’t stop the answering grin that broke across your face.

“Father!” you called out, your voice carrying down to him.

Without a second thought, you spun around and hurried back into your chambers, your bare feet sliding slightly on the polished floors as you moved. You quickly grabbed your slippers, slipping them on clumsily.

“Your Highness, you’re still in your sleepwear—” your servant began, her voice tinged with concern as she reached for you.

“I don’t care!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Your heart raced as you darted through the halls, the familiar corridors blurring past you in your excitement. The heavy stone walls seemed brighter, the tapestries more colorful, as if the castle itself had come alive with his return. The sound of your footsteps echoed off the marble staircase as you descended, nearly stumbling in your haste.

When you finally reached the entrance, your father was just stepping down from his horse, his gloved hands steady as he handed the reins to a nearby stable hand. His cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, his regal presence commanding the attention of everyone around him.

“Father!” you called again, your voice breaking slightly from your breathless sprint.

He turned toward you, his expression shifting from one of composure to pure, unrestrained joy. The moment his eyes met yours, his arms opened wide, and you didn’t hesitate for a second. You closed the distance between you, throwing yourself into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. His grip was firm, steady, and warm, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It feels like I’m seeing an angel,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and faint traces of ink from his correspondence. “I know... me too,” you replied, your voice muffled but no less sincere.

Silco finally pulled back from the embrace, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over, his sharp eyes softening with affection. “Have you been well, my daughter?” he asked, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

You nodded, though you hesitated before answering. “Yes, Father. I’ve kept up with my studies and my training... though I missed you terribly,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly at the end.

His expression softened further, and he cupped your cheek with a gloved hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I missed you as well. It was far too long to be away from my only child.”

As he spoke, you noticed the weight of exhaustion in his features—the faint lines of weariness etched into his face and the slight droop of his shoulders. Yet even so, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at you.

He stepped back, his posture straightening as he addressed not just you but the attendants and soldiers gathering around. His voice carried, commanding attention with its authority.

“My soldiers and I have returned victorious,” he announced, his tone filled with the subtle pride of a ruler who demanded respect but did not flaunt his power unnecessarily. “And such a triumph deserves celebration.”

Your heart skipped slightly at his words, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips.

Silco continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered servants and knights. “A feast will be held tonight in the Great Hall. Let it be a night of joy and gratitude for our success and the safety of our kingdom.”

The attendants and soldiers murmured their approval, the quiet hum of excitement rippling through the crowd.

He turned back to you, his expression softer once again. “And you, my child, will be at my side as the kingdom celebrates.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” you replied, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within you.

“Good,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But first, you’ll need to prepare. I expect you to look every bit the queen you are destined to be. I trust Mel will see to it?”

You nodded quickly. “She will, Father. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

“Good,” Silco repeated, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly before turning to his steward to give further instructions about the preparations.

As the crowd began to disperse, Sevika stepped forward, her ever-stoic presence now standing close behind your father. Her sharp eyes glanced over you briefly before she addressed Silco. “I’ll ensure the knights are ready for the evening, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone curt and professional.

Silco nodded in approval, but before Sevika could leave, his gaze shifted back to you. “Sevika, see that my daughter gets back to her chambers safely. She shouldn’t be running through the halls like that again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied without hesitation.

Your father gave you one last affectionate glance before turning back to his advisors, leaving you standing there with Sevika.

“You heard him,” Sevika said gruffly, her tone laced with the usual edge of authority. “Let’s get you back to your chambers. Can’t have you causing another scene.”

You rolled your eyes slightly but complied, following her as she led the way back into the castle. Despite her sharp words, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort knowing she was there, her towering presence a reminder of both your safety and... something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

As you and Sevika made your way back through the dimly lit halls of the castle, the cool stone beneath your feet and the drafty corridors sent a shiver down your spine. Without a word, Sevika unclasped her cloak and draped it around your shoulders, the heavy fabric engulfing you in warmth. Her movements were brisk and efficient, as if she had done this a hundred times before, yet the gesture left your cheeks warm in a way that had nothing to do with the cloak itself.

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the edges of the cloak tightly around yourself. The faint scent of leather and smoke lingered on the fabric, unmistakably hers.

Sevika gave a short nod, her gaze fixed ahead as the two of you continued walking. The rhythmic clink of her armor filled the silence, but your mind was elsewhere. You kept stealing glances at her, your heart thudding harder with each one. You wanted to speak, to finally confess the feelings you had held onto for so long. The words were right there, resting on the tip of your tongue.

But before you could summon the courage to open your mouth, Sevika’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

“Don’t run out in your nightgown again,” she said gruffly, not bothering to glance your way. “It’s quite transparent in the right lighting.”

You froze mid-step, your eyes widening as her words sank in. The warmth in your cheeks flared into a full blush, spreading down your neck as you quickly looked away, your hands instinctively tugging the cloak tighter around your body.

“I-I wasn’t thinking,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to see my father.”

Sevika finally glanced at you, her sharp eyes briefly scanning your flustered expression before she huffed a soft, almost amused sigh. “That much was obvious.”

You felt your stomach twist with embarrassment, but there was something in her tone—a faint trace of humor, perhaps—that eased the sting of her bluntness.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you muttered, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor as you walked.

“See that you do,” Sevika replied, her voice returning to its usual sternness. “You may be the king’s daughter, but you’re not above common sense.”

Her words stung, but there was no malice in them, only the no-nonsense practicality that defined her. Still, your heart ached as you realized how far away your confession still felt. How could you possibly tell someone like her—so composed, so seemingly unimpressed by you—what you truly felt?

As you neared your chambers, the weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest. For now, you would settle for the warmth of her cloak and the fleeting moments of attention she gave you, even if they were laced with sternness.

The feast was a spectacle of grandeur. With Mel and a team of diligent servants, you were adorned in your finest jewels, your hair styled to perfection, and the shimmering gown hugging your frame like it was made of starlight itself. The dress—delicate and intricate, like spun silver—glittered under the candlelight, catching every flicker and transforming it into magic. The translucent layers of the fabric hugged your silhouette, leaving just enough to the imagination while maintaining an air of regality.

Mel circled you with a satisfied smile, tucking one final lock of hair into place. “If Sevika doesn’t fall for you tonight,” she teased, “she must be made of stone.”

You swatted her arm lightly but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the party, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as you entered the grand ballroom.

The hall was alive with music, laughter, and clinking glasses. The party was far too large for the dining hall, so the grand ballroom served as the perfect venue. Guests danced beneath glittering chandeliers, their movements synchronized to the lively tunes of the string quartet. You and your ladies joined in, swirling through the dance floor in familiar patterns, your laughter mixing with the music.

You’d had two glasses of wine by then—an indulgence you rarely allowed yourself—and it left you feeling warm and light. Your inhibitions melted away, and you let yourself be swept up in the joy of the moment.

That was when you saw her.

Sevika stood near the edge of the ballroom, her tall frame unmistakable even among the most decorated soldiers. Her usual rugged attire was transformed, enhanced with gold detailing that caught the light in flashes of brilliance. Her armor had been polished to a mirror finish, and though her expression remained stoic, she looked breathtakingly regal.

Your gaze lingered, and Mel—ever observant—caught on immediately. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you from the dancing circle with a knowing grin. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “I don’t know, Mel.”

“What if you don’t see her again? What if she leaves for a mission and never comes back?”

The weight of her words struck you, and you turned to look at Sevika again. She was speaking with someone, her stern profile illuminated by the golden light of the chandeliers. Mel was right—you couldn’t waste this moment.

With a deep breath, you smoothed your gown and made your way toward her, weaving through the crowd. When you reached her, you placed a tentative hand on her arm, causing her to turn and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I speak to you somewhere privately?” you asked softly.

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, following you out of the ballroom and into one of the quieter hallways.

The hallway felt like it was closing in around you, the flickering sconces casting fleeting light on Sevika’s armor. Her stern expression was unreadable, and her imposing frame seemed even more unyielding in the dim corridor. Still, you gathered every ounce of courage you could muster. This was your moment, and you couldn’t let it slip away, no matter how heavy the weight of her cold demeanor felt.

You hesitated, the stem of the wine glass trembling in your grip as you tried to muster the courage to speak. She didn’t move, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. Always waiting, as if the weight of your words was little more than an inconvenience.

"Well?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "If you dragged me away from the ball for this, I suggest you make it quick."

“I’ve held this in for too long,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter.”

Sevika’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, her silence more oppressive than any words could be. You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I love you, Sevika,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your confession. “I’ve loved you for years.”

For a moment, her mask slipped. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even longing. It was so fleeting you almost doubted you’d seen it at all. But it gave you the courage to close the distance between you, to take her face in your hands.

She didn’t pull away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she remained rooted in place, her breathing shallow and uneven. It was enough. You leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as much a plea as it was a confession.

For a fleeting moment, she kissed you back. Her lips were hesitant, but warm, and you felt a spark—something you’d only ever dreamed of. It was like the world had stopped, and in that heartbeat, everything else ceased to matter.

But just as quickly, it was over. Sevika’s hands came up, gripping your wrists firmly as she pulled away. The space between you felt like a chasm, and the cold air rushed in where her warmth had been.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, almost a growl. She let go of your wrists, and you staggered back, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sevika—” you started, your voice cracking with desperation.

“Don’t,” she snapped, cutting you off. Her expression was hard, her eyes blazing with something you couldn’t place—anger, regret, pain. “This… whatever this is, it can’t happen. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling in your eyes. “Why are you doing this? I know you feel something for me. I know you do!”

“Because you’re nothing but a spoiled little girl who doesn’t understand the world she lives in,” Sevika snapped, her tone cold and biting. Her eyes bored into yours, unyielding and merciless. “You think this is some fairy tale where you confess your feelings, and everything falls into place. But that’s not how life works. I serve your father. I protect this kingdom. That is my duty. Not indulging the childish fantasies of a princess who doesn’t know the meaning of sacrifice.”

Her words were a dagger, each one sinking deeper into your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The tears you’d been fighting spilled over, streaking your cheeks as you stared at her, your heart breaking with every second that passed.

Sevika’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold mask she always wore. She took a step back, putting more distance between you. “Forget this ever happened,” she said, her voice flat. “And stop chasing after things that aren’t meant for you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heavy boots echoing down the corridor. You stood there, frozen, as the weight of her rejection pressed down on you. The air felt colder now, the once-grand gown that adorned you suddenly feeling suffocating, like a cage meant to keep you trapped in a world where you could never truly be free.

You slid down the wall, your knees giving out beneath you as you buried your face in your hands. The sound of the ballroom felt even further away now, and for the first time in your life, you wished you could disappear completely.

Mel stepped into the hall, her steps echoing through the quiet corridors of the castle. She froze when she saw you, sitting on the cold stone floor, your body trembling with sobs. The sight of you, usually so composed, crumbled in such a vulnerable state, sent a pang of concern through her chest. “(Y/N)?” she called out softly, her voice filled with both worry and warmth.

Between the heavy breaths, you managed to choke out the words, “She said she didn’t love me back… she called me childish,” your voice breaking as the weight of the rejection hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog.

Mel's heart ached at the sound of your pain. Without a second thought, she hurried to your side, kneeling down beside you. Her hands gently touched your arms, offering a quiet comfort as she whispered, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

With surprising strength, Mel helped you to your feet, supporting your wobbly legs as you struggled to calm the tears that refused to stop. Her presence was grounding, a steady reassurance in the storm of your emotions. As the two of you walked slowly back toward your chambers, Mel kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you through the castle’s labyrinth of halls.

The comforting silence between you both was interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from you, as you struggled to regain some composure. Mel didn’t say anything more. She knew there was nothing to say—at least not yet. She just wanted to get you somewhere safe, where you could break down if you needed to, without the prying eyes of the castle around you.

taglist: @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @athena-winters13 (😝) @inlovewithsevikaandambessa

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reidrum · 8 months ago

Text

castling | s.r.

A/N: another deeply self indulgent hurt comfort angst who’s surprised…i wrote this kinda fast so if it’s messy and cheesy sorry :/

cw: gn!reader (pls lmk if i missed something that doesn’t make it gn), hurt comfort, mentions of depression, ambiguous sadness, trivialization of chess, inaccurate chess jargon?, spencer is a darling

summary: in which reader finds it hard to open up and communicate their feelings with spencer, so he comes up with an idea to help

wc: 1.4k

not proofread sry

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

_______________________________________________

It started during a game of chess, when Spencer was showing you different special moves.

“It’s called castling, the idea is that you move the king two spaces towards the rook and then switch their places to allow more protection for your king than if it was in the center.”

“Why would you want to move the king towards the outside, that seems counterintuitive.”

“Smart girl, that’s a good question,” he says fondly, “It’s kind of a last ditch effort in a sense, the rook is essentially expendable but the castling moves the king out of the line from key pieces like the other king and queen.”

“So, it’s like a rescue mission.”

He smiles, “Like a rescue mission.”

You smile back and continue with your next move. Spencer watches you in earnest as you deliberate the best plan of attack, even though he knows he’s gonna let you win by the end anyway.

“How was your day today?” He watches your demeanor change quickly, your shoulders sagging slightly and your eyebrows furrowing. He knew the answer, he’s a great observant and even more so when it comes to you.

“It was…fine.”

“Just fine?” he challenges, moving his bishop.

You nod and move your knight. You’re waiting for him to move his next piece when you realize he’s not looking at the board anymore.

Looking up you see hazel eyes staring right back at you, “Sweetheart,”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He sighs, “You know,” he moves his pawn, “this isn't the first time that you’ve had a hard time communicating with me how you feel.”

A deep sigh leaves you now, it had always been a struggle for you to show emotion so openly to those you love, mainly Spencer. You just didn’t want to worry him with the throes of your mind, and while Spencer appreciated the sentiment he reminded you repeatedly that he’s there for you through it all and just really wants you to take advantage of that.

“I just want to help you, angel.” he says softly, “I can’t do that if you don’t let me in. You don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong, just that something is wrong.”

Tears well up in your eyes, “I know Spence. I—It’s just, saying out loud that I’m—whatever—makes it real. A—And then you get so worried and I get more anxious—“

“Hey. It’s my job to worry about you. Because I love you,” he places his hands on yours, “But, I was thinking what if we had a code word or something, just a single word, and you can say it or text me or anything and I’ll know that you’re not feeling well.”

Your face softens at his proposal. The irony you face is that your brain has convinced you healing can be done alone, that if you’re the one who fucked up the road you should be the one to repair it. While you know logically healing is more effective when you have support, it doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept the help you need, that Spencer feels you deserve.

“I think…that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” he replies, “Do you want to pick the word?”

You think about it for a few minutes. You don’t want to do a silly word like banana or chicken, you want something that maybe doesn’t sound serious but would still convey the intent of the code word.

“Does castling work?” you offer softly.

Spencer’s face morphs into something you can’t quite decipher, but to him it’s a mix of adoration, love, and pure empathy for you. He’s just so touched by the fact you want to use that word, after just discussing the significance of that move. It’s an honor that you trust him enough to be your protecting rook.

“Yeah, that’s perfect angel.”

You give a small nod, “Check.”

___

You knew he wouldn’t judge you, that’s the whole reason you came up with this system. It felt like an emergency contact, which it was, but in a “How bad is too bad before I call?” type of way.

Laid down in your bed, you stared at the glow of your phone with your messages with Spencer open. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, daring you to make a move.

Nothing even really happened today, it was just one of those periods where you were in a funk. The voices that lingered in your brain fed you disguised truths and cynicism, and it was hard to feel afloat with support when you couldn’t even tell what was pulling you down.

It didn’t matter though, your tear stained cheeks and puffy red eyes amongst the disarray of your room which satirically matched the chaos in your mind were proof enough that maybe, you weren’t okay.

In this moment it would be stupidly easy to ignore it all and wallow in your own sorrow—Spencer was away on a case and you didn’t know when he was coming back.

So in a leap of faith, or perhaps a lapse in judgment, your thumbs twiddle a message out and press send.

castling

You toss your phone aside and try to avoid thinking about it. He’s probably busy, they’re on a case so he’s probably drawing out the geographical maps or maybe he’s on a raid or maybe he’s—DING.

Cautiously grabbing your phone, you slide the notification.

I’m on the plane, going to land in about an hour or so. I need to make one stop and then I’ll come straight to you, okay?

You stare through the blurriness of your eyes caused by your tears, the words blending together. Before the guilt of texting him and making him aware of your depressed state sinks in, another text comes through.

I love you. See you soon, angel.

Another choked sob releases from your throat, and you put the phone down before any more emotions try to infiltrate you. At some point you end up falling asleep on the bed, your body curled in on itself from the lack of warmth a nice blanket or Spencer could’ve provided.

You’re only stirred awake when you feel a soothing sensation on your head, long nimble yet intentional fingers sifting through your hair. You attempt to open your eyes through the thin crust it’s formed from crying so much, and you’re squinting for the first few moments of vision before registering the human in front of you.

“Hi honey.” Spencer whispers softly as you come to.

“Spence…when did you…”

“Just a couple minutes ago,” the hand in your hair comes to rest on your jaw, “How are you feeling?”

Tired eyes finally meet his brown ones and find nothing but reassurance and concern.

Oh. You’ve worried him now.

The last string of resolve snaps as your face crumbles in and you mutter out apologies mixed in with sniffles and sobs. Spencer moves from his knelt position in front of you to slide in next to you on the bed. He gingerly gathers you in his arms and tucks you into his side whispering it’s okay and you’re safe and i’m here.

After a few long minutes your breathing evens out. “You came.” you sniffled.

He pulls back to look at you with watered eyes, “You called. I’m so proud of you.”

You mumble under your breath, “I didn’t even do anything.”

Spencer shakes his head and tucks you right back in place, feeling the floppy fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, “I know a version of you that would’ve held it all in by yourself. Thank you for letting me be here for you.”

You turn your head into his chest further, letting the hot tears and snot stain his nice button up. His hands rub trails up and down your back, his head bent down to your ear whispering sweet nothings to you. With Spencer delicately taking your defenses down maybe you can finally admit to yourself that you were just too soft for all of it.

“Where did you have to stop by?” you wonder.

He smiles and readjusts you against his body, “I picked up Thai food,” “And some candy, sour of course. And there may be a Snoopy stuffie as well because it reminded me of you.”

You feel a different weight on your heart, not one that’s constricting but one that’s embracing, comforting. In a life where you’ve rarely felt taken care of, or even being worthy of that care, you know with certainty that Spencer would never let you go a day without knowing how much love and care you deserve.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction

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lovenpeace-pkmn · 5 months ago

Text

Good morning to the audinos from work and no one else

#anthea post

( 2 notes )

🦋queen-bellelbas-tits Follow

Beautifly and dustox. Once close in childhood, but their paths in life diverged due to their natures, leaving them to forever wonder what could have been. This, too, is yuri

( 265 notes )

🎪redfogoferror Follow

Forever thinking about Todd Snap's photos from Team Plasma's attack on the League

🎪redfogoferror Follow

This guy was just some random wildlife photographer who happened, by complete coincidence, to take a job documenting the Pokémon living on and around Victory Road the day of the attack. And instead of reacting to a hugeass castle appearing like a normal person, the absolute madlad just shrugged and kept going about his job, landing us shots like this:

//scans courtesy of @poketcg-art; art by Naoki Saito, Akira Komayama, and Masakazu Fukuda

( 4831 notes )

🧶drop-spinda Follow

The latest dye batch turned out great you guys! Waiting to get home to get some good pictures but I can't wait to show you. I should've gotten a wooloo years ago, their wool is so much easier to work with than mareep. Ily Buttercup <3

#crafters on rotomblr #wooloo

( 12 notes )

🏀zenzangoose Follow

Are we ever gonna talk about the fact that Macro Cosmos made their own Type: Null, or...?

🐜 fossilmaniacdudley Follow

This again? That was debunked ages ago. Where would Macro Cosmos have even gotten the plans to replicate it?

🏀zenzangoose Follow

Oh, yeah, I'm sure you have no ulterior motives here, *checks notes* former Macro Cosmos scientist

( 30 notes )

🦋queen-bellelbas-tits reblogged

🦉sinister-arrowraid Follow

just saw Big Monster: Revenge of Mechavolcarona. Spoilers under the cut, but let me just say I am not impressed by the direction the franchise is taking.

keep reading

( 602 notes )

🎑futurekantochampion Follow

guys help my arcanine just ACTUALLY ate my homework what do i do my teacher's never gonna believe this

#pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokeblog rp #rotomblr #pokeblr #pokereality #fake post #fake dashboard #unreality #<-for the format

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chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

Text

desire

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: now that the defenders of freedom had been caught, what's next for you and frank?

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol & grief, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 8.1k

a/n: the one you've all been waiting for. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

Considering the fact that your place was still an active crime scene and Homeland still needed to track down the rest of Steven’s dipshit goons to ensure there would be no more threats or attacks, Dinah wanted to take you to a safe house until the investigation was finished.

Frank, however, was not having any of that shit.

It was admittedly an ego boost watching Dinah and Frank lock into a heated staring contest while arguing about who got protective custody of you, and definitely amusing. But eventually, she gave into the stubborn brick wall that was Frank Castle, threw her hands up in total exasperation that was followed by a colorful string of adjectives thrown his way, and that was how you found yourself once again on the road with Frank.

Initially when you noticed that Frank was driving in the direction outside of the city, perplexment weaved between your brows, but he quickly set your curiosity straight as soon as he noticed it blanketing your features. He didn’t even give you a chance to voice your inquisitions before explaining that he was taking you somewhere safe that no one else knew about.

That knowledge filled you with a bubbling sense of giddiness because getting to stay with Frank at his apartment was one thing, but getting to stay with him in a place that sounded private and secluded? Yeah, that was more than okay with you.

The longer Frank drove, the more drastic the scenery changed, passing by in a blurry film reel on the other side of the passenger window. The clamorous and bustling streets of the concrete city faded away slowly and soon settled into quiet black asphalt that shrank to one lane on either side of the road. The millions of inhabitants of New York City seemed to melt away into the horizon in the rear view mirror of Frank’s truck, leaving the two of you the only souls for miles. The trees became more and more dense, creating opaque patches of foliage in golden ochre, rusty ginger, and spiced cranberry. In that moment, sitting in the passenger seat was the most at peace you had felt in almost seven months since the whole had nightmare began, and a lot of that peace had everything to do with the man in the driver’s seat absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the Bruce Springsteen CD currently playing.

After about two hours of driving and light conversation, Frank turned off the asphalt road onto an unmarked dirt path, and you turned your head to stare over at him in half-hearted suspicion while lifting a brow in silent questioning.

“You know, if you kept me alive this long just to murder me in the middle of the woods, that’s some serious dedication.”

Without missing a beat, Frank let out a dry chuckle.

“If I was gonna kill ya, I woulda started switchin’ your coffee out with decaf a long time ago.”

It was always a struggle not to laugh at Frank’s dry sense of humor. You tried not to give him the satisfaction of your amusement, but you found yourself giving in more and more lately. Letting out an overly dramatic sharp gasp while staring at him in exaggerated faux horror, you reached over and lightly smacked your palm against his firm bicep.

“That is the most evil form of torture I have ever heard.”

Frank snickered deviantly, clearly pleased with himself, and the relaxed grin on his soft lips was stretched so wide that his lifted cheeks caused his eyes to crinkle in delight. For a moment, your breath caught in your throat at the sight. It never failed to render you speechless just how much lighter Frank looked when he smiled. Happiness looked so achingly beautiful on him. Every time you silently observed him, you always learned something new about Frank. He had deep set creases softly feathering around the edges of his eye sockets, proof that Frank had once been a man that smiled and laughed as easily as he breathed. You sincerely hoped that version of him that he seemed to keep buried so deeply was steadily rising back to the surface, and that these ephemeral glimpses you got would soon become permanent.

The gilded stream of midday light cast a velvet glow on Frank’s softened features, leaving you so completely entranced that you hadn’t even noticed the lack of motion when he parked his truck.

“We’re here.”

The gruff alert of Frank’s voice induced you out of your bewitchment, and it was then that you suddenly noticed the quaint one story cabin nestled a few feet away in front of you.

It was composed of wood in a rich shade of burnt umber, and topped with a forest green downward v-shaped roof. There were a few worn steps leading up to an enclosed porch that appeared to snugly wrap around the cabin entirely, and two large square glass windows on either side of the front door that was painted the same shade of green as the roof. The curtains were drawn so you couldn’t see inside, but from the outside it looked incredibly cozy.

When you got out of the car, you noticed there wasn’t anything around at all but thick woods, and you silently wondered just how far back they went. There didn’t appear to be anyone or anything around for miles, and the only sounds you could hear were birds chirping and the worn wooden steps creaking under the weight of Frank’s heavy black boots.

“Wow. Billy offers one hell of a retirement plan.”

Following up the steps behind Frank’s large frame, a glimpse of black flashed in your peripheral vision, and you noticed there were security cameras installed on the left and right corners of the roof, along with what looked to be several motion detector lights along the top perimeter. Knowing Frank, there were probably far more around the entire cabin, and probably even hidden in the trees as well.

Frank paused for a moment at your comment, his dark brown eyes glossing over your presence at his right before taking in the sight of his own cabin like it was the first time he had ever seen it.

“Nah, s’just somethin’ I never got ‘round to finishin’ ‘til a few months ago. Almost forgot ‘bout it. It was s’posed to be a surprise project for my-”

The second Frank cut himself off, his body language changed entirely. His relaxed posture instantly stiffened, causing him to stand rigidly at his full height while his shoulders squared to their broadened width. The former calm expression he wore turned to stone right before your very eyes and he clenched his jaw in such a harsh line you could hear his teeth grind. Frank was intensely staring directly through the small six panel window that was in the top middle of the front door, like there was something on the other side that only he could see.

Before you could react, he abruptly unlocked the front door and pushed it open with his left hand, clearing his throat and vaguely gesturing with his index finger before turning away to descend the stairs without giving you so much as a second glance.

“I’ll uh get the bags. Room at the end of the hall on the right is yours.”

The haunted look in Frank’s eyes reminded you of the night of the gala when he had told you that he had lost his wife. It was almost the exact same one. The thought briefly crossed your mind that he meant to say it had been a surprise project for her, but you quickly put it to rest. Frank clearly didn’t want to elaborate on the subject, and you knew better than to push. The best thing to do was give him his space and let him come to you if he wanted to. Still, it didn’t stop the journalist in you from running wild with questions, and also filling you with a slight sense of guilt that you were about to share a space with Frank that was meant to be something sacred and special between him and his wife.

»»———　　———««

The room at the end of the hall ended up being the master bedroom, to which you protested heavily against taking, but ultimately ended up being an argument you lost because Frank played dirty and distracted you with the delectable scent of homemade pasta sauce and a wine glass that was filled to the brim with bubbly pink.

While you sat at the kitchen island and sipped at your now half empty glass, you studied Frank with a narrowed gaze. A part of you was annoyed with him and yourself at how easily you fell into the trap he set. He knew you well enough to know Italian food was your weakness and that you were more compliant after being fed. But a bigger part of you was completely mesmerized by the way he gracefully navigated the open kitchen.

There was a furrow of concentration nestled between his thick brows while he precisely measured specific spices to add to the saucepan that was layered with ruby sauce that he had garnished with freshly cut oregano and parsley. On the far back left burner was a boiling pot of penne pasta, and in front of that was a skillet of ground meat Frank had added diced onion and garlic to along with several other seasonings. He shifted between each pan with a quiet elegance that captivated you, and simultaneously irritated you, because there didn’t seem to be a damn thing the man couldn’t do.

“So you’ve been a secret chef this entire time and didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

Rolling your eyes at his quick retort, you cocked your head to the side slightly and focused on the way his back muscles strained against the fabric of the black henley he wore.

“I’m pretty sure I would’ve had an easier time getting nuclear launch codes from the Russian government than ever getting a straight answer out of you.”

Frank snorted at that, throwing you a quick humored glance over his broad shoulder.

“Hey, I give you answers.”

“Oh yeah, after nearly five months of stonewalling me. I didn’t even know what you did before becoming a bodyguard until you told me, what, a week and a half ago?”

Frank lifted one of his thick brows while turning his body slightly towards you.

“You never read my personnel file?”

Glancing down at your wine glass, you clicked your tongue against the inside of your cheek and gave a subtle shake of your head.

“Homeland wouldn’t let me have it.”

“And you let that stop you?”

There was a hint of tease in Frank’s deep voice, and you lifted your gaze to squint at him in annoyance noticing the cheeky smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

“I’m a journalist, Frank. Not a hacker.”

“Ah, don’t give me that shit. That may be your job but it ain’t all you are. Besides, you’re a goddamn force to be reckoned with and a pain in the ass when you don’t get your way.”

A mischievous smirk slipped across your lips while you brought your glass up to your mouth, looking at Frank innocently over the rim.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Frank’s eyes seemed to wander over your face, stopping at the way the rim of the glass settled against your bottom lip, and when he met your eyes again, they were subtly darkened with that look that sent a tingle down your spine.

He silently stared at you for only a second longer before giving a slight nod, and you caught the wry smile slipping over his lips as he turned back to face the stove.

“Whatever ya say, sweetheart.”

You weren’t exactly sure what the source was of the heat you currently felt blooming in your cheeks: the wine you had consumed, the aroma of the fresh chili pepper Frank had just added to the sauce, or the way he had just looked at you.

Attempting to redirect your impure thoughts before the liquid courage could make you bold enough to voice them, you looked for something to distract yourself with. With your chin in your palm, you glanced down at the rouge tinted liquid and lazily swished it around in your wine glass. A thought quickly popped into your head that caused you to let out a soft snort.

“I didn’t take you as a rosé guy.”

Frank adjusted the heat on the sauce to a low simmer before turning to face you fully, wiping his large hands off on a sage green rag before tossing it over his right shoulder. He took a step over towards the island you were sitting at and wrapped his long fingers around his own wine glass, which looked ludicrously tiny in his hand, and took a long purposeful swig before licking his lips and arching one of his dark brows.

“What? This is good shit.”

Reaching for the half empty bottle sitting on the island, you let out a soft laugh and went in for a refill. The relaxing effects of the wine had clearly already reached your brain, and before it could catch up with your mouth, you blurted out your next question like it couldn’t possibly ruin the mood.

“Was this your wife’s favorite?”

Frank didn’t clam up like you had expected given his behavior earlier. Instead, he glanced down at the glass in his hand for a moment before shaking his head with a tiny smile gracing the curve of his lips.

“Nah, friend of mine’s wife got me into this stuff.”

Frank took a moment to stare down into the glass, as if there was a fond memory appearing in the bubbles. Clearing his throat, he took another large swig of the wine and set the nearly empty glass down on the island.

“She uh…she liked white wine.”

For some reason, Frank’s casual admission sent a flush of velour warmth through you. Whatever barrier that had prevented Frank from speaking freely earlier seemed to be somewhat dismantled, and this was the first time he had ever spoken voluntarily about his wife that hadn’t left a heavy fog of grief lingering over either of you. A tender smile stretched across your lips as you lifted your glass up in a silent toast.

“My kinda woman. What was her favorite?”

Frank leaned over the island on his elbows, holding the delicate glass in both of his strong hands. The amber lighting in the kitchen made his eyes look like swirls of melted chocolate, and you resisted the urge to lean in closer when he finally looked at you with a faint smile tugging at the left edge of his mouth.

“Pinot Grigio.”

A huge grin stretched across your lips at his answer, and you shook your head faintly as you light heartedly pointed your right index finger towards Frank and lifted your glass to your lips.

“Oh I bet I could’ve easily converted her to a sauvignon blanc girl. There’s this brand from Chile that makes the best blanc, and she would’ve loved it.”

For a moment Frank simply observed you in silent fondness. When you set your glass down, his eyes flickered to his own, and he made a quiet noise of recognition in his throat before speaking quietly.

“She woulda liked you.”

That single sentiment held more weight and significant meaning to you than anything anyone else had ever said to you. A tight lump formed in your throat as those words echoed in your head, and you felt the overwhelming urge to make this intimate moment just as special for Frank, but with the alcohol in your system you couldn’t convey your feelings as eloquently.

“My mom would’ve annoyed you.”

Frank immediately started howling with laughter, turning his head to look at you with squinted eyes in incredulous amusement.

“What?”

“I mean she would have loved you, no doubt about that, but she probably would’ve annoyed you. And definitely hit on you. She was like me, only she had way less of a filter and absolutely zero shame. I think my being nosey and stubborn was genetic, but she took it to a whole other level. Did you know I used to be really quiet?”

Frank’s thick brows lifted in surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. The rosé was acting as a truth serum, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rambling.

“I was. I was very quiet, and extremely cautious, compliments of my careless mother. She wasn’t really careless, I mean she loved me, she was just a bit reckless, but not in a bad way. Like not a I-need-therapy-for-the-rest-of-my-life way but more of a she-had-me-at-sixteen-and-we-grew-up-together way. You know that I was such a bookworm that she practically begged me to be rebellious and hang out with someone other than her or the local librarian? And she’s the whole reason I wanted to go to Columbia, because she wanted to go to Columbia, but you can’t go to Columbia with a baby and no high school degree, and I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, and I probably should have shut up ten minutes ago, but anyway my mom would’ve liked you but definitely annoyed you more than me.”

Those newfound beloved crinkles were once again decorating Frank’s eyes as he chuckled heartily at your rambling. He downed the rest of his own wine before setting the empty glass down, flashing you a crooked grin as he loosely gestured in your direction with his chin.

“I’m sure I woulda liked Lorelai just as much as I do you.”

There was a skip in your heart’s rhythm, partly because he finally admitted that he liked you as a person, but more so when you realized that Frank remembered your mother’s name. It tugged at your heartstrings, because it was such a simple gesture, but also because it reminded you just how much you missed your mother.

“I forget sometimes.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly when your soft voice settled in the space between the two of you, and his playful grin slowly vanished as he watched while you stared blankly down into your glass, clearly lost in your own thoughts.

“Forget what?”

“That she’s gone.”

There was a slight tremble to your voice as you looked up at Frank with a miniscule sad smile. The empathy in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you had to look away to keep your composure from crumbling. Turning your head to the left, you took a moment to observe the layout and minimalist decor in the kitchen while letting out a shaky exhale.

“Sometimes I go to call her…just…on my way home from work, you know? Just to talk to her, hear the latest small town gossip, tell her about the latest coffee shop I’ve found that she absolutely has to try when she comes to visit next. There’s even been times I’ve left her voicemails. I’ll be so wrapped up in something and wanna vent to her, and then I’ll start to wonder why she hasn’t called back yet, and then it’ll just…hit me.”

Frank stayed quiet while he listened sympathetically, and the entire cabin was silent apart from the quiet sizzling coming from the stovetop until you gently spoke up again.

“Do you forget too?”

Finally looking over at Frank again, you watched as he lighty dragged his palm down the lower half of his face. While he glanced down at the smooth mahogany countertop, he clasped his large hands together while still resting on his elbows.

“I don’t forget she’s gone, but I uh…I’ve started forgettin’ things. I can’t remember what her perfume smelled like…or what her favorite song was. I can hear it sometimes, ya’know? Every now and then I get these…bits and pieces. Sometimes I can hear her hummin’ it in the kitchen, but it ain’t long enough to remember what song it was, ya’know? Everythin’ started gettin’ fuzzy…and I remember more things I wanna forget than things I actually wanna remember.”

There was a stretch of silence where neither of you spoke. Eventually, Frank straightened up and turned his back to you to walk back over towards the stove. Even though you knew it might not be the right time to ask, there was a question that had been burning in the back of your mind since the night of the gala.

“Frank?”

He hummed quietly in response, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder as he gave you his full attention.

“What was her name?”

The softness of your question clearly caught him off guard, and you could see the hesitation lingering in Frank’s eyes. Worried that you had crossed the line and completely ruined the moment, you were about to hastily backtrack and tell him that he didn’t have to answer when Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose, touching his index and middle finger over his chest most likely where his wedding band sat beneath his shirt.

“Maria.”

A minuscule smile covered the edge of your mouth as you tilted your head slightly to the side and tried out her name on your tongue.

“Maria. Is this her recipe?”

Frank's eyes flickered over towards the pans and the pot of boiling pasta that were still on the stove. After a moment, he nodded his head and turned his attention back to you with a tender look in his eyes.

“Penne all'Arrabbiata con Manzo. Her grandmother was Sicilian, just like my parents were. She made this every time I came home from a tour.”

The significance and sentiment behind the recipe Frank was cooking made your heart feel like it was going to burst out of your ribcage. Quickly topping off Frank’s empty glass with more wine, you carefully got down from the bar stool that you were sitting on and rounded the island to make your way over to Frank. As you offered him the half full glass of wine, Frank’s eyes flickered curiously between it and your own gaze while his large hand reached out to wrap his fingers around the glass. Smiling softly up at him, you lifted your own glass slightly in the air.

“Well then, to Maria.”

There was a sudden luminescence to Frank’s warm brown eyes, but you didn’t get a chance to study it long before he nodded slightly and his lips stretched faintly into a tiny smile as he delicately clinked his glass against yours and repeated your toast in a more delicate volume of his deep voice.

“To Maria.”

»»———　　———««

“You’re fired.”

Hearty laughter boomed from deep within Frank’s chest and echoed over the crackling firewood currently blazing. He adjusted his position on the couch a few inches away from you, his features highlighted due to the radiant flames cascading from the fireplace in a contorted expression of skepticism and entertainment.

“What? Why?”

“I have known you for seven months, Castle. Seven. Months. And I’m just now finding out you have the culinary skills of a five star chef. Unacceptable. Unforgivable. I’m calling Billy first thing in the morning.”

You couldn’t hardly get through your own sentence without bursting into a fit of laughter, and Frank was in no better shape as he threw his head back against the couch and clutched at his chest with his hand that wasn’t holding his third glass of wine. There were nearly three empty bottles between the two of you forgotten on the dining table, and this was the most loose you had ever seen Frank. Maybe you should get him tipsy more often.

“You can’t fire me.”

“And why not?”

“Cause I ain’t assigned to you no more, brat.”

While Frank teased you nonchalantly as he sipped at his glass and watched the flames dance across the firewood, his words instantly sobered you up. He was right. The Defenders of Freedom had been caught, Steven was facing trial, and there was no reason for Frank to stick around anymore. It was a revelation you had been trying to ignore for the past twenty-four hours. A wave of uncertainty crashed over you in that moment. What would happen between you and Frank? When would he get assigned to someone else? Would that take him far away from you? How long could you stay in this little bubble outside reality?

Glancing down at the wounds in your palm that had steadily begun to heal, you lightly traced your thumb over the raised irritated edges as a thought suddenly flashed across your mind.

“I never thanked you.”

Even though your voice was barely above a whisper, Frank caught it, and he turned his head to look at you intently with slightly confused brows.

“For what?”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you shook your head faintly before looking back at Frank with subtle remorse.

“For everything you’ve done for me. For saving my life, more than once, and-”

Frank instantly brushed off your gratitude with a shake of his own head, reaching over to place his glass of wine on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“It’s my job-”

“No. Your job was to keep me safe, but you did so much more than that. You dealt with all of my shit, fixed every problem I created, and even when Homeland pulled you away, you still showed up for me. Frank, I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. You saved me from those guys at the bar, you saved me from Cavella and Walker, and…you’re still saving me, even now. I could’ve gone to a safe house with Dinah, but you brought me here, even though I’m not your problem anymore-”

Frank reached for your glass of wine and firmly set it on the coffee table, effectively catching your attention while he started almost directly into your soul with a serious expression.

“Hey, you have never been a problem. Ever. You got that?”

There were so many emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for seven months that you hadn’t been processing, and now they seemed to be rising to a level you could no longer ignore. The verity in Frank’s voice nearly had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you just wanted answers. Why did he care so much? Why was he still protecting you? Why were you here right now?

“Frank…you could’ve walked away. There were so many times you could’ve walked away. Why…why did you stay?”

A substantial weight felt like it had finally been lifted off your chest as you asked the one question that had been lingering in your bones for weeks now. Although that weight was replaced by a lead filled sense of dread while you waited with anxious anticipation for a response, knowing was better than not knowing.

Frank’s deep brown eyes stared so fiercely into your own, that you felt vulnerably stripped bare despite the clothing covering your body. When he reached his left hand over to place on your jean clad thigh, he grasped it firmly and leaned in just close enough so that you couldn’t escape the enrapture of his gaze.

“I want you to listen to me, right now. I’m always gonna keep you safe, you got that? Job or no job.”

The intensity burning in his eyes and the dropped octave of his rough voice nearly stunned you silent. Your lips parted slightly as if to speak, but your fogged brain struggled to form a coherent sentence. This was the closest you had been to Frank since you had climbed onto his lap in his truck, and you were fighting so hard to not let history repeat itself. But that look…that one goddamn look you could never decipher was roaring fervently in his gaze again, and you were going absolutely mad not knowing what it meant.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you found yourself leaning in closer, staring deeply into Frank’s warm brown eyes with a pleading look reflected in your own desperate stare. You wanted to know why. You needed to know why. And you were begging Frank for a confession that wasn’t encrypted.

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine to protect.”

The possessiveness that dripped from Frank’s low voice had you abruptly clenching your thighs together, trapping his thick fingers between your weakened knees. If he minded the entrapment at all, he didn’t show it. The blaze of the fireplace was no longer what had the temperature steadily rising within your body, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Frank’s vigorous and unwavering stare. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and even though you had a million questions clamoring through your brain, all you could manage to get out in a hoarse whisper was one you needed confirmation on.

“I am?”

Frank retracted his large hand from your thigh, raising it up slowly to carefully grab your face. A few of his long fingers curled around the back of your neck while his index and middle finger rested along the underside of your jaw, and his thumb pressed lightly against your chin. His heated gaze dropped to your lips momentarily before flickering back up to meet your eyes, and that fire in them was burning bright enough for God herself to see.

“You’re goddamn right.”

Without another word, Frank pulled you in for a searing kiss, pressing his soft lips against yours tentatively but with enough passion to make his answer crystal clear. A delicate noise of surprise sounded in the back of your throat, and for a moment you nearly stopped breathing. If that first kiss in Frank’s truck was a rare comet bursting across the sky, this one felt like a supernova erupting in a kaleidoscope of colors and stardust exploding across the expanse of the universe.

Even as he retracted his lips just a bit to stare deeply into your eyes to gauge your reaction, his hand gently cradling your face kept you firmly in place. All you could do was stare at Frank in complete stupefaction. Your lips were fervently tingling and your body felt like it had been struck by lightning. Frank’s eyes were searching yours for an answer he seemed to desperately need judging by the way his other hand lightly squeezed at your waist.

“If I’m crossin’ a line, you gotta tell me now. Cause I can’t go back, sweetheart.”

The tender emotion entwined within his words nearly made it sound like Frank was begging for your answer, and suddenly it all clicked. You could never figure it out before, but now as you stared at him in complete wonder and paid close attention to his display of vulnerability, you were finally able to decode that cryptic look in Frank’s eyes.

Desire.

“I don’t wanna go back.”

That breathless confession was all Frank needed, and he seemed to groan in relief when you surged forward to capture his lips with renewed vigor. Frank was so much more engaged in this kiss, and you took that as a good sign to give in to every single temptation. Before you could even think about climbing onto his lap, Frank was three steps ahead of you, and his large hands were firmly gripping onto your hips and effortlessly pulling you over to straddle his hips. Frank’s hands were everywhere; kneading at your denim covered thighs, gripping tightly onto your waist, carding his fingers through your hair and grasping at the back of your head to keep you as close as physically possible.

You cupped his face firmly in your hands and seductively swiped your tongue along his bottom lip begging for entrance, causing a low growl to resonate from deep within Frank’s chest, and his large hands suddenly squeezed your ass tightly through your jeans while you moaned when his taste met your tongue. The taste of Frank was much sharper this time, and you felt far more intoxicated by him than the three bottles of wine the two of you had consumed together.

Even with your chest pressed firmly against his own, it felt like you couldn’t physically be close enough. You wanted to be entirely consumed by Frank, to completely melt into the warmth of his skin and breathe his essence into your lungs. The synchronization of your lips and tongues molding together was impeccable, and the world outside ceased to exist while the two of you began to unravel one another.

An overwhelming surge of impatience had you nearly shredding his black henley with your nails while you fervently shoved it up his toned chest, eagerly caressing the scarred canvas of his tan skin with your fingertips like you had been daydreaming about doing since that night in the motel. He didn’t hesitate to teasingly brush his thumbs along the sliver of exposed skin above your hips before pushing your shirt up your waist and over your head. While you tore it off quickly and carelessly discarded it behind you, Frank dove in to attach his lips to the sensitive skin on your neck, dragging his warm and wet tongue along the column of it before gently biting down on the juncture above your collarbone.

A soft moan slipped past your lips and you instinctively rocked your hips against Frank’s lap, coaxing a deep grunt from his chest. He left a searing trail of kisses along your shoulder, the rough pads of his fingers softly tugging the straps of your bra down your arms before splaying both of his large hands against your lower back to pull you further against his own chest. Frank nuzzled his large nose along your neck and whispered huskily into your ear.

“This alright?”

“Yes.”

Unfiltered lust clouded your vision a deep shade of crimson, and you blindly clawed at Frank’s belt while he continued his blazing path of kisses along your jawline and down your neck towards your chest. All of a sudden, his large hands clasped around your wrists gently to halt your movements, and he pulled back a bit to stare deeply into your eyes while panting slightly.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t no rush.”

“Frank, please.”

The desperate plea that sounded from your lips seemed to ignite a brand new fire within Frank, and your consent shredded that last strand of hesitation that was holding him back. He placed his large hands against your ass and lifted you effortlessly in the air, and you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist. Frank easily navigated around the coffee table and slowly knelt down on the fluffy cream colored rug in front of the fireplace, carefully laying you down onto your back. This time when you tugged the leather of his belt away from the buckle, he didn’t stop you, and instead his own deft fingers made lightning work in ridding you of your own jeans.

Slipping one of his hands underneath your back, he easily unhooked your bra with his thumb and index finger, and the second your bare chest was exposed to him, Frank firmly grasped one of your breasts in his calloused hand and took your peaked nipple into his mouth. Your lips parted widely feeling the jolt of pleasure that had you arching your back slightly when he swirled his warm tongue around the sensitive and stiff bud while gently sinking his teeth into the flesh of your breast.

The sensation elicited a series of breathless whimpers to leave your mouth, and Frank grunted lowly in response as you rolled your hips upwards in search of friction, feeling the heavy heat of his hardened cock against your lower stomach through the thin cotton of his briefs. It was a marvel you hadn’t flooded the cabin with how turned on you currently were, and this wasn’t even scratching the surface of what Frank was going to do to you. You gripped at his bulging biceps, his broad shoulders, dark tufts of his disheveled hair, anything you could get your hands on to keep him close to you.

Frank began to slowly descend your body, placing his hands firmly on your sides while leaving warm and wet open mouthed kisses down your stomach, even licking a teasing bold stripe above your belly button. The sight alone nearly made your eyes roll into the back of your head and caused you to whine softly, knowing exactly where his next destination was. But as much as you wanted to have Frank’s mouth on you, and God did you want it, you weren’t sure you could stand another second of not knowing what it felt like to have him inside you.

After he slipped your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, you gave his messy cropped curls a gentle tug to get his attention before he could spread your thighs and settle his broad shoulders between the apex of them. Frank glanced up to meet your gaze, his warm brown eyes nearly as black as the coffee he’d consumed this morning due to how wide his pupils were blown open. The hunger eclipsing them caused you to shudder, and you took a mental image of the sight of him nearly naked between your thighs staring at you like a ravenous wolf salivating at the sight of a vulnerable lamb.

“Please, Frank…I need you. I wanna feel you now…please.”

The two of you seemed to be stuck in the same conundrum, caught in tandem between wanting to savor the moment you had both waited so long for, and also wanting to give into the impulses of your magnetizing desire.

As much as you could see in his hungry expression that he wanted to take his time, to devour you slowly and worship every inch of you, the distress dripping from your breathless plea triggered his own raging need, and he silently obeyed while moving upwards again to hover over your body, capturing your lips in a deeply passionate kiss while you ardently pushed his briefs down his hips and off completely. Frank settled between your hips, displacing his heavy body weight by supporting himself on his forearms that were locked on either side of your head. You were completely caged in and at his mercy beneath him, but that was exactly where you wanted to be.

Frank searched your gaze ardently once again for any sign of hesitation, his dark eyes roaming up and down your face before his tongue quickly darted out to wet his lips.

“We can call it here, ya’know? No hard feelin’s. I can-”

Reaching a hand up to gently hold the side of his face, you placed your thumb against his plump lips to cut off the velvet timbre of his whisper.

“Frank, I want this. I want you. But if you don’t-”

“I do. You got no idea how much I do. But…I want it to be right, yeah?”

A gentle smile covered your lips while gazing up at him in complete adoration.

“Doesn’t this feel right?”

Frank’s eyes flickered between your own and he subtly nodded his head, glancing down at your lips briefly before looking directly into your eyes again.

“Yeah…yeah it does.”

Frank leaned in to capture your lips in a sensual kiss, and the second he nudged the blunt head of his thick cock within your entrance, a sharp gasp flew past your lips and it felt like all the wind had been knocked right out of your lungs. He groaned quietly and nuzzled his large nose against the column of your neck, firmly grasping at your thigh and pulling your leg up and around his waist while he pushed in deeper slowly, one inch at a time.

While your nails instinctively dug fiercely into the muscle of his shoulders, no doubt leaving deep maroon crescent shaped indentations behind, Frank paused for a moment and snaked his hand down between your bodies, lightly brushing the rough pad of his thumb in lazy circles over your clit to help your body relax. You had been soaked through your panties from the moment your lips met, but Frank’s girth wasn’t one your walls had accommodated before, and he did his best to ease the sting of the burning stretch with stimulated pleasure.

“Frank…”

As soon as your hips connected completely and Frank was fully nestled within your tight heat, your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, and your jaw became completely unhinged as you let out a smooth legato moan. You felt Frank’s body tense above you while he buried his face into your neck, letting out a quiet hiss as he breathed out a shaky deep exhale.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, sweetheart.”

“Oh my God…Frank-”

“I know baby, I know. Gimme a second.”

You don’t know how long it was before Frank finally started moving his hips. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. All you knew was that you had never felt so full and so complete in your entire life.

Letting out a quiet shudder, Frank slowly retracted his hips just a bit before cresting against you once again like a gentle tide. He removed his face from your neck so he could stare down into your eyes to watch your face, and you gazed up at him with wide-eyed passion and marvel. You brought your other leg up to also wrap around his waist and wrapped your arms securely around his neck, trapping Frank against your body just as much as you were beneath his.

Frank reached between your chests with his right hand and gripped his wedding band between his thumb and index finger, tossing it and the chain over his back so there was nothing separating the two of you, just his heated skin pressed firmly against yours. Bringing your hands upwards, your trembling fingers weaved through his hair, tugging somewhat roughly at the messy cropped dark strands on top of his head when he began to languidly increase his pace.

It was like you couldn’t speak. Your mouth hung open while you stared up into Frank’s warm brown eyes that seemed to gleam from the amber glow of the fire, but nothing came out except echoes of the pleasure he handcrafted. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, watching in awe as his plump lips parted from panting heavily, his eyes becoming hooded from streams of ecstasy racing through his bloodstream. He gazed down into your eyes in complete adoration, gently stroking his index and middle finger down your cheekbone delicately as you stared up at him with parted lips and pleading eyes.

Frank brought his left hand up to gently brush your hair away from your forehead, cradling the back of your head while his right one came up once again to gently grab your face. Although this time, his index finger rested along your jawline while his thumb and other fingers laced around your throat carefully, which nearly sent you into a frenzy. He leaned in to teasingly slip his tongue into your mouth, kissing you with such ferocity as if he craved the very breath in your lungs.

Frank vacillated his hips repeatedly against your own in a steady rhythm, but with a meticulous precision that revealed new depths with your body even you weren’t aware of. Every sensual thrust wound that tense coil within you tighter and tighter, and it was only a matter of time before you erupted into gratified pieces of confetti. Reaching a shaky hand up to grip onto the back of his neck, your fingertips vibrated as they brushed over the close shaven hair on the back of his head, and you pulled him down forcefully for another deeply passionate kiss.

Only when your lungs began to burn due to lack of oxygen did you finally break apart. He leaned in to press his forehead against yours, gazing so deeply into your eyes you swore he could see right into your soul. You stared back up into Frank’s eyes as yours became glossy due to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure you were experiencing. His coarse grunts and reverberating groans echoing in your ears had your toes curling, and as your mouth hung open in silent begging, you nodded swiftly with an expression that let Frank know you felt it too.

“Please…please…”

That familiar bubble of euphoria was starting to expand wider and wider within your lower belly and you weren’t sure how much longer you had before it burst. The way Frank fit perfectly within your body was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, and you were stuck on the cusp of never wanting it to end, but also wanting to see just how far it could go. You had never been with someone that seemed to be so finely in tune with your body, or that genuinely cared about your satisfaction, but Frank was treating your pussy as if he had designed it specifically for himself. The realization of knowing you wouldn’t have to finish yourself off later like you had to with your exes was a welcomed relief, but not knowing what brink of indulgence Frank was about to catapult you over was exhilarating.

“Frank…Frank…”

“S’alright, baby, I know. Let me have it, yeah? C’mon baby, let go for me.”

A soft whimper slipped past your lips. You were so close, and God you wanted so badly to jump head first into the free fall. But a tiny part of you felt frustrated because you wanted to witness Frank free fall too. You wanted to see him let go, hear his praises of your name, and be coherent enough to feel Frank lose himself.

But you would have to wait your turn, because Frank was sending you barreling towards the edge of an orgasm with every punctual and powerful snap of his hips, and you had no choice but to surrender to the heat of his body enveloping yours in a cocoon of pure warmth and safety.

Frank grabbed both of your smaller hands and laced your fingers together, giving them a tight squeeze as a tangible reminder he was right there with you. He pinned them gently on the soft rug above your head, his pace becoming a bit sloppy as he began to lose his own composure.

“Look at me, sweetheart. Let me see them pretty eyes, c’mon. Let me see ‘em.”

You struggled to keep your eyes open until you physically couldn’t, wanting to witness every second of Frank’s own impending climax contorting his features as he fought to control himself until you were ready to let go.

“There ya go, attagirl. Let go for me, sweetheart. S’alright, let me have it, yeah?”

A symphony of his name played from your lips at a steady crescendo until it filled the entirety of the cabin, and all at once a flash of white exploded behind your eyes as you free fell through space and time, floating in a cloud composed of Frank’s honeyed praises of your name and delicate sweet nothings. You’d given yourself powerful orgasms before but you had never felt something so intense as the delectation Frank created. It felt like you were floating between the astral space between Heaven and Earth, and you weren’t sure you could find your way back to your physical body again.

There was a faint amber glow flickering across your closed lids, and as you slipped in and out of coherence, you felt soft lips delicately pressing against your forehead and the edge of rough fingers gently stroking along your cheekbone lovingly. You didn’t want to move, you weren’t even sure if you could, but there was one thing you did want.

“Frank?”

The voice that resonated in your ears was fuzzy and distant, and it didn’t even sound like it belonged to you. A strong pair of arms wrapped securely around you, pulling you in from your stranded orbit closer towards where you were meant to be, and Frank’s soothing gruff voice quietly dripped a sacred promise into your ear.

“M’here.”

The hypnotic lullaby of his heart’s rhythm tethered you back to the dreamlike reality of Frank holding you against his chest, and that was all you needed to slip away under the blanket of stars that were dancing behind your eyes.

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jamieontheroof · 1 year ago

Text

Random things I noticed while playing What Remains Of Edith Finch

There was a poster of the cannery that Lewis worked at on the boat.

2. Edith Jr wears what appears to be an engagement on a necklace. Whether this is her ring or her mothers is not mentioned.

3. At the start of the game, Milton's missing posters are EVERYWHERE. There is even a giant pile of them in a nearby lake.

4. The dragon slide that crushed and killed Sven is still outside.

5. As you walk toward the house, the music gets louder.

6. The swing that Calvin flew off decades ago is still looped around the branch.

7. There was a spare peep hole in the garage that didn't have any names or dates on it.

8. At multiple points throughout the game you can hear a train in the background, despite the fact that the train tracks are clearly destroyed.

9. There are multiple pots throughout the Finch house that looks like they have eyes.

10. One of the books the Finches possessed was 'King in Yellow', a book known for making anyone who read it insane.

11. The house sounds alive, or like there are people constantly moving around it.

12. Walters bedroom is painted with both ocean and train designs. One of the paintings is the old house that Odin tried to bring to America.

13. There are drag marks on the ground of Walters bedroom (most likely made when his drawers were taken out of his room.)

14. The entrance to the tunnels is hidden by a book called 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, a classic sci-fi story about a sea monster.

15. Molly's room is filled entirely with animal books.

16. There is a jelly fish on Molly's bed (possible connection to the monster??).

17. Molly has a chalkboard in her bedroom where she is a princess in an underwater castle and Sven is about to get attacked by a sea monster (slightly resembling the dragon slide).

18. As shark!Molly starts falling down the cliff, she passes a road where headlights are briefly scene.

19. When the monster gets back to Molly's room, the window that cat!Molly jumped through is still open.

20. There are still Christmas decorations in Molly's room.

21. The curse is 500 years old. That is a lot of dead people.

22. In Odin's viewfinder, it states "His [Odin's] daughter, Edie, is already dreaming of new Finch house" showing that even though her own father died not even a week ago, Edie has already moved on.

23. The house is filled head to toe with books about death, including two that Odin wrote.

24. Sven's shrine does not have a log painting like the rest of the family. His portrait is painted on a simple canvas.

25. Edie has a number of strange tapes in her room including one titled "conspiracy now".

26. The toys from Gregory's final bath are still in the bathroom.

27. There is an old bottle of alcohol in the bathroom bin.

28. A lot of Sam's photos are based on Calvin (a swing, astronauts).

29. All of Milton's drawings are based on the death. (Molly = cat, Barbara = pumpkin)

30. There are cigarettes and gin on Sam's side of the room he shared with Calvin.

31. Calvin already had bruises, Band-Aids and a cast on his leg when he died.

32. Sam blames himself for challenging Calvin.

33. In the story, Calvin doesn't fall. He keeps flying.

34. Barbara's birthday cake is still in her room.

35. Barbara is holding crutches in her portrait.

36. There are totem-esc styles statues of both Calvin and Molly

37. Barbara's outfit is over the railing.

This is the same way the Hook-Man falls

38. "Performance of her life" can also mean that it is the performance she is known for.

39. There are spare portrait logs in the basement.

40. There is a fake window in the basement.

41. Edie's grave is finished despite her dying and then nobody else going to the house.

42. There is no grave for Milton.

43. Lewis' grave has a crown on it.

44. There are times wear it seems like you can hear sobbing (this one may just be me).

45. There is a box of Kay's old stuff in Sam's bedroom.

46. Odin has a park named after him.

47. This isn't a fact but I think this may be one of the funniest photos of the game (LIKE SIR? YOUR DAUGHTER IS SOBBING!).

48. Both Calvin and Dawn are on Sam's shrine.

49. Gus has a skateboard over his name.

50. Gregory has the soap bottle from his final bath in his shrine.

51. The music cuts out when Gregory isn't moving.

52. Same also blames himself for Gregory.

53. Gus never met his step mother.

54. Gus was crushed by the (totem) statues of his deceased relatives.

55. Dawn's light switch is the only one on

56. Most of the rules are about past deaths. (No playing outside without permission : Calvin, No answering door for strangers : Barbara, No messes after dark : Molly (???)).

57. Milton's garden has a castle (reference to the Unfinished Swan)

58. There is a small Sanjay shrine in the classroom

59. Edith JR did an assignment on her family history.

60. Lewis drew on his desk.

61. There is no death date for Milton on his peephole.

62. Edith JR wrote Milton's death date as 2003 (the year he disappeared).

63. The door from the flip book is in Milton's room.

64. Lewis' dream Palace is decorated with fish.

65. The gnomes scattered around the house are outside the original house in Edie's story.

66. The credits roll in reverse order.

AND THAT'S IT!! I had a few others I thought didn't need to go in.

611 notes · View notes

novaursa · 3 months ago

Text

Legacy (the silence)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be awear of unspecified time jump.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (slight descritpion of blood and gore)

- Previous part: across the dream

- Next part: the great war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The wind howled through the towering cliffs of Casterly Rock, carrying with it the scent of salt and cold steel. Beneath the shadow of the great castle, the courtyard and the surrounding paths swarmed with men and banners, a sea of red and gold. The banners of the Westerlands stretched as far as the eye could see—familiar sigils of lesser houses loyal to the Lion of Lannister. The old roads, once worn by merchants and travelers, now thundered beneath the hooves of warhorses and the heavy tread of marching feet.

Tywin Lannister stood at the edge of the outer parapet, his gloved hands resting on the stone, his gaze sweeping over the columns of armed men pouring through the open gates. The force that had assembled was vast, perhaps the largest host the Westerlands had called upon in a generation, yet it was not as grand as it could have been in an age untouched by war and winter. Supplies were dwindling, and no matter how well-prepared he had been, no one had foreseen more then three years of endless night.

Kevan stood beside him, his face lined with quiet contemplation. “More arrive by the hour,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clamoring of men below. “Ser Myles Lefford rides at the head of the last host from the Golden Tooth, and the remaining forces from Deep Den and the Crag should be here soon.” He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “This is the last of them, Tywin. Every sword sworn to us has come.”

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his grip on the stone tightened slightly.

“These are all who could make it,” he corrected.

Kevan nodded grimly. They both knew there were men still trapped in smaller holdfasts, cut off by the unnatural storms that had ravaged the roads. Others had never made it at all, swallowed by the darkness or the creatures that now roamed freely in the deep woods. The Westerlands had always been a strong, untamed land, but it had never known fear like this.

Below, the banners of House Brax, House Marbrand, House Kenning, and more fluttered in the frozen wind as their lords dismounted and gave orders to their men. A chorus of shouting, the clank of armor, and the snorting of warhorses filled the air, but there was no raucous celebration. No laughter. No boasting. Only the solemn grimness of men who had come to fight their last war.

Ser Addam Marbrand approached on foot, his orange cloak dusted with frost. He dipped his head in a respectful bow to Tywin. “My lord, my men have settled within the lower halls as ordered. The horses are being stabled, and we brought as many provisions as we could carry. We left none behind.” He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Some of my men say they saw shapes in the woods as we rode. Pale figures in the trees, watching but not attacking. We rode hard to outpace them.”

Kevan shifted uncomfortably. “How many?”

Marbrand shook his head. “Too many to count.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “It was wise not to engage. Whatever numbers they bring, they will break against these walls.” His gaze remained fixed on the sea of arriving soldiers, his mind already turning over every possible strategy.

He had spent his life making war against men—rebels, usurpers, fools who thought they could defy the might of House Lannister. He had crushed them all. But this was no war of banners and crowns. This was something older, something no man had ever conquered.

And yet, he would not bow.

Kevan exhaled. “Winterfell sends no word back with messengers. Neither does the capital.”

“That is not an accident.” Tywin’s voice was cold. “Someone ensures the realm remains deaf to what is happening.”

Marbrand frowned. “Could it be Daenerys?”

Tywin shook his head. “No. She lacks the subtlety.” He turned, his cloak billowing behind him. “Whoever is doing this, it is not to her benefit either.”

Kevan hesitated. “Then who?”

Tywin did not answer. He had spent the last weeks pondering the same question, and yet no answer presented itself that did not lead to a darker conclusion.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the arrival of another rider. Ser Myles Lefford, his golden breastplate dulled with frost, dismounted stiffly and strode toward them.

“My lords,” he said, bowing, “we met no resistance on the road, but there are whispers among the men. They speak of villages where the fires still burned, but not a single soul remained. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Only silence.”

Tywin turned fully to face him. “How many villages?”

Lefford’s throat bobbed. “Too many.”

Kevan muttered a curse, running a hand through his beard. “This is beyond raiding. They are wiping the land clean.”

Marbrand nodded grimly. “If they mean to starve us, they have already begun.”

Tywin stared at the growing mass of soldiers in the courtyard below. This was the last host the West would ever raise, the final force that stood between annihilation and survival. If they failed here, there would be no retreat, no second war.

He turned back to his gathered men.

“We will not cower behind these walls like frightened children,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold. “We have prepared for this. The Rock has stood for thousands of years and will stand long after we are dust. These things may bring the cold, but I will see them burn.”

Marbrand and Lefford bowed. “As you command, my lord.”

Kevan looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

Tywin cast one last glance at the forces still arriving.

Let them come.

He would make sure they paid in blood.

The war room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wax and parchment, the heavy weight of impending doom pressing against the stone walls like an unseen specter. A great table stretched the length of the chamber, covered in a detailed map of Westeros, marked with carved sigils of their bannermen and the crude placements of their enemies. The Westerlands had gathered for their final stand, and all eyes now turned toward Tywin Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock, as he weighed their fates with the cold precision that had won him every war he had ever fought.

But this was no war of men.

The door creaked open, and the lords who sat around the table turned as you entered. You moved with the quiet grace that had been bred into you since birth, but there was something else in you now—something sharpened by years of survival, war, and the burden of knowledge you alone carried. As you stepped into the chamber, the gathered bannermen rose, offering you the respect due to both the Lady of Casterly Rock and a woman who rode a dragon.

Tywin looked up from the map, his expression unreadable as he gestured to the seat beside him. You took it without hesitation, feeling the weight of a dozen gazes settle on you. Kevan Lannister sat across from you, his brows furrowed, his hands folded over one another. Ser Addam Marbrand stood near the hearth, his face cast in flickering firelight, his fingers drumming idly against the pommel of his sword. Lord Lefford, Lord Brax, and the other lords of the West sat in quiet anticipation, waiting for the war council to begin.

It was Kevan who spoke first. “The last of our men have arrived. Every sword sworn to us is now within these walls. If we are to strike before the enemy reaches us, the time is now.”

Tywin gave a small, imperceptible nod. “And have they sent word from the capital? Anything or still nothing?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“No, my lord,” Lord Brax finally admitted, his voice grim. “No word from the Crownlands, nor from the North.”

You shifted, your fingers pressing against the edge of the table. “Then it is as we feared—someone ensures silence reigns across the realm. We are being cut off from the world.”

Ser Addam Marbrand exhaled through his nose. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, my lord. If the North is lost, the Others will march south unchallenged.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

You leaned forward, your voice steady. “Then let me take Viserion and burn them before they reach us.”

The lords stirred at your words, some exchanging glances, others nodding in silent agreement.

Lord Lefford spoke up, his face lined with weariness. “She speaks sense, my lord. We do not know how many of them there are, nor how they fight, but if fire is truly their weakness, then we must use it before it is too late.”

Kevan hesitated. “We know fire can kill the wights. But we do not know if it can kill the Others. If they are truly creatures of ice, then perhaps dragonflame can undo them—but if not…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak the worst of it.

You turned to Tywin, watching as his jaw tightened, as the muscle in his cheek twitched ever so slightly. He was silent, thoughtful, but there was something else in his eyes. Hesitation.

It was rare to see Tywin Lannister unsure.

You softened your voice. “We cannot wait until they are at our gates, Tywin. The Rock may be impenetrable, but it is not invincible. If we allow them to gather, to grow stronger, then even these walls may not hold.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, but he still did not answer.

Kevan shifted in his seat. “She is right, brother. If we wait, we may find ourselves cornered, besieged by an enemy we do not fully understand.”

Ser Addam Marbrand, ever the strategist, leaned forward. “If we send her to test them now, we will know what we face before it is too late. We must learn if dragonfire can truly undo them. If it does not, then at least we will know the limits of our weapons before we make our stand.”

The lords murmured in agreement, their voices a mixture of conviction and unease.

But still, Tywin hesitated.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, pressing your fingers against his palm. It was a rare gesture, one done in the quiet privacy of your chambers, never in the presence of others. But now, with all of Westeros on the brink of destruction, you did not care for propriety.

He glanced at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, searching.

You did not need to speak the words aloud. You must trust me.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The lords, the war, the Rock—it all faded into silence.

Then, finally, Tywin spoke.

“You may go,” he said, his voice low, measured. “But you will not go alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who do you mean to send with me?”

Tywin turned to Kevan. “You will take a small force to accompany her. A dozen riders. No more.”

Kevan’s brows furrowed. “If she is flying, then there is no need for riders.”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “There is always a need for an escape plan.”

Your lips parted, but you did not argue. You could see it now—the barely concealed fear in his expression, the tightness in his shoulders. He was not a man who bent to fear. But this? This was different.

This was you.

And for the first time in all your years together, you realized what it meant for the lion to love a dragon.

Tywin turned to the room, his voice cold and commanding once more. “We move before the week is done. If this war is to be fought, we shall be the ones to strike first.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords.

You gave Tywin’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it, rising from your seat.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze linger on your back, a silent weight that followed you as you exited the war room.

And you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that if you did not return—there would be no force in this world that could stop Tywin Lannister from razing it to the ground.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, a mixture of the maester’s study and the lingering scent of medicinal balms. You sat on the cushioned bench beside the table, your hands resting on your lap, fingers idly tracing the embroidery on your sleeve. Across from you, Maester Aldren finished his examination, his expression grave yet unreadable as he straightened and exhaled softly.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a measured tone, he spoke.

“You are with child.”

The words settled heavily between you, like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was not unexpected—not entirely. You had felt the changes within you in the past few weeks: the subtle exhaustion, the way your body had begun to shift in ways you recognized from before. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have it confirmed in this moment—now, on the eve of your departure—was something else entirely.

Maester Aldren continued, unaware of the tempest brewing in your mind. “You are early along. No more than a few moons, but there is no mistake. Your body has already begun adjusting.”

Your gaze flickered down to your hands, to the pale skin of your fingers, as thoughts warred within you. Another child. Tywin’s child.

The timing could not have been worse.

A deep inhale steadied you. When you spoke, your voice was firm. “You will not tell anyone.”

Aldren’s brows furrowed, his weathered face etched with confusion. “My lady, surely the Lord of the Rock should—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice unwavering. “Not yet.”

Aldren hesitated. He was a maester of the Citadel, sworn to duty and knowledge, but he was also a man who had served your household for years. He had tended to Damon and Maelor since their birth, and he had been at your side through battles and winters alike. But now, he looked at you with uncertainty, as if weighing whether to challenge you.

Carefully, he folded his hands before him. “May I ask why?”

You exhaled, standing slowly, smoothing the fabric of your cloak. “Because if I tell him, he will not let me leave.”

Aldren’s expression darkened. “And is that not a good thing?”

Your eyes snapped to him, a silent storm swirling in their depths. “No,” you said quietly. “Because if I do not leave, we may all perish.”

Silence stretched between you.

Aldren sighed, rubbing his temple. “You ride into battle, my lady. With a child inside you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ride to ensure there is a future for my children—all of them.”

Aldren inhaled sharply, then released it in resignation. He knew you well enough to understand that your mind was made up, that no amount of reasoning or pleading would sway you.

“You must take care,” he murmured at last. “You must not overstrain yourself. And if you feel anything—anything—unusual, you will return at once.”

“I will,” you lied.

Aldren studied you, his gaze keen with scrutiny, but in the end, he nodded. He would not betray your trust, not now.

“I will do as you ask, my lady,” he said solemnly. “But this secret cannot be kept for long. You must tell Lord Tywin when you return.”

“When I return,” you echoed softly, as if speaking it into certainty.

But deep in your heart, you knew—if you did not return, it would not matter at all.

The cold air bit against your skin as you stepped into the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the darkened sky stretching endlessly above like an abyss without stars. The torches lining the perimeter of the fortress flickered wildly in the wind, their flames struggling against the unnatural night that had swallowed the world whole. The scent of damp stone, of leather and steel, mixed with the distinct sulfurous tang that always lingered when dragons were near.

Viserion emerged from the depths of the mines, her golden-hued scales gleaming even in the absence of true sunlight. Her wings stretched wide, sending gusts of wind through the courtyard as she let out a guttural rumble, sensing the purpose in the air. Her saddle, already secured, awaited you, the thick leather straps taut and ready for flight.

From the darkness of the mines, another presence loomed—Arraxes.

The young dragon lingered just beyond the threshold, his blood-red eyes cutting through the shadows like embers buried in ash. His serpentine form slithered closer, his nostrils flaring as he released a low, uneasy growl. It was not rebellion, nor was it defiance—it was hesitation. He felt the pull, the bond between himself and Viserion, his mother, his guiding flame. And yet, something deep within him warred against instinct.

Your heart clenched as you watched him, your gaze locking onto his unreadable, primal stare. You felt his longing, his indecision, the silent question lingering in his mind—why could he not follow? Why was he being left behind?

But after a long, agonizing moment, the young dragon released a huff and stepped back, retreating into the shadows of the mines. His glowing eyes were the last thing to vanish into the black.

The decision was made.

A gust of wind from Viserion’s wings snapped you from your thoughts, and you turned your attention back to the present. Your riders—loyal men who had trained tirelessly for this mission—stood at the ready, their steeds shifting restlessly beneath them. Their armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, their eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

And then, there was Tywin.

He stood apart from the others, his piercing green eyes fixed upon you with a gaze that burned deeper than any flame Viserion could conjure. He was clad in his riding leathers, his heavy fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. He had known this moment was coming, but that did not make it easier.

You approached him slowly, the sound of your boots against the stone drowned out by the howling wind. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for you and keep you here.

"You will return," he said, his voice low, edged with steel. It was not a question. It was a command.

You exhaled softly, allowing a small, knowing smile to grace your lips. "Of course."

Tywin narrowed his eyes, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to find any trace of deception. "You will return," he repeated, this time quieter. "Do not make a liar of yourself, wife."

A flicker of warmth spread through you at the possessiveness in his words, but it was overshadowed by the weight of what lay ahead. You wanted to promise him everything, but promises were fragile things in times like these.

Your hand reached for his, fingers curling around his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. "I will be back before you know it," you murmured. "And when I return, you will scold me for being reckless, and I will laugh and say you worry too much."

Tywin exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he muttered. "I expect I shall."

There was nothing more to say.

You turned, your fingers lingering against his for a moment longer before stepping away. The weight of his gaze followed you as you approached Viserion, each step measured, deliberate. The she-dragon lowered herself slightly, allowing you to climb into the saddle with practiced ease. The moment your hands grasped the reins, she shifted, restless, eager to take to the skies.

Your riders fell into position, their own mounts ready for the long flight ahead.

With one last glance at Tywin, you nodded once.

And then, with a powerful thrust of her wings, Viserion launched into the air, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared past your ears as the great she-dragon carried you higher and higher, her wings cutting through the endless night.

Below, the torches of Casterly Rock flickered like distant stars.

And Tywin watched, unmoving, until you were out of sight.

The deep black of the night pressed heavily against the walls of Casterly Rock, the vast stone fortress eerily silent save for the occasional crackling of the torches lining its halls. Outside, the wind howled against the cliffs, a distant, mournful sound that seemed to stretch endlessly into the void of the frozen world.

Maelor stirred in his bed, a small frown creasing his young face as a voice—her voice—whispered to him from the darkness.

"Maelor… Maelor, sweet boy, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open, the voice wrapping around him like a gentle lullaby. It was familiar, impossibly so. His mother. But that was impossible. She had flown away with Viserion days ago, her absence leaving a hollowness in the castle that even the warmth of the dragonfires beneath the Rock could not chase away.

Yet, the voice persisted.

"Come to me, little lion. I'm waiting."

Compelled by something unseen, Maelor sat up, his small hands clutching at the heavy furs draped over him. The room was dimly lit by the embers still glowing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Damon slept soundly beside him, his breathing steady despite the scars that marred his once-unblemished skin.

Maelor hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. He did not think to wake his brother, nor did he question why his mother was calling for him when he knew she was far away. Some part of him—the part that longed for her warmth, her presence, the safety of her embrace—urged him forward.

The door creaked as he pulled it open, and the dimly lit corridors of the Rock stretched before him like the gaping maw of a beast. The flickering torches barely pushed back the shadows, but the voice guided him, soft and insistent.

"This way, my love… just a little further…"

Maelor wandered deeper into the darkened halls, his small frame swallowed by the vastness of the corridors. The deeper he walked, the colder the air became. The warmth of the Rock, the heat of the dragons below, did not reach these parts. The torches burned lower, their flames barely more than dying embers.

And then, he saw it.

A figure stood at the end of the hall, its form barely visible through the gloom.

At first, Maelor thought it was his mother—but it wasn’t.

It was too tall. Too thin. Its body was an unnatural shade of pale, almost translucent in the dim light. And its eyes—icy blue, glowing like lanterns in the dark bored into him with unnatural hunger.

It smiled, revealing jagged, needle-sharp teeth that glistened as if coated in frost.

Maelor felt his body go stiff, his breath hitching in his throat. A scream clawed at his chest, but his lips would not part. He could not move.

The creature lifted a long, skeletal hand and beckoned him forward.

"Come, little one. Your mother is waiting."

Maelor's feet shuffled forward against his will. He did not want to move, but something was pulling him.

The closer he got, the colder the air became. Frost coated the walls, forming intricate spirals that pulsed as if alive. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to the wraith-like figure before him. The blue light in its eyes expanded, swallowing his thoughts whole.

"Maelor!"

The spell shattered as a roaring explosion of fire illuminated the corridor.

The creature shrieked as a blade, engulfed in white-hot flames, slashed through the darkness.

Beric Dondarrion and his men rushed into the corridor, their weapons drawn, their torches alight. The glow of Beric’s sword cast long shadows along the walls, the flames flickering with unnatural intensity.

"GET BACK!" Beric bellowed as he slashed at the creature again, his blade carving a molten arc through the air.

The wraith recoiled, its shriek sharp and piercing, like ice cracking beneath unbearable weight. The blue light in its eyes flickered violently, its form twisting and shifting as if struggling to maintain its presence.

Maelor collapsed to the ground, his body released from its invisible hold. He gasped, his breath forming white clouds in the freezing air.

Damon skidded into the corridor just as Thoros of Myr lifted his hands, his voice booming with a prayer to the Lord of Light.

"R'hllor, great god of flame, cast out this darkness!"

A pillar of fire erupted from the torches, roaring down the corridor and engulfing the creature in a cascade of golden flames.

The wraith let out a piercing scream, its body contorting in agony as the fire consumed it. The glow in its eyes flickered once—twice—and then was gone.

The creature collapsed into ash.

For a moment, the only sound was Maelor’s ragged breathing as he stared at the spot where the thing had stood. His tiny hands trembled, his eyes wide with lingering terror.

Beric rushed to the boy, kneeling before him. "Are you hurt?"

Maelor shook his head, his lips trembling. Damon, pale-faced and breathless, hurried to his brother’s side, grasping his arm. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You—You just left—"

Before Maelor could answer, alarm bells rang out through the Rock.

Beric shot to his feet, his eyes snapping toward the direction of the castle walls.

Thoros wiped sweat from his brow, his expression grim. "That was just one," he murmured. "And it got inside."

Beric turned to the nearest guard. "Ring the bells louder. Get Lord Tywin—now."

The guard did not hesitate. He turned and ran, his armor clanking against the stone as he rushed toward the war room.

Maelor turned, looking up at his older brother. Damon’s scarred face was unreadable, but his grip on Maelor’s arm was tight—almost too tight.

The young boy swallowed.

Outside, the winds howled as if something was coming.

The wind tore through the skies, sharp as Valyrian steel, slicing through the furs that lined your shoulders. Viserion’s wings thundered against the frozen air, her pale scales reflecting the faintest shimmer of what should have been moonlight—but the sky above was a void of black, no stars, no light, only the oppressive weight of endless darkness.

Below, your riders moved in a steady formation, their banners flapping violently as their horses trudged through the snow-covered terrain. You could barely make them out beneath the swirling mist of ice and frost, but they were there—loyal men, brave men, following you into the unknown. The silence of the night was unnatural, the only sound the distant howl of the wind, a mournful wail that curled around the mountains and valleys, whispering of something unseen.

Then, the world shifted.

A wall of ice and snow erupted from the earth without warning, spiraling upward like a specter clawing its way from the abyss. The storm came alive, swallowing the riders below in a matter of heartbeats. One moment, they were there—the next, gone.

Viserion reared back, her wings thrashing against the violent gusts, the force of the winds shoving her sideways. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the saddle, your fingers numb from the freezing air.

"No—no, no, no."

The snow howled, a deafening roar that filled the sky. It wasn’t a natural storm—it couldn’t be. The way it moved, the way it devoured everything in its path—it was something else.

Something unnatural.

"Viserion! Fly higher!" you commanded, but the dragon twisted in the air, her balance faltering. She, too, had lost direction.

You pulled at the reins, attempting to steer her, but there was nothing. No point of reference, no horizon, only the suffocating black.

Then—the screams began.

Muffled, distant, but unmistakable. The wails of dying men and the frantic shrieks of horses as something found them in the dark. The sounds were swallowed almost immediately, as if the very air itself refused to carry the echoes of their deaths.

Viserion bucked wildly beneath you, her body writhing.

"Dracarys!" you roared.

She obeyed, her mighty throat igniting as a torrent of golden-white flame erupted into the void.

It did nothing.

The fire vanished the moment it left her maw, consumed by the very darkness itself. It was as if the night had a hunger of its own, devouring the heat, the light, leaving nothing but the frigid chill of the abyss.

The cold sank into your bones—something was watching.

Then, you saw it.

The darkness broke.

The storm lifted, just enough for you to see what lay ahead.

Your breath seized in your throat, your heart slamming against your ribs.

An army.

An endless army.

Miles upon miles of them, stretching to the very ends of the world. Their armor was frozen over with rime, their flesh long decayed, but their eyes—all of them—burned blue.

They were waiting.

A thousand—ten thousand—a hundred thousand. Their weapons, their rotted banners, their skeletal steeds.

And at their center, it stood.

A figure upon an undead beast, a skeletal dragon with tattered wings of ice. Its rider—tall, gaunt, clad in blackened, frozen armor, its face obscured save for those impossibly bright blue eyes.

The Night King.

His gaze lifted to the sky, and though his expression did not shift, you felt his attention settle on you.

Then—the voice.

A screeching, wretched sound, not spoken but forced into your very skull. It was neither words nor whispers, but pain.

Your vision blurred, agony lancing through your skull like a thousand shards of ice. Your hands trembled against the reins, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Viserion screamed.

She twisted midair, writhing in pain as the sound tore through her skull, her mighty wings faltering. You clung to her, barely holding on as she spiraled, her shrieks echoing across the wasteland.

You didn’t know if you were screaming too.

The world spun.

Then—Viserion surged forward.

Her instincts overrode the pain, her body moving. She veered northward, desperate to escape the unseen force trying to drag her from the sky.

The Night King watched.

The wights watched.

The thousands upon thousands of dead watched.

And as you vanished beyond the storm, the voice echoed one last time—a promise.

"Soon."

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firestorm09890 · 7 months ago

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I was idly and sort of jokingly thinking that if I’m going to write a Zexion and Saïx rivalry they need to have matching symbolism somewhere and so I thought “Saïx is moon-coded, does Zexion have any celestial body symbolism?” and the answer is YES ACTUALLY, he’s associated with meteors. They don’t appear in Chain of Memories, but they’re part of his desperation move in kh2, it’s his Limit Break in 358/2 Days, it’s the attack on certain Zexion medals in KHUx, and it’s the attack that his card gives in Dark Road; overall, it’s the one consistency across his incredibly varied movesets.

so then I thought “man, I need to draw Zexion with some meteors, that’d be cool…”

then I remembered that in kingdom hearts as a whole, meteor showers are signs that a world’s borders have fallen, and it's become more susceptible to heartless, which, in kh1 at least, meant it was only a matter of time before the world's heart was devoured and it fell into darkness completely.

and then what Ansem says in Secret Report #2... (emphasis mine) "Spurred on by my youngest apprentice, Ienzo, I constructed a massive laboratory in the basement of my castle"...

not necessarily the catalyst, but a sign of the beginning of the end. Ienzo, Zexion, shooting stars and meteor showers, lost innocence, signs of wishes turned into signs of destruction. His quotes during the Meteor Mirage limit break are "You think you can be forgiven?!" and "You've brought it upon yourself!" I'm sure he's fine and likewise I'm also fine I'm normal I can be trusted with this symbolism

#this post actually has nothing to do with saix #kingdom hearts #zexion #ienzo #if they want me to stop overanalyzing their side character they shouldn't have intentionally left out so many treats for me #me post

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 months ago

Note

Hi there! I hope your having a wonderful day!

So i had a question, or more acuratly wanted to ask for some advice. Ive more or less recently started dming, mostly in the form of one-shots for my main group. And ive stumbled across the following issue: while i love the lore building and describing and rp-ing i really struggle with combat. I tend to get overwhelmed and forget about effects and skills, and struggle with coming up with 'battle tactics' (which is what our campaign dm suggested) or make it way to easy because i worry about the players being dissappointed by 'loosing'(eventhough they've mentiones they would love harder combat and would even be okay with a tpk if it was earned)

So do you happen to have any suggestions or ideas on how to practice running and organizing combat and/or scalling or ways to not get so overwhelmed?

(Im sorry if this isnt quite what you do, i just didnt really know who else to ask)

This is ABSOLUTELY what I do friend, every part of the dungeon mastering experience is worth talking about because that's how we improve.

If you're having trouble learning your way around combat you're more than justified: it's a whole second game, and strategic skirmish tactics requires a very different skillset compared to the collabrative storytelling rules you're just now getting a handle on.

First, lets talk about what combat in d&d is even FOR: Fights in d&d are really no different than any other challenge, they're a hurdle you as a DM employ to introduce drama to a narrative and engage your players, not all that different from a locked door or an obstinate NPC that needs to be convinced. The difference is that when you call initiative, you are shining a spotlight on the moment to moment decisions your party makes when time is limited and greatly raising the stakes: Seconds matter in combat, quick thinking matters, mistakes matter.

To use a simple example, recently I ran a road encounter where the party came across a gnomish merchant who's wagon had been attacked by predatory flightless birds. The question wasn't "can the party defeat the birds", I knew they could, the question was " Can the party defeat the birds before they eat this poor gnome who will be a friend/ally to them later"

The reason you're having problem with tactics and being worried about killing your party is that you're thinking about combat as its own isolated thing rather than a dramatic beat as part of a larger story. Most fights in D&D are NOT about attacking the party directly: Instead the baddies have something they want to accomplish (Take, devour, defend, slay) and it's a question of whether the heroes can stop them before they accomplish their mission. Combat only takes 2-4 rounds generally, which is a limited time for your players to put their thumbs on the scale and try to alter the course of events. Tactics are emergent out of goals, so think about what your minions would want to happen and how they would've gone about achieving it before the party comes by to wreckingball through their carefully laid plans.

Another example: An enemy force is attacking a castle the party are guests at, looking to secure hostages in preparation for a coup attempt by a rival noble. While the villains' over all job is to capture pieces, the initial wave of badguys are primarily concerned with slowing the party down to prevent them from interfering with the other attackers around the castle, meaning they'll fight defensively, potshots from cover and barring exits.

When you refocus the badguys' goals away from killing the players and towards things that push the plot in a particular direction (especially one the party would generally like to stop) you’ll have a clearer idea of what the enemies want to be doing, which not only helps you decide how they act, but also pick what enemies go into a fight.

If you're feeling totally overwhelmed another option would be to switch to a game system that focuses less on crunchy combat. It's drastic but everyone has game systems that fit better with their particular DMing style, especially in the early days when you're first developing. I'd highly recommend Forged in the Dark, or Powered by the Apocalypse systems, as they still have the punchy action-forward storytelling of d&d without having to manage much on the mechanics side.

#dm advice #dm tips #combat #dapper digresses #dm tip #dungeons and dragons #D&d #dnd #pathfinder #prompt postage

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devildomwriter · 9 months ago

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Ten Manga I Think They’d Enjoy

Lucifer

He likes manga that reads like classic literature, dark stories, mysteries, psychological stories, and occasionally something sweet or cute

Monster, Devilman, Children of the Sea, A Country Without Humans, Doomsday With My Dog, Island in a Puddle, Erased, For the Kid I Saw In My Dreams, Innocent, Shonen Note

Mammon

He likes stories involving his personal hobbies like working on cars, gambling, etc. he also enjoys funny stories and secretly cute romances or relatable romances

The Brave-Tuber, Call of the Night, Fruits Basket, Life Lessons With Uramichi Oniisan, Initial D, Fairy Tail, Chio’s School Road, Gambling Apocolypse, Kakeguri, Prince Freya

Leviathan

Leviathan loves everything but he’s especially a fan of gaming manga, magical girls, monster girls, isekai, and the classics

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Black Butler, Berserk, Darling in the Franxx, Dragon Goes House Hunting, I Want to Be A Wall, The Great Snake’s Bride, Puella Magi Madoka, Sailor Moon, Magical Girl Incident

Satan

Satan loves manga that reads like classical literature but he also loves stories about cats, dark mysteries, psychological stories and ones with characters he finds relatable

Chi’s Sweet Home, Ascendance of a Bookworm, Ex-Yakuza and Stray Kitten, Evil Secret Society of Cats, I Am a Cat Barista, Case Closed, Night of the Living Cat, Natsume’s Book of Friends, Summertime Rendering, The Promised Neverland

Asmodeus

Asmodeus mostly enjoys romance whether it’s cute and fluffy or extremely erotic

Ouran High School Host Club, Lovesick Ellie, Monster Musume, MADK, Yarichin Bitch Club, Cherry Magic!, Dick Fight Island, Sweat and Soap, Shiori’s Diary, Nina the Starry Bride

Beelzebub

Beelzebub is a big fan of manga involving food but he also enjoys a good action adventure and sports manga

Food Wars, Delicious in Dungeon, Farming Life in Another World, Mashle, Sachi’s Monstrous Appetite, Starving Anonymous, Something’s Wrong With Us, Eyeshield 21, Kaiju No 8, Campfire Cooking in Another World With My Absurd Skill

Belphegor

Belphegor likes stories with relatable characters which can be hard to find but he also loves adventures, horror, and Slice of life; he’s a little all over the place

Sleep Princess in the Demon’s Castle, The Girl From the Other-side, Hell’s Paradise, Mieruko-Chan, Tokyo Aliens, Shibuya Goldfish, Non Non Biyori, Kemono Jihen, Beyond the Clouds, Laid Back Camp

Solomon

Solomon loves compelling narratives, dark psychological stories, stories that take a deeper look a humanity and immortality, and one’s that involves demons/angels/sorcerers. He does also love cat books like Satan

Death Note, Creepy Cat, No Longer Human, Devils and Realist, Frieren, Made in Abyss, Mao, Sakamoto Days, A School Frozen in Time, Stein’s Gate, Happiness

Thirteen

Thirteen is a little all over the place, she likes to see what’s popular but she also enjoys slashers, one’s that take a closer look at death and spirits, and dark romance

Elfen Lied, Attack on Titan, Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid, Momo the Blood Taker, Assassination Classroom, Can’t Stop Cursing You, Love of Kill, Angels of Death, Vampire Knight, Toilet Bound Hanako Kun

Simeon

Simeon enjoys reading manga that have some religious aspects, he likes ones about authors since they are relatable, and he enjoys some random ones here and there that are cute or funny. He’s also a sucker for a pure romance

Heaven’s Design Team, Gabriel Dropout, The King’s Beast, Merman in My Tub, My Girlfriend’s Child, A Sign of Affection, Tsubaki Chou Lonely Planet, An Incurable Case of Love, Monthly Girl’s Nozaki Kun, Perfect World

Raphael

Raphael canonically likes coming of age sports dramas. I believe he’s also he amused by one’s involving ant Christian aspects about angels and demons, heaven and hell. He also enjoys one’s that include his hobbies like security, military, and anything to do with fashion

Blue Lock, Haikyu, Blue Exorcist, Vatican Miracle Examiner, Maiden of the Needle, My Dress Up Darling, Not Sew Wicked Step Mother, Witch Hat Atelier, A Bride’s Story, Wind Breaker

Luke

Luke loves to try everything but his books are monitored to make sure he doesn’t stumble upon anything inappropriate for his age ana angel status. He loves ones about food, animals, adventure, and a good slice of life or 4-panel.

Happy Happy Clover, Yuzu the Pet Vet, Yotsuba&!, Sui and Tai-Chan, My Hero Academia, Demon Slayer, Dinosaur Sanctuary, Kitchen Princess, Astro Boy, Naruto

Michael

Michael enjoys funny books, one’s that take a closer look at humanity and war, classical adaptations, and one’s involving angels and demons.

Spy X Family, Maximum Ride, Takane and Hana, Obey Me! The Comic, Mr Villain’s Day Off, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Les Miserables, Apothecary Diaries, Deer King, Yona of the Dawn

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles likes books that involve history, nobility, prestigious jobs, mystery, and equestrian sports. He also enjoys one’s about demons and servants.

From the Red Fog, Derby Queen, The Elusive Samurai, Imperfect Girl, Peach Boy Riverside, The Splendid Work of the Monster Maid, Tales of the Kingdom, Tokyo Ghoul, Noragami, The Rose of Versailles

Barbatos

Barbatos prefers books that are dark and disturbing as well as insightful books on time, immortality, grief, morality vs law, etc.

Phantom Tales of the Night, My Dear Curse Casting Vampiress, A Silent Voice, Orange, Moriarty the Patriot, Nicola Traveling Around the Demon World, Royal Tutor, Usatoki Rhetoric, The Valiant Must Fall, To Your Eternity

Diavolo

Diavolo absolutely loves cute family manga, funny manga, one’s that involve demons and angels, cute romances, and exciting action and adventure. He isn’t picky and will read anything if it’s been recommended to him.

Wolf Childen, Earthian, The Devil is a Part-Timer, Seraph of the End, Mama Akuma, Little Devils, Cells at Work, Snow White With Red Hair, The Vampire and His Pleasant Companions, Azumanga Diaoh

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tutanchanup · 2 months ago

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I don't know why I have decided to murder you all... I apologise

The Beheading of Vlad Draculea

…a short story intertwined with history.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Now I STRONGLY RECOMMEND PLAYING THIS WHILE READING! (sorry for the weird format but I haven't figured out how to do it properly here on Tumblr yet, someone help me 😅)

Because it captures perfectly the tone of the scene, thus making your experience fuller too 😉

(The video is amazing too if you'd be interested later)

First, the (un)necessary wall of text (feel free to skip 😄):

What historical facts I was inspired by that we have at least somewhat documented:

What his personality seems to be from what we know of him - pragmatic, resilient, unbreakable, a genius strategist and warrior

His behaviour and crowd interaction I base in the ways of mediaeval aristocracy, a field I specialize in*

We know he'd been killed by his enemies shortly after he'd ascended the Wallachian throne for the third time after 12 years of exile, in 1476, at the age of 45.

He was probably attacked by another pretender for the throne

There's a possibility he suffered from haemolacria

Even though in the world he became known by the propagandistic stories depicting him as a monster, fascinatingly, it has never happened in Romania itself. Somehow there survived his image of a just and beloved ruler, something only now the modern science started to discover has basis in history

Facts for those that don't know much about him:

For his memories, I use the real historical events that we know happened in his life

We know he built his castles with secret passages

We know he was an excellent fighter

His war strategies were legendary, he must've been incredibly clever and was very resourceful

His people probably really loved him. He defended them against the Ottomans and brought down those nobles who exploited them. Their living conditions improved greatly during his reign (justice for everyone, no unfair immunity for boyars, support of lower class, tax exemption for craftsmen, new roads, ending exploitation from Saxons, rewards for common people, commoners lifted to boyar status, ending the sending children as slaves to the Ottomans).

One theory states that that was the reason why they called him Drakgwlya (Dracula means ‘son of the dragon’- his father had the nickname ‘Dracul=Dragon’, his enemies changed that to ‘son of the devil’, but it has one other possible origin - as you'll find out later in the story)

°~°~•~°~°

My assumptions that I used to cover the missing parts:

If I was Vlad's enemy and managed to overpower him, instead of murdering him on the spot I'd choose to behead him publicly, had I the chance (beheading was the only allowed way how to execute a nobleman - btw Vlad upheld that too, he never impaled them, as opposed what the propaganda stories accuse him of).

Why? See the following:

His people were waiting for his return for 12 years with patience and hope. I would want to make sure that they'd see that he's finished for good and that there's no chance that he could return again somehow someday

Vlad the Impaler at this point had an absolutely massive reputation as undefeatable scourge of his enemies (an image even strengthened by the propaganda depicting him as the devil incarnate). I'd absolutely want to create in the public eye the physical image of me being the one ending him

We think that his head was probably sent to the sultan of the Ottoman empire, Mehmed II. Possibly shortly after. But in mediaeval times, the body of the fallen monarch was preserved and paraded around, so that people could make sure that he's really dead - both his followers and his enemies. However without head, how could you persuade them that that's really the legendary Vlad the Impaler and not just some guy in his armour? Public execution solves this, as there would be testimonies from people that saw it happen

°~°~•~°~°

*His personality in my works is based on my own thorough research. I'm considering his upbringing as a 15th-century voivode - influenced by medieval Christianity, and needing the moral code required of a ruler who led his people into battle (I'll do some posts on these later).

Does he sound like a B-movie superhero to you? That's not a coincidence! Modern superheroes are the continuation of mediaeval legendary knights. And many traits we associate with classic heroes - unwavering courage, honor, strategic brilliance, and even calculated ruthlessness - were not just ideals for a medieval ruler. They were necessary for survival. A voivode leading his army personally into battle couldn’t afford fear, hesitation, or weakness. His power depended on his ability to inspire loyalty, intimidate enemies, and outmaneuver both foreign invaders and internal threats.Those who succeeded in embodying these ideals became themselves legends or saints - like Charlemagne or Vlad’s cousin, St. Stephen (guess whom he had the opportunity to learn from…).

And if one thing is certain, Dracula’s name became more than legendary.

This short story tries to imagine how that could've happened.

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Now let's leave the realm of cold facts and musings, and let us step into the warm embrace of art:

Hear, hear! For I have a tale to tell you, of the last day of Vlad Voda of Wallachia:

And let the captivating tones of the bard Farya Faraji wash over your ears while I will be doing so.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Vlad Draculea, or "the Impaler" as he's become known lately, was standing in a cold, dark cell of his own castle. A massive iron collar around his neck, the chain linked to it binding him to the iron bars of the prison.

That collar was the problem.

You see, he had expected something like this could happen. He wasn't called one of the best strategists of his time for nothing. He knew that there was a chance that one day some of the pretenders to the throne could capture him and throw him in a cell so they could prepare to execute him publicly. He would have done the same. That's why he had rebuilt his castles with secret passages leading from the prison cells he could one day find himself in, including this one. The secret way was hidden under the wooden bench, its opening accessible after removing the third floor stone from the right of the northern wall.

But he hadn't counted for the collar.

It wasn't there when he last checked the state of the castle after his return from 12 years of exile. But his enemy has fished it out of who knows where.

Apparently, the ingenuity of Vlad Draculea had become so legendary, that his enemies made sure to be thorough. Curses.

And so he had ended with an iron collar around his neck, chained to the bars, just a few steps away from the secret passage that could've led him to safety, and yet now made agonizingly unreachable.

He tugged at the chain again, but it was no use, the metal was just too strong.

Vlad couldn't but laugh heartily at the sweet irony of this whole situation.

The saddest thing is, that of all places, the shackle was around the neck. If he'd been chained by wrists, he would consider breaking his thumbs. Maybe he'd manage to break his ankles too, if the shackles had been there instead. But breaking his neck was... a possibility, for sure, but not one that would lend him much advantage.

Vlad smirked again and slightly bowed his head in respectful admiration. "Well played, indeed!" he mused. As a warlord he could always appreciate a clever strategy, even when it was used to defeat him.

But he didn't bash himself over his defeat for too long. He knew he had done the best he could. This wasn't really something he could have prevented in advance.

Sometimes, life was just like this. Sometimes, even the best strategy still couldn't guarantee that you stayed alive.

There was no use in spending his last moments on earth wallowing in pointless grief.

So instead, he decided to use this moment of respite to contemplate his life. And what a life that has been!

He smiled sadly at his cruel childhood. He wept briefly for those he'd loved that had fallen. He laughed again at the times that had brought him joy. He smiled with gratefulness at the moments when he had felt true happiness.

And then he finished with a short prayer, thanking God that he could've lived through all that, and now pleading that his soul be received in heaven.

He then took a deep breath in and out and then looked at the cold cell around him anew, his expression now calm.

"I wonder what awaits me next?" he pondered. The thoughts about his own death inadvertently looming over him couldn't be escaped. But maybe, it won't be so bad... Maybe he'll see his loving wife again. What a nice sight that would be, to once more see her with her arms open, welcoming him home after he will return from his very last battle.

He might even set his eyes upon the face of his beloved brother Mircea, now surely a better sight than when he'd last seen him, when his dead face with gouged out eyes was marked by the horror of having been buried alive. Ah, how he was excited to see him smile again instead!

And his father would be there too... father who he'd hated until the last moment for giving him away to the Ottomans as a hostage and then subsequently betraying them, thus sentencing his own son to death, which neither of them couldn't have known at the time that wouldn't come. But then when Vlad met him again he'd sacrificed himself to save Vlad and Radu’s lives... Vlad longed for the opportunity to talk to him again ever since.

And then of course there would be his dear mother, who he had last seen when he was just 7 years old, and never got to know what had become of her after that. Now he will finally be able to hear her story.

Vlad smiled wryly at those thoughts.

His chain of thought was broken by the metallic sound of keys in the door. Ah, the time has finally come. He looked with a bittersweet smile as that damned collar fell to the floor. Oh well. Now when the fully armed soldiers had clasped him firmly with their hands, it was a dead end anyway.

As they led him over the courtyard that his steps had marked for so many times before, he quickly assessed the situation. The soldiers were many. Too many. And they were armed too. Even if he managed to wriggle himself free from their grip, they would catch him before he'd even reach the closest window. No, the only thing that would achieve was him dying sooner, with no pride whatsoever, and staining his reputation with the mark of "coward" as well. That simply wasn't worth it.

So he let them lead him to the newly raised wooden terrace, where his enemy already awaited him, along with the executioner's sword, and the crowd to behold that. Draculea walked with his head proudly raised, a brave smile across his face. He wasn't scared at all. Why should he be? Fear would do him no service, especially not now. Being scared wouldn't change the situation in any way, so why spoil his last moments with it? He was calm instead, his gaze already fixed beyond mortal matters. He didn't pay much attention to the words of his enemy. It didn't matter anyway, and he would risk that he would roll his eyes if he heard his enemy boasting how he was the one to bring the fearsome Vlad the Impaler to his demise.

His gaze stopped at the sight of the beheading block, and his eyes sparked with curiosity: "I wonder how that will be!"

Then suddenly, a sharp shout tore him away from his thoughts.

It came from the public.

He looked at the crowd for the first time. He didn't pay them much attention before, as he wasn't interested in seeing faces of people cheering over his demise or laughing at his defeat. But he was surprised that that wasn't what he saw. No. The expressions he saw were full of... sadness. The people... His people... were mourning him. "Vlad Voda!" one man had cried with desperation. Soon one woman accompanied him, tears running down her face. These were the people who'd waited for 12 years for his return, and now they were forced to see their hopes of him being their ruler once again thwarted before their very own eyes. "Vlad Voda, don't leave us!!! Don't go, dragul...!"

Dragul. Beloved. The name his people had given him.

Vlad smiled at them kindly, saying without words "But what can I do?"

From the crowd came the answer: "Fight!"

Vlad almost laughed out loud. What use could there be in fighting? Don't they see the odds? The platform was full of armed soldiers, two of them were holding him as well, and his hands were tied behind his back.

But the crowd stood firm. "Fight them!! Fight, Vlad Voda!!!!"

Vlad smiled again at the unfaltering faith they had in his fighting skills.

But then he gave it a moment's thought. Sure, there was no chance to win whatsoever, he knew that beyond doubt. But maybe... Maybe it would be nice to have one last battle. To once more unleash the admirable strength of his body that he had cultivated since childhood. To use the battle skills he had drilled into his mind with such care that they became part of his instincts now. To feel his heart race with adrenaline in the heat of battle ...for that one last time.

But the voice inside his head had stopped him. It was that voice which always rose up to make him aware that he as a voivode had responsibility to his people. He couldn't just let his own desires win. His life wasn't his own, it never was, it always belonged to his people. He was there to serve. And starting a fight here and there wouldn't do them much service, what if they'd risen up and started fighting the guards themselves? That would result in a bloodshed.

He looked back at his people with an apologetic smile.

But they weren't satisfied, no, they had started to rally even more when they noticed he'd actually considered their proposition. Someone started shouting his name, and more people joined. They wanted to see. They wanted to see their Vlad Voda fight one last time.

Vlad again eyed the surrounding, his eyes narrowing in focus as he was taking assessment of his situation. Then he smiled with a playful smile. Truly, there was no chance. But he himself was curious - how many soldiers he could take down before they'd overpower him? One? Two? Five? It was surely a challenge with conditions like this, especially since his own arms were still tied behind his back. But he always rose up to a good challenge!

And if this was the wish of his people, he'll hear out their call! All his life was tied down with responsibility, but maybe now, moments before his own end, he could let himself be free. He deserved at least that one short moment of freedom.

So be it then!

He gave his people a mischievous smile as his old fighting spirit was rekindled in his green eyes. The crowd had noticed and held their breath with excitement. But the guards, who didn't see his face, didn't notice. And so he striked!

In one fast moment, quick as the strike of lightning and just as deadly, he'd butted the head of a soldier next to him with his forehead. The soldier shrieked out with pain as his nose broke and sprayed him with shower of blood. Before the other soldier had even time to notice what happened, Vlad had already managed to slam with full force into his belly with his shoulder, effectively bringing the soldier to the ground. The crowd cheered loudly. Seeing Vlad fighting was a symphony to behold. Vlad was always an excellent fighter, there wasn't anyone who could've bested him in one to one combat. Even here, overwhelmed, his moves were lightning fast, and his hits powerful and resourceful too. When he couldn't use his arms - as they were tied behind his back - he used his feet instead, kicking with deadly precision at the weakest points in the soldiers defences, who weren't prepared for such an unorthodox attack from below. While they were trying to grab him, he'd kicked them out of balance, toppling them to the ground before they could even use their weapons. Vlad had moved with the swift elegance of a deadly dancer, dancing between their pole arms and using his legs, head and shoulders to carry out strikes. He even managed to make use of his elbows, restricted that they were. And at one moment he made a soldier run away while only using his fierce expression, he was proud of that one!

No less than eleven soldiers were out before one managed to hit Vlad in the back of his head with the pommel of a sword, bringing him to his knees. Another five soldiers clasped him, taking a hold of every inch of his body should he find a way to use that in a fight somehow. The crowd shouted with disappointment. Vlad gave them one last look, an apologetic smile across his face, as if he was saying "I did the best I could, but the odds weren't in my favour. Forgive me.

But thank you. It was fun."

With the corner of his eye he saw the massive blade of the executioner's sword swing. He bowed his head in reverence, accepting his fate with grace.

And then, just a moment before the sword fell and severed his head from his body, one single tear dropped from his eye. It had the vivid colour of blood - a condition he was affected by since childhood. The scarlet tear contrasted brightly with his pale face as it made its way across his cheek, found a way through his beard, until it reached his chin and from there dripped on the soil of his kingdom.

It wasn't a tear spilled over a sadness of his life, or the cruelty of his fate.

It was a tear mourning what could've been but wasn't to be anymore.

And as his enemy has grasped his raven black hair and lifted his severed head for all the people to see, the face of Vlad Draculea had for one last time looked down at his people. And on his face has been clearly strewn his last expression, now etched there for the rest of eternity. It showed his people kind smile, yet his brow was full of courage, his fighting spirit staying alive even while his own soul has left the mortal plane.

Because his face told to his people this last message:

"We have lived. We have fought. And it was worth it!"

And his people have never forgotten this. Outside of his realm he became known as the sadistic tyrant from the woodcut-printed stories. But his OWN people have never forgotten who he really was. Even as the dent of time has stripped down every living memory of him, deep down they remembered.

Even 550 years later.

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Made in thank you to the marvelous community around the real Vlad Draculea. The illustrious Corpus Draculianum, working tirelessly on finding new knowledge about Vlad, buried in old documents and archaeological sites. For their dedication in clearing Vlad’s name in the eye of the public, fighting against vampiric monsters and child-eating tyrants, however impossible a task that seems to be. And also as thank you to the Vlandom, the amazing community which celebrates what could Vlad teach us still, and in their works, be it written stories or memes, make him live once again.

… And last but not least:

Mulțumesc, Măria Ta.

#im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry #i promise in my story i'll make him a vampire and he's gonna survive and talk to stefan and his kids again #and he's gonna travel the world and be happy and #vlad tepes #dracula #vlad the impaler #vlad dracula #vlad voda #vlandom #vlad țepeș #io draculea

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