#telling her new son to remember to the sword moves she taught him

[enigmaris]

Another DPXDC for ya fellas!

Pandora, the ghost, was an Amazon from Themyscira in life, losing her life to trap all of those eldritch horrors in her box. In her afterlife, she has kept in contact with the other Amazons, coming to their aid when called upon.

So when the first child of themyscira was molded out of clay, Pandora knew. She liked Diana, admired her stubbornness, strength, and sense of wonder. She knew the girl had left to go to the world of man a while ago, but hadnt heard anything else about her. She wasnt worried about her though, Diana was the strongest of all the Amazons, kind and brave. The world of man would not pose too much of a danger to her.

After the whole thing her box getting stolen and Danny returning it to her. She takes on something if a motherly role to Phantom. She doesn't really know how kids work though, she comes from a race of women where there were no children. Diana is literally the only living child she has ever known. Pandora herself was never even a child. When Danny flees from his life in Amity Park (reveal gone wrong, family dies, or something) he goes to Pandora who wants to help him, but her acropolis is no place for a half living boy. So she tells him about her niece Diana.

"She was the only child of my people, when she grew up she left to the world of man."

Literally the only child??? Danny is imagining like, someone maybe his sister Jazzs age who ran away from home because she lived on an island with all adults and no fun. It does not help his assumption that Pandora talks about Diana like shes still wet from the clay she was molded in.

Danny is given a letter written by Pandora, asking Diana to help care for him and told that last Pandora heard her little niece lived in Washington DC. Danny goes to DC and manages to find Diana based on Pandora description. She is not at all what Danny was imagining, but she takes him to her home and reads the letter describing Danny's heroics with Pandoras box.

Diana Prince takes one look at this human boy and thinks to herself: if Bruce and Clark can just show up with a teenager, then why can't i?

Queue the next Justice League meeting:

"I would like to introduce my son, Daniel of Themyscira, he will be accompanying me on all Justice League missions. No Batman i will no be accepting any criticism from you of all people."

Danny, in human form, waves at the team of heroes with his string bean arms.

"Hi."

[through-fire-and-flame]

“Who raised you? Were they kind to you?” Anri’s voice was soft, curious. “What is your favorite colour? Season? Spice? Have you ever dreamed the same dream more than once?”

A contented sigh, a rose-cheeked smile.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Even if eternity were theirs, she would never run out of questions to ask him.

Laurentius isn't used to answering questions about himself; hardly anyone ever asks, bar an interest in the flame (whether for reasons of tutelage or asked curtly, hand meaningfully placed on the hilt of a sword.) It unnerves him a little to realize he has to think about some of the answers - as though he's gone so long without thinking about them that he doesn't remember.

He remembers his mother and father, certainly, and he tells her about them: a hardworking, quiet woman and a cheerfully kind man who did their best in the community of swamp dwellers to raise Laurentius gently. It was his father that taught Laurentius the value of being pleasant, serving as he did as the chief go-between for Laurentius' village and passing merchants. His mother taught him the value of helping people - of putting others before oneself.

(He remembers worrying about how much she put others before herself, as though she saw no worth in her own wellbeing. He worries, sometimes, how much of that habit he picked up too.)

"They were both good people, in their own ways," he tells Anri, running a thumb over her knuckles, reveling in how close she sits as he speaks. "I'm grateful to have had them as long as I did."

He remembers his father disappearing into the swamps one day. Something got him out there, Laurentius says, moving quickly past the subject. When his mother died a few years later, Laurentius struck out to explore the rest of the world.

(She never fully bought into his newly formed interest in pyromancy - not if he planned to leave someday, she told him. Didn't he know what they thought of them out there?

--he finds himself wondering what his mother would have thought of Anri, with her gentle smile and starbright eyes. She would have liked the girl, he thinks - and would probably have teasingly inquired what in the world Anri saw in Laurentius, once her son was out of earshot.)

There are questions yet, and it's those he has to think about. He used to think his favorite color was orange-yellow, the color of flame, the color of the thick beads used in communion with his art. Now, the color contends with the blue of her eyes, and he tells her so, smiling sheepishly.

It takes him a moment to settle on his favorite season, and eventually he decides it's winter, because then he can play the role of campfire for his associates more readily. When one communes with flame, one begins to value the cold all the more, if only for diversity of sensation. As for spice, he reckons it's cinnamon, he tells her - his mother used a lot of cinnamon, whenever his father could glean it off the traders passing through.

When she asks about dreams, the answer halts briefly on his tongue. This is because the answer swings between the strange memories of lives unlived, endings unseen - and dreams of her, ever since they first climbed out of the depths together.

He settles on the latter. He's still not sure what to make of the former.

"And as for how much you love me--"

He'll never, ever tire of the way the realization that she loves him washes over him - a new and fresh elation every single time the thought coheres into understanding.

"--I can only guess it's about equal to how much I love you, Anri."

He smiles, and leans forward, and kisses her gently on the lips, still holding her hands in his.

"Which is to say," he murmurs against her mouth, "with every ounce of my beating heart."

[greenbloods]

Runner up lines that didnt make it because of tumblr poll word length limitations. I'm including more of the peripheral scene because it's my post and i want to.

Tyrion and Jaime

The ruin was sad enough, but knowing what it had been made it even sadder. There was laughter here once, Tyrion thought. There were gardens bright with flowers and fountains sparkling golden in the sun. These steps once rang to the sound of lovers’ footsteps, and beneath that broken dome marriages beyond count were sealed with a kiss. His thoughts turned to Tysha, who had so briefly been his lady wife. It was Jaime, he thought, despairing. He was my own blood, my big strong brother. When I was small he brought me toys, barrel hoops and blocks and a carved wooden lion. He gave me my first pony and taught me how to ride him. When he said that he had bought you for me, I never doubted him. Why would I? He was Jaime, and you were just some girl who’d played a part. I had feared it from the start, from the moment you first smiled at me and let me touch your hand. My own father could not love me. Why would you if not for gold?

2. Catelyn and Robb

If Robb was frightened, he gave no sign of it. Catelyn watched her son as he moved among the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a third to gentle an anxious horse. His armor clinked softly when he moved. Only his head was bare. Catelyn watched a breeze stir his auburn hair, so like her own, and wondered when her son had grown so big. Fifteen, and near as tall as she was.

Let him grow taller, she asked the gods. Let him know sixteen, and twenty, and fifty. Let him grow as tall as his father, and hold his own son in his arms. Please, please, please. As she watched him, this tall young man with the new beard and the direwolf prowling at his heels, all she could see was the babe they had laid at her breast at Riverrun, so long ago.

3. Needle

Her floppy hat went next, then the gloves. They were Salty’s too. She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she’d gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time . . .

. . . but it wasn’t.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain’s men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this.

4. Jenny's song

She drank the last of the wine in four long swallows, flung the skin aside, and pointed her stick at Lord Beric. “I’ll have my payment now. I’ll have the song you promised me.”

And so Lem woke Tom Sevenstrings beneath his furs, and brought him yawning to the fireside with his woodharp in hand. “The same song as before?” he asked.

“Oh, aye. My Jenny’s song. Is there another?”

And so he sang, and the dwarf woman closed her eyes and rocked slowly back and forth, murmuring the words and crying. Thoros took Arya firmly by the hand and drew her aside. “Let her savor her song in peace,” he said. “It is all she has left.”

5. Maester Cressen and Stannis

Maester Cressen blinked. Stannis, my lord, my sad sullen boy, son I never had, you must not do this, don’t you know how I have cared for you, lived for you, loved you despite all? Yes, loved you, better than Robert even, or Renly, for you were the one unloved, the one who needed me most. Yet all he said was, “As you command, my lord, but . . . but I am hungry. Might not I have a place at your table?” At your side, I belong at your side . . .

(9) a son or a daughter.

'where's 'ned loves my hair?'' nowhere. you must choose.

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 6/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated M

Ao3

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Thank you always @elizabeethan​ and @the-darkdragonfly​ for your help with this feral fic <3 <3

*****

Part 6

“Where are we going?” Emma demands as he leads her through the hospital corridors, ignoring the strange and concerned looks thrown their way by staff and patients. He doesn’t answer, back to her, shoulders tense either from pain or to make sure she knows it’s intentional. 

Emma sighs. She’s pretty sure she’s going to have to let a lot of things slide today if she’s going to get her son back, letting him be angry with her - and ignoring how he somehow knows the inner workings of the hospital - feels like the least of it.

He stops her outside of what looks like a storage closet, casting a look up and down the hall before trying the door, locked. He sighs in frustration, reaching towards a pocket before obviously remembering he’s not in his own clothes and letting out an annoyed curse. He turns to her then. 

“Do you still have the keys?” She shakes her head, having left them behind at the front desk. “Too bad,” he says before turning back to face the door and kicking hard next to the handle with the flat of his sneakered foot. 

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands as he moves to kick again. “You’re gonna break your damn leg! Just- hold on,” Emma tells him, reaching into her pocket and finding a once discarded bobby pin. 

She gestures for him to step aside, kneeling before the door and trying to remember how to do this without her lock picks. It’s been ages since Neal taught her, the one good thing he left her with - besides Henry. Frowning as the door remains stubbornly locked, she jiggles the wire more aggressively and hears a scoff from above her. 

“Give it here,” Killian demands, snatching the barette from her hand and shoving it back into the lock with practiced ease. He jiggles it twice and the door clicks open, not waiting for her as he steps inside and searches the shelves, picking through the labelled bags, tossing some to the floor, opening a few only to discard them with angry huffs and groans. “Where is it?” 

“It would help if you told me what we were looking for,” she reminds him and his glare is annoyed. 

“My effects.” 

“You mean your clothes?”

“And my cutlass.” 

“Your what?”

“My sword,” he deadpans like he’s talking to an idiot, as though everyone knows the names for swords and she’s the odd one out here. 

“All of that stuff is down at the station.”

“The station?” 

Emma sighs. This language barrier is becoming a problem. “The sheriff’s station. You know…” she elaborates when he frowns, “the brig.” 

Killian frowns at her and she remembers a foster parent once warning her that her face would stay that way permanently if she didn’t stop. His is nearly there. “Why?” 

“Because you attacked me with it.” He’s clearly not satisfied with that answer. “You’d just taken a doctor and me hostage. I hadn’t decided if I was gonna arrest you yet. I thought it was better to keep your sword…” She eyes him suspiciously, “And whatever other weapons I’m starting to assume you probably had on you, somewhere safe.” 

“Take me there.” 

“I thought you said we didn’t have much time,” Emma reminds him. Clearly getting his clothes back shouldn’t be the main priority right now.  

He glares at her. “I thought you said you needed my help.” 

“I do,” she sighs, ready to add a ‘but’ to the end of that sentence when Killian steps forward, expression stern and still angry, and she backs down.

“Then I’ll ask that you stop questioning me. This may be your realm, Swan, but Neverland is my domain. So if you want to get your boy back you’ll do what I say, understand? I give orders, you follow them.” She wants to smack him for talking to her like that, for thinking he can just demand that she do whatever he says. But she can’t, because he can. He’s her only shot at saving Henry. She nods. “Good. There are things in my possessions that we’ll need. As well as a few others.”

“Like what?”

He sighs. “What did I say about questioning me?” 

It’s a test. She knows it is. And as much as she wants to tell him to go screw himself, she needs his help and challenging him isn’t going to get him to cooperate. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

Emma follows him out of the room and is about to tell him where to go when he takes off down a hallway - the right one. He’s only been in this hospital a few days, only travelled from the ER to the back exit and his room to the psych ward and somehow, he has those paths memorised already. She knows because he’s currently leading her towards that same back exit where they’d had their standoff, where she’d betrayed him… The first time. Her track record with this guy isn’t great. 

“Hold on,” he says suddenly as they pass the long-term care unit. Emma stops, following his gaze. She can’t tell what he’s focused on. Everything is normal. Patients in sick beds, nurses taking vitals, Mother Superior and two younger nuns handing out small care packages and sitting by bedsides. “I’ve just found something else we’ll need.” 

Before she can stop him, he’s marched up to the head nun and Emma runs after him, hoping to stop whatever the hell is about to happen. But Killian comes to a halt just behind the woman, a small, knowing smile crossing his lips before he says, “Blue.” 

Mother Superior jumps, whirling in surprise but then settling when she sees the two of them. She looks Killian over carefully, like she’s trying to place him and clearly can’t. But she doesn’t look afraid. Emma hadn’t realised that in his t-shirt and sweatpants and sneakers, Killian is a much less out-of-place figure, especially here in the hospital. He looks like any patient, or a visitor rather than the crazy sword-wielding, leather-wearing stranger everyone’s heard about. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asks kindly.

“We haven’t had the pleasure. But I’m acquainted with an old friend of yours.” 

“Oh?” 

Killian nods and Emma thinks that maybe that old friend isn’t a friend anymore. “We need something from you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Magic,” Killian answers and Emma tries to hide her exasperation and her confusion as Mother Superior looks to her for an explanation. She can’t give one. Emma can see her trying to make sense of his words when finally a soft, almost pitying expression crosses the nun’s face. 

“Is someone you care about ill?” Killian frowns at her, nearly ripping his hand away when she takes it in both of hers. But he pauses, looking at their joined hands as though something’s wrong, something’s missing. “Faith can do a lot,” she promises sympathetically. “And my sisters and I would be happy to pray with you and your loved one. But there’s no magic cure, not like you’re asking for. We don’t have that kind of power.”

Emma watches Killian pull his hand back, watching the woman strangely. “Aye, you don’t.” He seems surprised, like he genuinely expected her to have magic, but also like he believes her that she doesn’t have it. He looks at the two other nuns, the same kind of surprised understanding pulling at his features. Then he nods and heads off the way they came. “That complicates things,” he mutters to himself more than to her.

“What does?”

“This is the Land Without Magic - the very thing we need to leave.” 

“Magic? What do you mean magic?”

He looks at her like she’s exasperating. “Magic, Swan. Spells, potions, enchantments. In our case, fairy dust.” 

Emma stares at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for him to smirk or elaborate; but he’s dead serious apparently. “Fairy dust? What is that? Some kind of drug?” Is that what’s been causing his delusions? Has he been high out of his mind this whole time? Or had he indulged too much and permanently messed up his sense of reality. 

“We need a fairy,” is the only answer she gets and she stares, frown deepening in confusion. 

“As in tiny, magic women with wings?” As in Tinkerbell? She nearly asks but is too afraid of what his answer might be. 

“Aye. That woman… I  thought she would have what we need, but something’s happened to her magic - I could feel it.” ” He looks at his hand, fingers flexing as though he can still feel or not feel whatever he did when Mother Superior touched him. 

“There aren’t any fairies around here. There’s no magic here, Killian.” Emma takes a deep, steadying breath. Lean into the fantasy, she reminds herself. She needs his help and if he thinks he needs to find some freaking fairy to get her to her kid then fine, so long as he does it quickly. 

He thinks for a moment and then something smug crosses his expression even as she can tell he’s remembering something dark from the shadow that falls over his eyes. “That’s not entirely true.” 

“Meaning?”

He smirks. “There are always loopholes.” And then he’s taking off down the hall again and she’s hurrying to catch up. Loopholes? What loopholes. Trying to keep up with him is harder than keeping up with Henry. 

Henry. The weight falls over her again. She needs to find Henry. Just do whatever the crazy man wants, she tells herself. Help him find whatever loophole he’s looking for if it’ll take you to your kid. Every second longer she takes to go after him is a second longer he’s away from her, a second longer he could be in danger, a second longer he could start to worry she’s not coming for him. 

“What are we looking for?” Emma asks, when she finally catches up to him, his pace slowing as his fingers hold his ribs gingerly. She debates offering to help him but knows he’s too angry to accept her help now. 

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who agreed not to question me.” The sharpness in his voice is a mixture of annoyance and pain as he winces. 

“If I know what we’re looking for it’ll be easier for me to help you find it.” 

He rolls his eyes. “An infant.” 

“A baby? Why do we need a baby?” 

“Do you know where to find one?” 

“That depends.”

“On what?” Killian faces her with annoyance bordering on the frustration and anger from earlier. 

“You’re not gonna…” she starts, looking at him hesitantly. She knows now that he wouldn’t hurt a kid, but - “We aren’t going to like, take the kid with us, right?” 

“Of course not.” His face is dark as he answers, his tone sombre as he vows, “I’d never bring a child there.” 

Emma nods, matching his mood. “Okay. Come on then.” She leads him to the maternity ward, the sound of cooing and crying already drifting down the hall as they approach. “Wait,” she orders when he moves to walk in. She can see Ashley, carrying Alexandra in her arms.

He sighs. “Why?” 

“Look, I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from but here, people find it strange when someone just lingers around kids that aren’t theirs.” She swallows heavily, painfully before she adds, “Especially when one’s already gone missing.” The look that he gives her could almost be misconstrued as sympathy - if she didn’t know better. “Tell me what we need to do.” He looks at her like he doesn’t trust her and she doesn’t blame him. “People know me here. I have a better shot than you do.” 

That seems to convince him, even if he still looks displeased. “Fairies are born in different ways in different realms. But in many, they’re born when a child laughs for the first time,” he explains, seriously.

“So we’re here…”

“To make a baby laugh.” 

“So that a fairy can be born…” 

“And we can capture it.” 

Deep breath. “And this will get us to Henry?” 

“You’re doing it again - the questioning.” She stays silent and he sighs.  “I told you I would get you to your boy.” 

“Okay. Okay, fine, come on.” 

“Ashley! Hey,” she calls and the woman looks up. 

“Emma, I heard about what happened. Have you found Henry?” Emma shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if something happened to…” she looks down at the baby in her arms, smiling up at her, alert and happy. Emma realises she never saw Henry that way, only a glimpse of him, new and screaming, and then again ten years later. It’s like a punch to the gut. “I’m so sorry,” Ashley says again. 

She nods. “This is my friend Killian,” she introduces, and Killian steps forward hesitantly. “From Boston. He’s helping me with the search.” They both smile politely at each other. “Listen, I was wondering if I could talk to you. I’m trying to interview everyone in town about whether they saw or heard anything last night.” 

“Of course,” Ashley agrees, shifting Alexandra as she starts fussing. “Um, I just…” she turns to Killian then. “Could you?” she asks, before practically dumping the baby in his arms. He blinks at the mother in surprise, and then at Emma as the little bundle begins to settle and Emma gives him a pointed look. Do what you gotta do. 

She tries to pretend like she’s actually asking real questions, like she’s taking note of the answers, but her focus can’t stop drifting to Killian. He’s holding the little girl in the crook of his blunted arm, bouncing her ever so slightly as he makes gentle, cooing noises, a finger reaching out to brush over her cheek. 

It’s so strange and almost endearing to see him be so gentle with her, to watch the small smile tugging at his lips even as the rest of him maintains the serious demeanour he’s had all day. She remembers his fierce protectiveness over the girl he thought he had to save the other day, his patience with Henry, and she thinks maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising. 

Ashley’s answering something about her whereabouts last night when Killian tickles the baby’s chin with a finger, making a silly sound that is so unexpected coming from him, before tickling her tummy. Then it happens, a small, bubbling gurgle. Ashley hears it too, rushing over as Killian makes a face at the child and she lets out another tiny, adorable giggle, this one a proper laugh. 

“Oh my god, she’s never done that before!” Ashley is beaming, looking at her baby like she’s just walked on water rather than laughed for the first time. Killian pulls one more happy little sound from the kid before his gaze fixes on something and his expression turns serious and smug. 

“Here,” he says, passing Alexandra back to her mom, not taking his eyes off whatever he’s fixed on, following it. Emma looks where his gaze is aimed, but can’t see anything even as Killian stalks it like a cat does a fly, eyes and head sipping around in quick, unpredictable patterns. 

Then suddenly, he reaches out, quick as hell, making Ashley and Emma jump, and closes his hand around something. “Apologies,” he says when they both stare at him. “An annoying little creature.” He brings his closed hand to his chest, fingers clasped firmly but open enough so as not to crush whatever he’s holding. He nods towards the door and Emma takes the hint. 

“Thanks for your help,” Emma says to the other woman. “We need to get going, more people to question.” 

“Sure, good luck,” the young mom wishes them, already wrapped up in her happy baby again. 

“Did you get it?” Emma asks him and he nods, holding out his hand to her. She peeks inside and for a split second she actually expects to see something. But there’s nothing there. Of course there isn’t. But whatever he thinks he’s got, he seems satisfied as he looks around. 

“We need something to carry her in.” 

“Uhhh,” Emma finds an empty coffee cup on a nearby table, takes the lid off to shake out the few drops left and shows it to him. “Will this work?” 

“Aye, that’ll do.” 

Carefully, Killian deposits his non-existent prize into the cup and then pushes her hand that’s holding the lid over the top quickly and Emma’s reminded of being a kid collecting ladybugs in mason jars, shutting them tight before they could fly out. He takes the mug from her and for a second Emma swears she sees it rattle, as though something moved inside. But that’s impossible. 

“Settle down,” he tells the paper cup. “We’ll let you go soon enough.” There’s a short silence and he sighs. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going on a little trip.” Emma shuts her eyes, breathes deeply again and waits until he’s had his little moment with the imaginary fairy. “Shall we?” he asks her finally and she nods, leading them back towards the exit. 

“Wait,” she says suddenly, grabbing his arm and stopping him when she spots several guards further down the hall. He hesitates but allows her to pull him around the corner when he spots the security team clearly looking for him. 

“Aren’t you the Sheriff?” Killian hisses. “Surely you can dismiss your soldiers.” 

“First of all, they aren’t my soldiers.” She’s honestly not sure what her authority is here. Do hospital regulations trump her own? There’s also the very likely possibility that the true authority here is Regina, and if she finds out that Emma is taking Killian out of the psych ward… it wouldn’t end well for either of them. “And secondly, I just broke you out of a mental asylum. They aren’t going to be too keen on letting you out of here. At least not without a good reason.” 

“There’s only five. Can you fight?” 

“We’re not fighting them! And even if we were, look at yourself. You can barely stand and you think you can take on five guards?” 

“Well if you have a better idea…” His words are taunting, eyebrows raised in challenge. She doesn’t answer. “I’m waiting.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Whale joins the security team then and she does have an idea. The only person who wants them out of this hospital more than her and Killian is the doctor. She can use that. “Okay. I’ve got a plan. But you’re not gonna like it.” He eyes her warily and when she pulls out her handcuffs he looks like she’s betrayed him all over again. 

“I don’t think so, Swan. I’m not foolish enough to fall for your tricks.” 

“It’s not a trick, okay? I need them to think I’m arresting you. Maybe if we can convince Whale that I’m taking you to the station, he’ll discharge you into my care and then they’ll have no reason to hold you here.”

“I believe I’ve been in your care before, Sheriff. It didn’t work out so well for me.” 

She sighs. “Fine, my custody then. Look, it’s not real, we just need them to think it is.” He’s still not convinced. She can tell he’s seeing the reason behind her plan but he eyes the cuffs distrustfully. Emma holds them out to him. “You can put them on yourself, okay? Loose enough so that you can slip out the second we walk out that door.” Not that he’d need to. He’s already picked himself free once. 

Still watching her with a narrowed gaze he hands her the coffee cup. “Careful with that!” he snaps when she takes it distractedly. Emma adjusts her grip, holding the cup more steadily, like she would if it was full. Killian takes the cuffs from her and links them around his wrists. “If you try any -”

“I won’t.” She wants to be mad at him, annoyed at his distrust, but she can’t, because he has every reason not to trust her. So instead it’s a promise. Emma takes his arm, gripping his elbow and he looks at her hand on his skin like he wants to shrug it off. “Great,” she says when he tenses and pulls away slightly. “Keep that up, we have to sell it.”

“Sell it?”

“Make them think you hate me,” she explains. 

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Trust me, Swan, that won’t be a problem.” 

Killian emits a subdued kind of fury as they make their way down the hall towards the doors, the guards jumping to action when they spot them. She can hear the scratch of the radios as they alert someone that ‘the patient’s been located’, one of them running up to her, looking relieved. 

“You found him,” she sighs. “Thank god.” 

“Yeah,” Emma improvises. Okay cool, they think he broke himself out and she’s captured him? She can work with that. “He’s slippery, this one.” She can feel the daggers being glared into the side of her head. 

“We can take him from here,” the guard says, reaching for Killian and she startles, turning wide, confused eyes on Emma when she pulls back a fraction.

“Actually… I’m going to bring him down to the station.”

“I can’t let you do that, Mam,” the woman says, sounding as authoritative as she can even as the words come out shaky at challenging the sheriff. “He’s the hospital’s responsibility until he’s been discharged.” 

“I’m arresting him,” Emma cuts in. “On suspicion of a crime.” It’s weak and while she can’t see Killian she can sense his judgement. 

“I still can’t let you take him.” 

“Can I talk to Whale? He’s his doctor right? You’re his doctor right?” she repeats when Whale lifts his head at the sound of his name. 

“Technically,” he nods, watching his patient warily and Killian smirks smugly at him. “He hasn’t been evaluated and officially transferred to the psychiatric unit yet.”  

“Can you discharge him?”

“I’d like nothing more. But if he poses a danger to himself or others -”

“Then he’d be best under the care of law enforcement wouldn’t you say?”

Whale looks torn between his hippocratic oath and his desire to be rid of the man who attacked him. “Until we can make sure that his injuries are healed and we’re not liable…”

“Can’t he discharge himself against doctor’s orders or whatever?” 

“Not if he’s not of sound mind to do so.”

“Not of sound mind?” Killian demands, finally unable to stay quiet. She elbows him discreetly.

“I’m putting him under arrest. You said he’s not technically under psychiatric care right? So he’s not under any kind of hold?” 

“No…” 

“It’s an urgent police matter.” 

Whale suddenly turns curious, like he’s expecting gossip. “Does this have anything to do with the Mayor’s kid disappearing? Henry disappearing,” he amends, looking a little apologetic.  

Emma hesitates. “Yes.” Killian tenses. She feels awful but it’s the closest answer she can get to the truth and a lie always sells better when there’s a hint of truth to it.

“Does Regina know about this?” 

“Who do you think asked me to arrest him?” 

He looks them both over carefully for a long moment, then nods. “Okay.” Emma stops herself sighing in relief, pulling Killian along behind her as she slips past Whale and the guards towards the door. “Oh, and Emma,” the doctor calls. She’s thrown by the sincerity in his expression when he tells her, “I hope you find your son.” 

When they’re outside, Killian slips the cuffs off and hands them back to her roughly, his entire demeanour rigid and angry. She thinks again of the way he’d tried to save the girl in the cafeteria, of the children he talked about seeing suffer in Neverland, of the fact that he’s helping her find Henry even after everything she put him through and guilt settles heavily in her chest. 

Whatever he was involved with, whoever these people are that they’re going to face, Killian’s clearly intensely protective of children, and now she’s surely started a rumour that he’s a danger to them. She doesn’t really think there’s anything she can say or do to make it better but she tries anyway. 

“Look, I’m sorry I let them think that -”

“Which way to the station?” he interrupts curtly. 

Right, so they’re not gonna talk about it then. “This way,” she answers, leading him towards the Bug. 

“What the bloody hell is that?” he demands, looking at the car like it’s going to bite him.” 

“It’ll get us to the station faster - and anywhere else we need to go.” He eyes the thing distrustfully. “ Just get in,” Emma sighs. “Please,” she adds when he doesn’t move. Killian watches her open the door and take her seat before mimicking her uncertainly and taking the cup back. He jumps when the engine starts but doesn’t comment further as they drive the few minutes to the station. When they arrive, he stumbles a little as he steps out and she decides to blame it on his injuries. “You alright?” 

“I prefer ships,” is all he says. Right. Captain Hook. “My effects,” he reminds her and she nods, heading towards the building, Killian following closely behind her. It takes her a minute to dig them up. She’d sent one of the guards from the hospital to leave them here and apparently he’d decided the storage closet was the best spot.

“Here,” Emma hands him the heavy bag and he takes it with a sort of relief that makes her feel almost guilty. She knew she had to get the guy’s sword away from him but she thinks she’d be pretty stressed too if she was in a strange town and someone took all her stuff away.

Killian pulls open the bag and digs through it the same way he had the last time, removing each item carefully and then setting them down on her desk, his coat draped carefully over her chair. He frowns as he gets to the bottom of it, and she remembers that he’d been missing something last time. It’s almost as though he’d expected it to be there now - or hoped. 

He proceeds to pull his shirt off over his head, making her gape at him, first in surprise and then in shock at the red and purple smudges that paint his ribs from chest to waist, the hints of more she can see on his back and arms. It’s like he’s more bruise than skin and she wonders how he’s even standing right now let alone changing into the black, gauzy shirt he retrieved from the bag. He reaches for the waist of his sweats and pauses, giving her a pointed look and Emma realises she’s been staring, turning quickly away so he can change.

It doesn’t take him long considering how many layers she knows he had on when she found him and she peeks over her shoulder when she hears the sound of his sword being sheathed, making sure he’s decent. 

“That’s better.” He looks at her, and she’s biting her lip hard. “What?”

“I’m avoiding asking questions…”

“But?”

“You said you had things we needed in there. Kind of looks like you just wanted a wardrobe change.” 

Killian gives her a small, sarcastic look before reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket she hadn’t found last time, pulling out a complicated-looking, gold device and setting it down on the desk between them. 

“This will guide us to where we need to go,” he assures her, reaching into the same pocket again, this time pulling out a flask and smiling at it. He yanks the cork out with his teeth and takes a long drag of whatever’s inside. 

Emma raises her brows at him. “And that helps how?” 

He shrugs. “It’s been a trying few days. And my ribs hurt something bloody awful.” 

The image of his bruises flashes in her mind again, as well as the bloody marks on his face when she’d found him. Like he jumped off a roof, the paramedic had said. And he’s been running around like that for days. Emma reaches into the drawer of her desk, rummaging around until she finds the bottle of extra-strength Tylenol she keeps in there for Regina-induced headaches. It might not help much, but it’s something.  

“Here, take some of these.”

“What are they?” he asks warily. 

“It’s medicine. It won’t take the pain away completely but it’ll help a little.” She doesn’t expect a thank you and she doesn’t get one but she’s honestly surprised that he takes them, swallowing a couple with his flask. He must be in even more pain than she realised if he’s setting aside his distrust of her. 

“Now what?” she asks. They’ve got his things, they’ve got his little coffee cup fairy, that must mean they can go now, right? It has to. 

“Now, we need a ship.” 

“A ship? I don’t have a ship, Killian.” She thinks of the harbour, the closest thing she can think of is Leroy’s little fishing boat. 

“Then we’ll just have to commandeer one.”

“Can’t we just take my car?”

“There aren’t any roads to Neverland.” 

Of course there aren’t. She wants to yank her hair out at this insane fantasy of his. But then she realises… “It’s an island isn’t it?” She remembers the island from the movie when she was a kid. What if this place he came from was an actual freaking island somewhere off the coast? What if that’s why they can’t find Henry, because someone took him across the water on a boat while they were searching the roads and the forest? Killian only nods. “We can’t just steal a boat.” 

His smirk is almost amused. “Who’s going to arrest us? You? You’re the Sheriff are you not?” 

He has a point but, “Yeah and I’d like to keep that job.” 

“More than you want your son back?” His words are harsh, no more amusement or mocking left and she understands his message. If she wants to save Henry she’s going to have to do a lot of things she doesn’t want to do. And she’s going to have to trust him. Emma picks up her holster and her gun, secures both firmly at her side.

“I know where we can get one.” They’re coming back. She’ll bring it back. It’s borrowing.

Killian nods, pocketing his flask and the instrument, tucking the coffee cup into the crook of his arm. “Then we’ve only one more stop to make.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“The Crocodile’s. He has something of mine.” 

Crocodile. The word sends a shiver through her. “He’s here?” But Killian’s already heading out the door. She hurries after him, grabbing at his arm to stop him but he doesn’t listen. “Wait.” She’s ignored, his walk purposeful, his sights set now. “Killian. He almost killed you.” 

He doesn’t care. “I wasn’t ready for him last time. Now I know his tricks, and it’ll be the end of him - at last.” 

She tries to argue with him, that nothing can be worth facing someone who left him for dead, not now, not when he’s injured. But he won’t be deterred, her words rolling off him like water until he finally stops. For a second she thinks it’s because she’s managed to get through to him, but then she notices where they are and all the pieces start to fit together. The alley, the broken window, the shattered display case. 

“Gold?” she asks but it’s not really a question. “Gold is the Crocodile?” He doesn’t answer, only glares at the sign over the pawn shop, fist clenching at his side, and steps forward.

“Killian, stop.” He ignores her again and she places herself between him and the shop, holding him back with her hands on his arms and she thinks the only reason he doesn’t push her away is that he can’t without hurting himself. “Please,” she begs and he finally looks at her.

“Why?”

“Because I need you alive!” He hesitates. “You’re my only shot at saving Henry. And Gold almost killed you once. Who’s to stop him from finishing the job this time? Please, just… wait. Until after we get my son back.” 

He takes a slow breath, actually seeming to be listening to her, and then casts a glance towards the alley where she found him. “Distract him.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“Retrieve what’s mine.” 

“Killian…”

“I won’t kill him. Not yet. But I’m not leaving without what he took.” 

He’s taken off down the alley before she can stop him, before she can reason with him, and Emma stands dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk for a minute, wondering if she’s just lost her chance at saving her kid. 

She looks towards the shop, blood running cold at the thought of going inside. Gold. Gold is the Crocodile. He tried to kill someone and then acted like nothing had happened the next day. He took something from Killian. Her breath catches. He also took someone. She knew the pawnbroker was shady but she didn’t think he was a killer. You’ll owe me a favour. The deal had seemed so harmless when she’d made it. She should have known better than to underestimate him. 

The bell rings above her head when she opens the door. Gold is standing at the counter as always, head bent over a stack of papers and books. At first she thinks they’re records but when he looks up and sees her, he shuts them quickly, tugging a large ledger overtop of whatever he was working on. 

“Miss Swan,” he greets, smile less polite than usual and she knows she’s an unwanted visitor. “How can I help you?”

“Henry’s missing.” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind, the first words out of her mouth. 

“I’m aware; the Mayor was already here and I told her everything I know. I wasn’t much help, I’m afraid.” 

Emma remembers he and Regina’s conversation earlier, the argument she’d witnessed and she knows he’s lying already. He clearly knew enough for her to demand his help, what she’s just learned from Killian only cements the fact that he knows much more about what happened to Henry, about the people involved, than he’s letting on. She should arrest him right now for assault. But she can’t do that without giving Killian away, without raising suspicions. 

“Yeah, well, Regina’s a lot of things but she’s not the Sheriff. So we’re gonna have to do this in a more official sense.” 

Gold sighs. “I’m really quite busy at the moment. And, like I said, I’ve already told the Mayor -”

“I know it must be frustrating, having me come here to your place of work. We can do this down at the sheriff’s station, if you’d rather.” Emma doesn’t try to hide the thin attempt at intimidation and he narrows his eyes at her. “There’s a lot of people out there though and it’s a bit of a walk. Wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea…” 

“Here will be fine,” he allows with a small glare. But I really am quite busy…”

“I’ll make it quick.” She doesn’t miss the way his elbow settles over the ledger book and the stack of papers hidden beneath it. 

“So, where were you last night?” 

“At home, asleep.” 

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

His brows shoot up. “Are you asking me if I have an alibi?” 

“Do you need one?” The question hangs heavily between them and for the first time, in the silence of an unanswered threat, she wonders if he could have had something to do with Henry’s disappearance, if he could be involved in whatever is happening in ‘Neverland’. 

“No,” he says finally. “But I have cameras outside my home should you feel the need to confirm my lack of nighttime escapades.” 

“Cameras?” she asks, emphasising the plural. “Why so much security?” 

His smirk crawls over his face, interested now, like they’re playing a game. “I have many enemies, Miss Swan. One doesn’t become successful without making a few along the way.” 

“And who are they?” she presses. This may have started as a distraction, but now she wonders if she should consider this a real interrogation, if he should be a real suspect… 

Before Gold can give whatever answer he had prepared, there’s a small noise from the back room and he stops, beginning to turn towards it. Emma panics, doing the first thing she can think of. The second his elbow is off the pile of papers and he’s looking away, she shoves them and a nearby snowglobe onto the floor. He whirls back around at the sound of breaking glass, looking over and cursing at the pages strewn about, some getting soaked in by the water from the globe. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Emma says quickly, kneeling down to start picking them up as he finds his cane. She uses the opportunity to snoop, trying to find anything important. None of it makes sense to her, drawings of maps, equations and letters in a language she doesn’t know. 

But one thing catches her eye as she hears Gold pick up his walking stick and take a step to make his way around the counter. A single word, signed in elegant script on the bottom corner of a page. Milah. The same name from Killian’s tattoo. Without looking at it, she snags the piece of paper and shoves it in her pocket before Gold can see and begins collecting the rest into a pile, shaking the water off some as best she can. 

“Leave it,” Gold says in frustration, struggling to kneel down next to her among the mess. “I think you’ve done more than enough.” 

“No really, I don’t mind -”

“But I do,” he cuts her off. “If you have any more questions, Sheriff, I’ll come by the station at another time.” 

“At least let me get you a broom,” she offers, realising he may keep it in the back room and her plan at distraction could completely backfire. She’s already headed that way before he can protest or get up to stop her.

Gold sighs. “It’s in the storage closet, next to the office,” he calls after her.

When she passes through the curtain, she half expects to find Killian there, rummaging through the various objects scattered around on desks and shelves. But the room is empty, no sign of anything having been distrubed and she can only hope that means he’s found what he was looking for and gone. She does a quick sweep of the space to be safe before grabbing the broom and heading back out to the front of the store. 

“Here,” she says, leaning it against the counter and offering another apology before telling him she’ll call if she needs him to come into the station and leaving before he can notice that she’s stolen one of his pages. It’s only once she’s outside and around the block that she risks reaching into her pocket and pulling the piece of paper out. 

It’s a drawing, a beautiful woman with dark hair, dressed in the same strange, outdated style of clothing as Killian. The paper’s old, worn and brittle, the crease having been folded and unfolded many times like the other she’d noticed in his pocket when she’d searched his things. But there’s not a smudge or a mark or a drop of anything on the page, nothing to marr the image, and Emma doesn’t have to wonder who this woman was to Killian. But she does wonder who she was to Gold. 

“What’s that?” Killian’s voice startles Emma from her thoughts as he joins her, arms empty still apart from the cup.

“I found this in his things. I think it might be yours,” she says, handing the drawing to him. He looks at it for a long moment before he takes it from her gently, expression wrapped in melancholy. 

“Aye,” Killian agrees, the word barely a whisper. And then, to her surprise, “Thank you.” He only lets himself stare at the image for another few seconds before folding it carefully and tucking it into yet another pocket she hadn’t found. She’s starting to think he’s wearing the Mary Poppins bag of coats. 

He clears his throat. “Come on, we have a ship to steal.” 

***

Stealing a boat turns out to be a lot easier than Emma expected. The harbour has literally zero security and while Killian scoffs at the selection of old speedboats and fishing boats, he ends up settling on one he says will make due for now. They board the sailboat - ‘A Cut Above’ - and Emma rolls her eyes realising they’re absolutely stealing Whale’s boat, but decides not to tell Killian. He’d probably take way too much joy in the fact. 

There’s no hot-wiring needed, no key, Killian simply using the sails and the wheel to get them out of the harbour and out to sea, shouting orders to her that she has to clarify over and over again. “Release the dock lines!” “The what?” “Take the starboard side.” “Which one’s that?” She didn’t think he could get more annoyed at her, like her any less, but she’s proving them both wrong. 

They’ve been sailing for hours and Emma is using all of her strength not to ask if they’re there yet, the nerves having finally caught up to her now that they’re really on their way to Henry. All the fear and the anticipation and the adrenaline hit her at once and she hasn’t been able to shake it since Storybrooke disappeared into the horizon a couple of hours ago. The sun is starting to set when she can’t keep it in anymore. 

“Are we close?”

“Aye,” is his only answer from where he’s manning the tiller - she knows that word now - the coffee cup resting carefully on the dash.

“How close?” 

He sighs. He’s been quiet since they left Storybrooke, since he was done giving orders. A mood’s fallen over him, dark and foreboding and heavy and she’d felt it seep into her. 

Wherever they’re going, he doesn’t want to be. He’d sworn he’d never go back and yet she’s dragged him to some place that left him scarred and angry and terrified. But despite all that, he’s taking her there. For Henry. She doesn’t think there’s any way she’ll ever be able to repay him for this. She doesn’t even know where she’d start. 

“We need to wait until dark.” 

“Why?”

“To have the stars to navigate by.” 

“Can’t you use a GPS?” 

“A what?” 

“Nevermind.” 

When it’s dark enough out, Killian pulls the device he’d shown her earlier from his pocket, holding it up to his eye and lining it up with something she doesn’t bother to ask about until he seems satisfied. That’s the wrong word. He’s found what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t look pleased with it, he looks… grim. 

“Take this.” He picks up the coffee cup and hands it to her. She takes it carefully even though it feels ridiculous. “Go stand by the main sail.” That’s the big one. “When I give the order, open it and send her into the sail.” What? Oh, right, the fairy. She’s pretty sure all that’s going to do is possibly get a few drops of coffee on the canvas and make Whale even more pissed off but whatever, finding Henry is more important. 

Killian’s turning the wheel, whirling the boat around and catching the wind, gaining speed, a surprising amount considering they’re not sailing with any motor. The navigation tool is raised again, double checking before he pulls something, another sail drops and their speed increases even more, the wind sending Emma’s hair whipping into her face until she can hardly see.

“Second star to the right and straight on till morning,” he mutters, the phrase quietly familiar, lost to the sound of the wind. She looks back at Killian; he’s pulling something from his pocket and her throat goes dry when she sees it. A hook. A hook that he clicks into place where his missing hand would be. Then he’s shouting “Now!”

Emma jumps then scrambles to take the lid off and makes a show of tossing the contents of the empty cup towards the main sail. There’s a second, then her stomach drops. The ship lurches up like they’ve hit a giant wave, like they’re about to crash down hard, too hard, and she falls back against the deck. The seconds that tick by feel like those right before the drop in a roller coaster, the heart hammering, anticipation building, panic inducing wait, and Emma can feel the blood rushing in her ears. 

But the fall never comes, only the weightless, suspended feeling, the jump before the plunge and she crawls over to the edge of the boat, grabs the rail to haul herself up and look out at what’s happening. Emma screams, the sea so far below them now, as she throws herself back onto the ground. Turning, she looks at Killian, heart racing, hoping for an explanation, but he only looks ahead, steering the ship towards the stars. 

“What the fuck?” she screams again, looking over the edge once more and seeing the faint outline of land and water growing smaller and smaller beneath them, and still, they’re climbing. “What the actual fuck?!” 

They’re flying. The ship is flying… just like in the story. This can’t be real, it can’t be real. And yet the stars grow closer, two shining bright directly ahead as they cut a path through the sky. She looks at the sail, caught by the faint shimmer that wasn’t there a moment ago, or at least that she couldn’t see. 

A small, shining light zips by her, circling her head and stopping in front of her face and for a second, Emma sees something in it, a woman, tiny and glowing and angry. No.

“How are you doing this?” Emma demands and Killian looks at her solemnly. 

“I told you there were things in this world beyond your understanding.” He watches her as she stares at what can only be a fairy, the small, winged woman flipping her off before shooting away towards the sky, disappearing into the stars. A grim smirk pulls at Killian’s lips when she turns shocked eyes on him. “Perhaps you do have some belief after all.” 

And she does. There’s no way not to. All the fantasies and insanity that she’d accused him of, that she’d argued against, everything Henry had sworn was true… It’s real. It’s all real.

*******

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[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Davos VI (Chapter 63)

The nightfire burned against the gathering dark, a great bright beast whose shifting orange light threw shadows twenty feet tall across the yard. All along the walls of Dragonstone the army of gargoyles and grotesques seemed to stir and shift.

This is your daily reminder that we should always be thinking of Daenerys during a Stannis chapter.

+.+.+

King Stannis stood beside her [Selyse], jaw clenched hard, the points of his red-gold crown shimmering whenever he moved his head. He is with them, but not of them, Davos thought. Princess Shireen was between them, the mottled grey patches on her face and neck almost black in the firelight.

Ugh.

+.+.+

The voice of Ser Axell Florent rang loud as a trumpet. He stood barrel-chested and bandy-legged, the firelight washing his face like a monstrous orange tongue. 

Will Ser Axell Florent be burned alive? How appropriate.

+.+.+

When he was a boy, the septons had taught Davos to pray to the Crone for wisdom, to the Warrior for courage, to the Smith for strength. But it was the Mother he prayed to now, to keep his sweet son Devan safe from the red woman's demon god.

I know you're a lost cause, but have you ever considered sending your 11-year-old son home?

+.+.+

"Fire is a living thing," the red woman told him, when he asked her to teach him how to see the future in the flames. "It is always moving, always changing . . . like a book whose letters dance and shift even as you try to read them. It takes years of training to see the shapes beyond the flames, and more years still to learn to tell the shapes of what will be from what may be or what was. Even then it comes hard, hard. You do not understand that, you men of the sunset lands." Davos asked her then how it was that Ser Axell had learned the trick of it so quickly, but to that she only smiled enigmatically and said, "Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice at play."

Ser Axell Florent stares into the fire and sees what he wants to see.

Unlike Melisandre, who has it down to a science.

+.+.+

He had not lied to his king's men, about that or any of it. "The red woman may see what we intend," he warned them.

"We should start by killing her, then," urged Lewys the Fishwife. "I know a place where we could waylay her, four of us with sharp swords . . ."

"You'd doom us all," said Davos. "Maester Cressen tried to kill her, and she knew at once. From her flames, I'd guess. It seems to me that she is very quick to sense any threat to her own person, but surely she cannot see everything. If we ignore her, perhaps we might escape her notice."

I think the author just established a new rule. Melisandre can sense any threat to her life.

I'll die of laughter if she's shown a vision of her killer and misinterprets it. Is that what happens? Oh man.

+.+.+

The maester broke off. "That will be enough for now, Edric."

The boy was puzzled by the intrusion. "Lord Davos, Ser Andrew. We were doing sums."

Ser Andrew smiled. "I hated sums when I was your age, coz."

"I don't mind them so much. I like history best, though. It's full of tales."

Edric and Sansa are endgame!

I couldn't make sense of this Jaime -> Davos chapter transition, until I realized this is the chapter Davos orchestrates an escape mission for Edric Storm. Jaime will do the same for Tyrion.

+.+.+

Pylos touched the chain of many metals he wore about his neck. "My place is here on Dragonstone. Go with Lord Davos now, and do as he says. He is the King's Hand, remember. What did I tell you about the King's Hand?"

"The Hand speaks with the king's voice."

Unless his tongue has been cut off?

Jokes, jokes.

+.+.+

"I shall go with you, Cousin," Ser Andrew assured him. "There's nothing to be frightened of."

"I am not frightened," Edric said indignantly. "Only . . . is Shireen coming too?"

"No," said Davos. "The princess must remain here with her father and mother."

Please take Shireen.

+.+.+

"He does not want to see you." Davos had to say something, to get the boy moving. "I am his Hand, I speak with his voice. Must I go to the king and tell him that you would not do as you were told? Do you know how angry that will make him? Have you ever seen your uncle angry?" He pulled off his glove and showed the boy the four fingers that Stannis had shortened. "I have."

It was all lies; there had been no anger in Stannis Baratheon when he cut the ends off his onion knight's fingers, only an iron sense of justice. But Edric Storm had not been born then, and could not know that. And the threat had the desired effect. "He should not have done that," the boy said, but he let Davos take him by the hand and draw him down the steps.

One more reminder that Edric Storm is a good lad.

And he likes history best! He knows history! The author loves that.

+.+.+

He went to one knee before Edric Storm. "I must leave you now," he said. "There's a boat waiting, to row you out to a galley. Then it's off across the sea. You are Robert's son so I know you will be brave, no matter what happens."

"I will. Only . . ." The boy hesitated.

"Think of this as an adventure, my lord." Davos tried to sound hale and cheerful. "It's the start of your life's great adventure. May the Warrior defend you."

Edric and Sansa Arya are endgame!

+.+.+

"And may the Father judge you justly, Lord Davos." The boy went with his cousin Ser Andrew out the postern gate. 

[...]

May the Father judge me justly, Davos thought ruefully. But it was the king's judgment that concerned him now.

Uh oh. I haven't verified, but I don't think you ever want that said to you.

+.+.+

If he survived this night, he would take Devan and sail home to Cape Wrath and his gentle Marya. We will grieve together for our dead sons, raise the living ones to be good men, and speak no more of kings.

He didn't. He didn't do it.

This is the first Davos chapter that I've read where I've felt a strong sense of his doom.

+.+.+

A half moon was sliding in and out amongst thin high clouds, and Davos could see familiar stars. There was the Galley, sailing west; there the Crone's Lantern, four bright stars that enclosed a golden haze. The clouds hid most of the Ice Dragon, all but the bright blue eye that marked due north.

There's an Ice Dragon that points north, and another star called Galley that sails west... Lmao.

+.+.+

The wings of the stone dragons cast great black shadows in the light from the nightfire. He tried to tell himself that they were no more than carvings, cold and lifeless. This was their place, once. A place of dragons and dragonlords, the seat of House Targaryen. The Targaryens were the blood of old Valyria . . .

Bad news, they're hot and full of life, and Crazy's coming home.

+.+.+

"Your Grace." Davos stepped forward. "Lady Melisandre saw it true. Your nephew Joffrey is dead."

[...]

Melisandre moved closer. "Save them, sire. Let me wake the stone dragons. Three is three. Give me the boy."

"Edric Storm," Davos said.

Stannis rounded on him in a cold fury. "I know his name. Spare me your reproaches. I like this no more than you do, but my duty is to the realm. My duty . . ." He turned back to Melisandre. "You swear there is no other way? Swear it on your life, for I promise, you shall die by inches if you lie."

Here's a guy that just agreed to burn an innocent child alive - his own nephew (Hello, Daenerys?) - and nobody in this stupid ass fandom holds it against him.

I'll eat a table the day the author gives this man the glory of winning back Winterfell.

+.+.+

Stannis made a fist. "Tommen is gentler than Joffrey, but born of the same incest. Another monster in the making. Another leech upon the land. Westeros needs a man's hand, not a child's."

Sorry everyone, we had to abandon that time gap.

A child it will be.

+.+.+

"Gone?" Stannis turned. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He is aboard a Lyseni galley, safely out to sea." Davos watched Melisandre's pale, heart-shaped face. He saw the flicker of dismay there, the sudden uncertainty. She did not see it!

There's also the possibility that someone games the system, and she never sees it, but I lean towards her being shown her own demise. That's so much more fun.

+.+.+

Her red eyes made him squirm. "I should have left you to the dark, ser. Do you know what you have done?"

"My duty."

"Some might call it treason." Stannis went to the window to stare out into the night. 

Mental note, Stannis accused his Hand of committing treason, because he wouldn't let him burn someone alive.

+.+.+

"Your Grace, you made me swear to give you honest counsel and swift obedience, to defend your realm against your foes, to protect your people. Is not Edric Storm one of your people? One of those I swore to protect? I kept my oath. How could that be treason?"

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady."

+.+.+

"She talks of cows," Davos told the king. "I am speaking of a boy, your daughter's friend, your brother's son."

"A king's son, with the power of kingsblood in his veins." Melisandre's ruby glowed like a red star at her throat. 

A king's daughter, Davos! With the power of kingsblood in her veins! Davos, the daughter! Please!

+.+.+

Stannis slid Lightbringer from its scabbard. Its glow filled the chamber. "Say what you will, but say it quickly." The muscles in the king's neck stood out like cords.

Davos fumbled inside his cloak and drew out the crinkled sheet of parchment. It seemed a thin and flimsy thing, yet it was all the shield he had. "A King's Hand should be able to read and write. Maester Pylos has been teaching me." He smoothed the letter flat upon his knee and began to read by the light of the magic sword.

If Starks melt when they ride below the Neck, what happens to southron lords like Stannis and Littlefinger when they travel north?

Final thoughts:

Edric is still hiding in Lys, most likely waiting to be given Storm's End at the end of the story.

Sorry Gendry, you can't read and you don't know history.

-> return to menu <-

[griffintail]

I dunno if this is dumb, but hear me out:

Y’know the song “For the Dancing and the Dreaming” from How to Train Your Dragon 2? Well, imagine that song but with Philza or Techno and a reader s/o! Like, they’ve been apart for way too long because of various circumstances, but when they finally see each other it’s just love at first sight all over again.

I was singing that song a lot at work today, and thought this idea might be a cute and wholesome break from the wonderfully tearjerking angst that was that last Parental Dream post. I think that anon woke up and chose violence that morning, not that I’m complainin.

I can’t remember which anon request it was that chose violence but I remember heavily agreeing with you. This request was so fing perfect to do with Techno. I hope you enjoy it.

Dancing and Dreaming

In Game

Pairings: Techno x F! Reader

Warnings: None :)

A/N: There is a poem in this that’s not mine. It’s by Anna Shaw and I found it randomly on the web. So I take no credit for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll swim and sail on savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

And gladly ride the waves of life

If you would marry me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        (Y/N) remembered standing on the edge of the Arctic Empire’s border, watching Techno’s ship sail off a year back. Word came that his brothers needed his aid in their own nation. She remembered begging to let him come with him, she was the best swordswoman in the land.

        Who do you think taught her?

        Yet, Techno didn’t want someone to hurt her and made a promise to her.

        “I’ll take these nerds, alright? I’ll come back to you though, no matter what, and…I’ll marry you.”

        The voices went wild in his head for the first time in forever. Running the kingdom kept them sated but with him soon to be leaving, he supposed it riled them up. They were screaming praises and hatred at the same time but he didn’t care. This was what he wanted.

        “I…” (Y/N) was speechless for a few moments and Techno gave a cheeky grin, that helped her break out of it as she laughed. “Ok. But you have to come back.”

        “No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey if you promise me your heart and love me for eternity.” He kissed her forehead.

        From there, he boarded the ship and she didn’t see him for a year. She got no word from him or from his brothers, which gave her hope as well that he was ok. Of course, he would be, he was Technoblade.

        She was running the daily duties as Techno’s stand-in when one of the servants of the castle, bowing to her deeply.

        “Ma’am, we’ve spotted a regal ship coming into harbor.”

        “Get the guards ready then, we can’t take chances on this land, I have no patience for royalty, let’s go.”

        There had been a few battles in Techno’s absence, one’s (Y/N) commanded on his behalf that had earned her a few battle scars but nothing that caused her to lose a precious life. She had learned from the best of men. Putting her sword in its sheath and a bow and axe on her back, she set herself off to the harbor.

        As she got to the harbor, she saw a flag she had never seen flickering on the top of the mainmast. It was a half-circle of black on one edge with a line of yellow lining it as three stripes, one blue, white, and red, came off the yellow lining and three Xs in the middle. Two of the X’s were in the white strip as the third was in the half-circle of black.

        She stood on guard still as the ship slowed as it made it to their docks. Many knew nations tried to challenge the half power of their empire.

        Going onto the docks, she stood tall a safe distance from the ship.

        “Hail, who are you!” She called to the ship.

        A face leaned over the front and she stiffened at the grinning young face she remembered.

        “(Y/N)!” Tommy grinned. “Long time no see.”

        “What the fuck are you doing on that ship?!” She scolded, going over.

        “It’s mine!” (Y/N) scoffed at his words.

        “I think you’ll find, it’s mine.” Wilbur came behind the young boy, giving a smile to the woman. “It’s a pleasure (Y/N). Mind telling your men down?”

        “I mean, only if you tell me where Techno is.”

        Then she screamed as she was lifted off the ground.

        “You’ve gotten sloppy perceiving around you.” Techno chuckled as the boys on the ship laughed.

        She couldn’t be angry. She merely grinned as he put her down and hugged him tightly.

        “You’re ok.” She whispered.

        “I promised you I would be. I just had to take down a government.” He shrugged as he hugged her back.

        “My dearest one, your mighty words astound me but I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

        He hid his face in the top of her hair as he grinned to himself. He had truly missed her.

        That night, a grand ball was held in honor of Techno’s return, his victory with his brothers, and for the new alliance with the nation of L’Manberg as (Y/N) found out. (Y/N) laughed as Wilbur stole the first dance with her from Techno, having missed his brothers’ antics since the last time they had met.

        The two men kept teasing Techno by stealing the woman away until Techno practically picked her up and stole her away to the dance floor.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But I would bring you rings of gold

I'd even sing you poetry

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        “Was someone jealous?” (Y/N) teased as she curtsied to him and he bowed.

        Together they danced in sync with ease. If there was no music, it would still be a beautiful dance to behold. They had done this number before, their own formal dance they always easily moved into.

        “I would like to see my wife to be after a year.” Techno gave a joking eye roll.

        “I’ll always be here for you, Techno. Even if we weren’t going to be married.” She blushed lightly, remembering his promise.

        At the end of their dance, Techno took her hand as usual but instead moved into a position to kneel.

        “This smooth son of a…” (Y/N) thought to herself with a grin.

        Techno went into his pocket, holding out a golden ring up to her. “Allow me to make it official to you after keeping you waiting for a year.” He cleared his throat before speaking clearly.

        “If I have to hold hell ransom,

        In turn for your wayward soul,

        I will.

        And if I must, fight through the depths of Tartarus

        To save what’s left of you

        To save the pieces life didn’t get to destroy,

        Then consider yourself saved

        For there is not a battle I won’t win,

        If saving you is what I am fighting for.

        So, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry

I only want your hand to hold

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        “I mean you win every battle anyways.” She whispered so only he would hear and he gave her a deadpanned face before she spoke a bit louder. “I care not of those things, as long as I have you Techno and your hand. I will gladly marry you for just that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming

Through all life's sorrows

And delights

I'll keep your laugh inside me

I'll swim and sail a savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        People clapped as she giggled hearing the hollers of his brothers as he rolled his eyes before smiling as he put the ring on her finger. He gave a sweet kiss to her forehead, neither much for sharing a lover’s kiss in public. The night’s events took on new energy around them but the two simply enjoyed the presence of the other as they glided across the floor.

        Techno regaled her with what happened in L’Manberg, throwing in a few jokes to hear her sweet laugh he had missed through the battles he and his brothers had fought. They had all been such brutal battles, even the ones they had to fight with their words. Yet, each one he fought harder than the rest because he knew, across the savage seas, he’d go home to the most perfect woman and get to marry her.

[smelted-applejuice]

Left Behind.

Parings; c!Wilbur Soot x Reader Pronouns; she/her Desc; Wilbur Soot left too soon, way too soon.  TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF DEATH, MOURNING, VANISHING TWIN SYNDROME, PREGNANCY.  

Requests are open, feeling angsty today  -

The ear-piercing scream that was heard throughout L’manberg was evident. If it wasn't for [YourName]’s brother-in-law, she probably would have hit her head and injured herself. Tommy gently set [YourName] down, in the same amount of shock as her, he watched [YourName] slam the ground and beg for Wilbur to be alive. 

“PLEASE! PLEASE OH MY GOD,” [YourName] sobbed, holding the ground. Her fingers dug into the ruined dirt, her nails getting covered in dirt and soot from the TNT. Philza’s face softened, he had murdered his son for a good cause, but to watch his daughter-in-law break down was just as horrible. He watched [YourName] push herself up and make her way over to the cave Wilbur had dug out for this operation, helping her up, and stood there watching [YourName] cradle Wilbur’s face. 

There, Wilbur laid in the lap of his wife with a smile on his face. The sword that was used to murder him remained in his body as it was hard for Philza to even think about yanking it out, that was his boy, his son, his pride and joy, and he just murdered him. Wilbur’s eyes remained closed no matter how much [YourName] whispered out begging for him to open them up. 

Philza placed a hand on her shoulder, gently forcing her up from her spot. She was too tired to fight back, she just laid limp reaching out for her husband despite the reassurance that he won’t come back- [YourName] believed he would. She just knew Wilbur would awaken and come join her in bed and hold her close just as he did twice before. 

But he never did. 

Wilbur never came, and Tubbo was assigned president while [YourName] mourned the death of her husband. Fundy couldn’t understand why [YourName] was so attached to such a person, but then he remembered she loved him and had a connection with Wilbur that he didn't have. As jealous as he was, Fundy remained around and built a home for himself and his step-mother. 

When everything was finalized, finished, and moved into, it scared everyone when [YourName] fainted in the middle of New L’manberg. Fundy was a moment too late and poor [YourName] had to get stitched for the cut on her forehead. She and Fundy had assumed it was just because she was mourning, but when Philza sat down in front of them after doing more research, they both knew it was way more. 

Fundy placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder and prepped for the news. “[YourName], you’re six weeks pregnant. Twins. I assume you didn’t know this?” Philza spoke, “S-Six weeks?! TWINS?!”  [YourName] repeated frantically making Philza nod. Fundy blinked a few times before letting out a soft scream of a fox, “I’M A BROTHER?!” he asked repeatedly pacing back and forth. “Six weeks, Wilbur died four weeks ago- oh my god, I haven’t been with anyone else, oh my god, Philza-“ [YourName] spoke sending herself into a panic, “That's great, you have a piece of his legacy no one else has..” Phil said gently holding her hands.

[YourName] began to cry, glad to have such a thing with her but mourned her husband. She looked up and realized the excitement had worn off and Fundy and now he was panic pacing. His ears were down and his tail was no longer wagging, he anxiously played with his jacket, so [YourName] dropped Philza and made his way over to Fundy to calm him down. She played with his hair, held his face, and hugged him gently, everything she could to ground and remind Fundy that it’s all okay. It just gave more proof how despite everything happening to her right now, she was ready to parent. And that’s what makes a good parent, a good parent.

Philza softly smiled and sighed out, “Despite everything you’ve gone through, you’re still there for Fundy. You’re a good mother, [YourName].” he explained with a smile. [YourName] glanced away from Fundy for a moment and gently smiled, “Oh, Uhm, thank you?” she said dropping her hands to her step-son’s elbows. Fundy hugged [YourName] while she was still distracted, just sucking in as much [YourName] time he could get before leaving and returning home. Fundy would admit, he’s worried about being left behind, but wouldn’t voice them until dinner. [YourName] thanked Fundy for the food and ate quietly until he spoke up, “You won’t leave me right?” he asked randomly. [YourName] was confused at first, but then it clicked, “Your father wasn’t the best at expressing love once he had a focus. I can do that, even with a new baby coming around- I’ll always have time for you, Fundy. You’re my son, doesn’t matter if I didn’t give birth to you or not.” [YourName] explained with a smile. That smile brought comfort to Fundy, instead of talking he returned focus to his food. For the next few weeks, no updates were given about [YourName]. After her stitches were taken out and things returned normal, she would begin showing- that’s how everyone found out Wilbur was going to have a second kid. Because of this, Tubbo made sure Ghostbur had zero access to [YourName], not wanting to trigger anything inside of him that would result in a negative reaction. Ghostbur wasn’t Wilbur and who knows the powers that ghost has hiding behind him. “I just want to see my wife! How’s [YourName]?” Ghostbur huffed, crossing his arms but quickly recovered floating around Tubbo who was working hard on some paperwork. Tubbo frowned for a moment, he was struggling harder and harder every day to hide [YourName] from Ghostbur. “She’s fine, she misses you too. Now, Ghostbur, go bother Philza, I need to make a few choices.” Tubbo mumbled watching Ghostbur rush through a few walls to return outside and find his father. Ghostbur floated through the top of Philza’s house where he had expected Phil to be, but instead, he was nowhere to be found. He gently floated downstairs, having yet to reveal himself, where he heard his wife’s voice and Philza talk. Joy rushed through his spirited body but halted when he processed that [YourName] was crying. 

“It happens, and luckily one of the twins remained. You didn’t cause this, it’s natural.” Philza comforted, [YourName] nodded “I just- I feel horrible, I didn’t even know that was possible! Wilbur would be so upset” she explained. “Wilbur wouldn’t be upset at you though, some pregnancies result in one twin absorbing the other- and this was one of the cases,” Phil explained letting [YourName] lean against him. She took the water in front of her and drank some of it, not even noticing Ghostbur watching from the steps. 

[YourName] stayed for a few more minutes, but left soon after. “[YourName] is Pregnant?” Ghostbur asked Philza, making him jump and nearly drop the glass he had in his hand. “GHOSTBUR!” Philza yelped, “Oh, hehe sorry, but my dear [YourName]. I-Is Wilbur the father?” Ghostbur asked softly. Phil debated on his next move and softly sighed “You’re the father, you were Wilbur before you were Ghostbur'' he explained gently, he didn’t want to make the ghost worry. “I should go talk to her-“ Ghostbur said, turning around and going to dash off, “NO-“ Philza yelled. 

Ghostbur stopped in his tracks, “Why not?! First Tubbo, now you, I just want to see my wife!” he pouted before pulling some blue out and calming down. Philza sighed, “She’s not ready, she's fragile.” he whispered toward his dead son “She probably will react negatively and confusingly, and we don’t want that or her to get hurt.” he added trying to dumb down their reasoning. Ghostbur just sighed, accepting it as it is. 

It didn’t stop Ghostbur from watching her though, he would go invisible and follow Fundy around the house and watched as his son helped out [YourName] around. “You’re coming up seven months, you need to be careful, I can hear dad screaming at us.” Fundy explained easing his mother into a chair and picking up what she was trying to get, “He’d have to suck it up, I can't be held down.” [YourName] jokingly pouted. Fundy just smiled and patted his mother’s hair, “I’m making lunch, I’ll be back.” he said leaving for the kitchen. 

Ghostbur sat there and watched [YourName] shift in her spot but gently place a hand over top of her enlarged stomach. The womb that housed his and [YourName]’s baby. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but from the observations he’s made, Philza was right. Every night she’d wake up and reach over, what he remembered, to be his side of the bed and proceed to cry on a bad day into his old L’manberg coat. He obviously left his mark on his wife and he didn’t mean the baby.

Around the time [YourName] was suppose to go into labor, her emotions did a one-eighty and she no longer searched for Wilbur’s side of the bed for him or found herself begging for her husband to be alive. She didn’t know why, but it began feeling as if Wilbur was there and holding her hand through every step of the way, and that's why when she gave birth she was more than ready. While Ghostbur took this as she no longer missed him, the reality was [YourName] was just trying to be mentally there for her child. She couldn’t be the one waking up in the middle of the night crying, she had to be stronger. Ghostbur was in distress but didn’t want to tell anyone he’s been stalking his wife and child. He would get scolded by Philza, he had told him to leave them alone. But he just couldn’t he gave into his curious nature and just ended up hurting himself more, he couldn’t speak to [YourName] or give her blue on the nights she needed it more and he sure as hell blamed himself for it. He blamed himself, not Wilbur, and it hurt even worse than he thought it would. 

The morning that [YourName] gave birth, it was hot and humid which added nothing good for the woman. Fundy was off the rails with stress, rushing around to get Philza. He didn’t know that Philza had taught Niki how to assist with labor, so now Fundy had to rush from Philza’s place to Niki’s place which meant an extra ten-twenty minutes of rushing around and leaving his mother in pain at the house. He didn’t want to leave [YourName] alone for more than he had to. By the time he returned to the house with Niki and Philza, [YourName] had managed to get into a spot and had everything right. Philza softly chuckled, “Might as well have the child on your own!” he said jokingly as he double-checked everything was there. Fundy hissed in surprise while [YourName] groaned, not really here for jokes just wanted this to get over with already! Niki shook her head, “It’s okay, [YourName], we’re going to give birth to this baby and the world will have another Soot on their hands!” she comforted patting [YourName]’s leg. The birth lasted HOURS, never in [YourName]’s life had she felt the pain she felt when giving birth to her child. As it was described by her mother, everything had been lifted off her shoulders and the pain was no longer there. The cries of her baby had rung throughout the home and outside she could hear the squeaks and excited yells from Techno and Tommy. They were just here for moral support- well WHEN did they get here? What the fuck? While [YourName] held her child, which turned out to be a girl, she thought back on the many conversations she and Wilbur ended up having before his death. Children were often a topic that was brought up when the future was mentioned, mostly after their marriage when Fundy was still younger. They had agreed on the name Fern, for ferns were pretty and it would- “Fit my perfect Princess,” Wilbur said placing a kiss upon his wife’s head. [YourName] giggled and grabbed Wilbur’s dirty L’manberg coat and dropped it in the water for washing. “You’re crazy, we’re not having a child while we’re at war, Darling.” [YourName] said looking up at him, “I know, but I think Fern would be the perfect name for our daughter, Rowan for a boy! Don’t they sound lovely?” Wilbur asked squatting across from his wife. Fundy had fallen asleep under the tree close by, this moment was perfect. “Absolutely” [YourName] replied leaning over the bucket and kissing her husband’s lips. “Fern.” [YourName] whispered gently rubbing a finger across her daughter’s cheek, Niki looked up from washing her hands and hummed “What?” Niki asked confused. “Fern. I think Fern would be perfect for her. Wilbur often mentioned that name.”  [YourName] reiterated, “Oh! That is a cute name, shall I let the boys know they’re able to come in now?” she asked making the new mother nod. Niki left and entered all the boys under the roof, they entered quietly as possible, Tommy nervously fiddling with his shirt sleeve. [YourName] smiled softly looking up, “Hello boys, meet your niece, sister, and granddaughter; Fern.” she said revealing the sleeping newborn in her arms. Philza smiled, had stepped out of the room, and let  [YourName] have more privacy as the birth went on. Fundy gasped at the smallness while Techno did his best not to melt on stop. Tommy was the first to speak, “It looks like him.” he whispered in awe, Techno nudged his brother harshly making [YourName] giggle. “It’s fine, Wilbur is her father.” she hummed. Finally, her family was mostly complete. A few months would pass, Fern would hit important milestones like eating, teething, crawling, all of those- but it didn’t feel the same without Wilbur. Wilbur must’ve had fox in him because after Fern’s first week, [YourName] and Fundy both noticed itty bitty fox ears and tail on the child. Fundy was beyond excited to show his sister how hunting works as a fox hybrid and how to pick the right berries, it was just a lovely sight to see. For each step, Fundy was there for his sister and his step-mother. For once, Fundy wanted to make Wilbur proud but in his own way. By taking care of his family, something his father couldn’t do. One day, [YourName] got away from Fern and Fundy. Today would be brother and sister bonding while [YourName] had a mother’s day off. She didn’t know what to do, but she finally sucked it up and got dressed. Today would be the first time [YourName] doing what she’s doing. It had been a year since Wilbur’s death and she had yet to visit his grave, and with no one home, she left to visit. To finally be His Visitor.

[fandom-puff]

A Proper Knight

Pairing: Jorah Mormont x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Okay, but also, imagine a low born girl falling in love with Jorah because she sees him as an honourable knight like the ones she heard from the stories and he doesn’t understand how she can think so highly of them... and they fall in love <3’

Warnings: talk of war, description of violence (including murder and rape), implied PTSD, younger woman/older man

Gif creds to owner

“Wait here,”

You did as the Unsullied soldier asked, waiting behind the heavy door of the Great Hall of Winterfell, brushing imaginary dust off your simple dress. It was your best one, albeit much plainer than even some of the servant girls of Winterfell, and you were self conscious.

You had come to pledge your allegiance against the Lannisters, to the King in the North, or to Lady Sansa Stark. You would pledge your allegiance to almost anyone so long as it was against the Lannisters- you still remembered your mother’s screams as a Lannister bannerman raped her before slitting her throat.

The door opened and the clamour of the lords and ladies inside trailed off as the unsullied soldier directed you forward. “Lady YN of house...” you stared hard at the maester as he squinted at his scroll. You were the last name on his list, crammed in after all of the nobles due to your status as a bastard.

You stood awkwardly, feeling the eyes of everyone staring at you- the lords and ladies behind you staring and murmuring, and the occupants of the head table: Jon Snow, Sansa, Arya and Bran Stark and Daenerys Targaryen, who was accompanied by a man and woman you did not recognise.

“What is your name, my Lady?” Jon Snow asked, quietening down the restless hall.

You looked around, worrying your lip between your teeth. “I-I...” you began, before clearing your throat. “Don’t call me ‘Lady’” you blurted out, resulting in murmuring scattered throughout the hall. “I’m sorry, I-”

“What’s your name, girl? It’s a simple enough question!” One man heckled and you sighed, beginning to turn away.

“Stop. Lord Glover, be quiet,” Arya quipped. “Go on, what’s your name,”

“And your house, if you please. You neglected to include that in your letter,” the maester added.

You took a deep breath. “My name is YN. I- I don’t have a house, I’m sorry. I’ve come to pledge my allegiance against the Lannisters,”

“And your surname? The name of your father,” the maester asked, dipping his quill.

You bit your lip. “I- I don’t know who my father is. I’m a bastard. Just put YN Snow. I’ve come to pledge my allegiance to the King in the North,”

There was a brief silence before Jon spoke. “There is no king in the north. I’ve bent the knee,” you turned to Bran, given that he was Ned Stark’s surviving true born son. “To Daenerys of House Targaryen,”

You frowned briefly, staring curiously at the dragon queen. “They say you have dragons, as big as a house. Is that true?” You asked. “Your grace,” you added quickly.

Daenerys smiled slightly. “Bigger,” she said with a smirk.

“Then Cersei Lannister and the Mountain that Rides ought to fire-proof their buildings,” you said. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to... well, I can’t fight, not with a sword at least. But I can fire an arrow in a straight line and that’s something. And if you don’t want me on the battlefield, I can cook, and my mother taught me to repair clothes, and my brother taught me how to sharpen blades. Just because I’m a bastard, doesn’t mean I’m not useful. Isn’t that right, Jon Snow?” Jon smiled slightly and nodded, seeing the twinkle in Brienne of Tarth and Lyanna Mormont’s eye as you spoke.

Slowly, every member of the head table nodded their heads. As you were beginning to seek out an empty seat, Daenerys spoke up. “Ser Jorah with help you refine your archery,” she said, gesturing to the tall man behind her. You looked at him properly for the first time. He was old, old enough to be your father at least, and handsome. “Yes, your grace,” you said.

**

“Draw the string back to your ear. These bows are probably stiffer than you’re used to, so really pull,”

You nodded, your hand trembling by your ear with the effort of holding back the string. You were eager to impress Ser Jorah Mormont- he was the first proper knight you had ever seen, and the first person more noble than a true born commoner you had had a proper conversation with.

“Loose,” he said and you did as you were bid. You turned to get a new arrow, assuming that one had missed the target, but as you were knocking it, you looked up. Ser Jorah was smiling. “Impressive. If that were a soldier, he’d be floored,” you smiled bashfully, fumbling and dropping your new arrow. Jorah smiled softly, picking it up and handing it to you, smiling softly at you from the ground.

He found you endearing, and he knew from your speech in the great hall that you were a force to be reckoned with. “Here. I think we’ll be able to hit the bullseye by the end of the day,” he said, moving behind you. “Knock,” he murmured, observing your movements. “Draw... turn your hips ever so slightly to the left, your arm will follow,”

“Like this?” You murmured, eyes focused completely on the target in front of you.

“Exactly like that. Loose,” you held your breath as you let go and watched the arrow soar towards... the bullseye!

“Well done, My Lady,” Jorah said softly.

“Ser Jorah, I’m not a lady. Why D’you keep calling me that?”

“It’s... polite, I suppose. And it’s a habit by now,”

“You really are a proper knight, aren’t you?” You teased, going to collect the arrows that littered the target.

“I mean... I’m a Ser, if that’s what you mean. I was made a knight by a monarch,”

“That doesn’t make you a proper knight. You’re like the ones in the songs and the tales. A gallant, generous, brave man, with honour and dignity and all the things that we sing about,”

Jorah smiled fondly and shook his head. “I’ve done bad things, YN. I’ve killed people,”

“So have I. So has Jon Snow,”

“You’ve killed?”

You froze, before nodding, turning away from him. “When I was fifteen, two Lannister knights broke into our home. They murdered my baby sister. They took turns raping my mother, then they slit her throat, for the crime of being a northerner, and for recognising Robb Stark as king,”

“What did you do?” Jorah said softly, approaching you slowly, as if you were a doe about to bolt away. “You can tell me. You won’t get into trouble for it,”

“One of the soldiers was huge. I thought he was the Hound at first, but he had no burns. It was his brother, the Mountain. The other knight told him to ride on, to find another village to ransack while he... finished with my mother. I was hiding in the pantry, and I took the knife that was on the table, still covered in my sister’s blood. A-and I crept up behind him as he wiped his hands on my mother’s dress... and... and...” you shuddered, remembering the heat of the blood over your hands, the way you scrubbed and scrubbed at them in a nearby river, the way you vomited at the thought of the Lannister knight’s corpse covering your mother’s...

“And that’s why you came here?” Jorah said quietly. You were leaning into his chest now as he rocked you, rubbing your back.

“Mm... they weren’t proper knights. They weren’t noble or gallant... they attacked two women and a baby in the dead of night. They had no honour. They were not just. You may think you are a bad knight, Ser Jorah, but what I saw that night... nobody could be worse than that. Goodnight, Ser,” you mumbled, pulling away from him as you made your way to your allocated room, dazed. Jorah stared after you, his heart twinging with more than just sympathy...

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen

[ahjustroza]

I saw a hc post abt how Last Legacy love interests react to MC actually going back to Earth,so can I ask some hcs abt this one? I'm curious of what you come up with!!

I actually made the same request to @lucigucci !!

For this ask, I had to play the entire game once again because I couldn't come up with anything. Hope you'll like it!

MC Going Back to Earth Headcanon

Warning: Sad feelings and pain...

Anisa

Before giving in to her emotions she will make sure to not miss anything important for your return to Earth

She'll check with important magical necessaries for the portal

Check if you have everything you would possibly need

If you ate well

Will check twice everything she prepared for you to take with you to remember her

She will also give you the Orlando postcard

It is important to her but also you two shared many memories together talking about Earth looking at the postcard

She knows when you visit Orlando you will remember her

After she is done with everything

The realization of you actually leaving her will hit her HARD

She knew you for only months but fell for you in a way with no return

You became her breath

The meaning, the cause she wanted to live further

The center of her life

Her priority

Her peace

Her shelter, and safe place

If only she could stay in your arms for a little longer...

If only she could find a way to see you again

The smell your scent while she buried her nose to your neck

To your hair...

She misses you always

Even for a couple of minutes without you within her eyesight makes her feel troubled

She misses you to death before even you leave her...

She will use all her strength to not cry in front of you

But the moment you hugged her and kissed her the last time she broke

She never struggled like this

Never felt hurt like this

The devs mentioned that each character will have multiple endings, so I headcanon two different happy endings in this situation

One is being Anisa letting you go while she stays in Astraea

She knows that she might not be able to fit in

You are people of two different worlds

Quite literally

And it shows

Anisa however will never love again after you

She will refuse every potential partner both in her romantic life or in her bed

She will confess her feelings for you and give you her hair ribbon as well as the most painfully mesmerizing kiss...

The other ending being Anisa leaving Astraea with you.

She is half-human and can tell people that her marks on her face are tattoos on Earth

She will see this as an opportunity to start a new life

Without the guilt of who her parents are and what they have done

Without the danger of magical monsters or assassins tracking her all around

She is smart, a quick learner, and curious about Earth

With your support, she can get used to life on Earth and get a job

I am thirsty for Anisa as a workout or martial art trainer

But I can also see her going to college and finish it quicker than expected to work in a school

Counselor Anisa

You two will travel the world together

No matter the lifestyle you live Anisa is happy

She doesn't need a lot of money

All she needs is you

Also another surprise, she doesn't miss Astraea one bit

You are what she calls home now.

Sage

I am a Sage hoe myself but I can't see him leave Astraea with you

He can't fit in to Earth

He has to be free and living on Earth means he has to follow so many rules that he struggles to understand

Also Sage will absolutely refuse to leave Tulsi behind

There are only two people he actually cares about in this world

You and Tulsi

You two are his family and home

He is a family guy

And oh my god does he want to make his family larger secretly

Sage is a character that struggles with emotional confessions

He is also a good liar

So even tho he wants a future with you

If you want children, raise your children together (adopted/surrogacy/biological/a found family...)

Finally settling down and actually live in a home

Sage will experience the feeling of home with you the first time

He never felt safer and not worried about being vulnerable to someone

Having family dinners, family meetings with auntie Tulsi...

Celebrating anniversaries

Getting yourselves in trouble and moving to a different town

Even though he would fight the gods themselves to have this future with you, he will not tell you to stay

He will not say anything at all

He'll watch you and make sure to prepare everything for your return

And to make sure of your security during the process

You will look into his eyes each passing hour, hoping him to say something

Anything

But he will not

He'll only give you his signature soft half-smile with tired eyes

He will drink the entire day before your depart

Spend the whole night with you

Watch you sleep

Memorize your face

Your body

Will listen to your breathing

He will take everything he can get to never forget you

Also, cry too

Silently

Without you noticing

Tears will fall down to the pillow one by one

He wants to scream and tell you to stay but he can't force you to do anything you don't want

Any word out of his mouth might make you change your mind and do the opposite of what you want to do

You have a family too and you have to see them

A life you have to return to...

So if you don't say that you want to stay he will stay silent forever

If you choose to leave, do give him something to remind him of you

A necklace? Your laser pointer? Your foam sword?

He will carry whatever you give him with him

Always

Until the day he dies

Let's say you gave him a necklace, anyone who knew you will feel the pain in Sage when they see him still wearing the necklace after all those years...

He will never love again. It was a one-time thing.

He will not open up to anyone

He will not let anyone see the real Sage the way you did

He might have bed partners but it is not emotional

He is in pain and will either drink or throw himself somewhere to spend the night without thinking anything

But that can only happen if he is too drunk to remember what happened the night before

If you choose to stay, he will feel relieved

Guilty too but mostly relieved

He will build the future he desires with you

But will also look for ways to make you visit Earth and come back

Felix

I don't think Felix can fit in the Earth either

He grew up as the Arcmage's son and spent all his life studying magic

He can't live in a world where magic doesn't exist

He can't live a lifestyle where he will have to learn everything anew

I just think he is too sensitive for our world.

But unlike Sage and Anisa, Felix will ask you to stay

He'll ask you to stay and live a crazy but full of love life with him

He'll promise to take care of you since he is filthy rich

Then admit his fears of losing another lover

If you decide to leave he will feel betrayed and abandoned at first

He'll cry, then disappear for a while, then appear and tell you that you gave him a lot of hope

And disappear once again

He'll get drunk and then cry loudly too...

After Rime, you taught him how to love again

You made him feel safe and supported

Accepted for who he is...

You taught him how to properly love someone

No toxicity

No lies

No rivalry

He only wants to sleep in a bed in your arms around him not wake up for years

The idea of you leaving him hurts like someone stabs a dagger into his heart

He'll start to believe that this is his cruel destiny

To be the one stays while the other leave

He wants to follow you but he knows he can't live with you on Earth

He couldn't even fit in his own house yet...

Once he cooled down he'll admit how important your life back at home to you

And how it is his fault to steal that life away from you by bringing you to Astraea

He will open the portal for you himself

He is not trusting anyone else for this work

Before you leave he will tell you that he loves you and promise to never forget you

Here comes the pain

But he might fall in love again after you

You will always have a different place in his heart and in his memories though!

Felix did try to bring someone he fell for back from death then fall in love with someone else

I just think he will be more flexible with what life brings in front of him

And get even more depressed with time...

If you accept his offer and choose to stay his eyes will see nothing but you from that day and forward

You are officially his spouse now, no ceremony necessary

You will go on the vacation you both need and deserve then get a house to live together

You two will be the scary power couple

People will talk about you two as "the small necromancer and his spouse- yes the spouse. They are the one that fought the Lord of Shadows and the undead Rime. I also heard they got a relic the moment they stepped on Astraea- I KNOW it is crazy..."

Felix will share everything he owns with you, even his thoughts

He is so open to you that he knows you understand him the best

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from acogs: agathon

been a while since yall have seen acogs content, hm? this has to be one of my favorite pieces of it, certainly one of my favorite backstory pieces. i'm so endlessly proud of this part and i just. ahhhh. please enjoy nikolai's innocent childhood bisexual love <3

wc 2100

When Nikolai was ten, he met a boy.

He had brown skin and golden eyes, and the wonder in them could’ve only been matched by Nikolai’s own. His hair never seemed to lie smooth, no matter how much he pushed it down, contrary to Nikolai’s, which always stuck flat to his head and forced his tickly bangs into his eyes. It still does.

He carried the sun around with him, captured pieces of it in his eyes, infused its warmth into everything he touched. Nikolai heard the sun in his laugh, saw it reflected in his smile. In his confused, cagey, ten year old heart, he understood he was around something special.

Agathon, that was his name. Agathon. So smoothly it rolled off the tongue.

He and his family, all seven of them, arrived in Nikolai’s town with their canvas covered wagon, their camels—this was when Windcarpets were less trusted than they are now—and right into Nikolai’s heart. They came from a remote village on the Urkon-Cairic border, a family who made their living from weaving rugs and clothes.

Nikolai was interested in them the day he saw them, but he always thought they paled in comparison to Agathon. His parents were kind to Nikolai, always offered him honey cakes and tea when he visited, and Agathon’s siblings shared their toys. Agathon’s eldest sister taught him to play the lute.

But Agathon…oh, Agathon.

Agathon took to Nikolai immediately. His first words to him were, “You have spots on your face!” which Nikolai later understood to be the light smattering of freckles that appear across his nose in the summertime, put there by the sun.

He and Agathon spent their days talking about everything and nothing, as ten year olds did, racing each other through the long grass to the west of their desert town. Where the Pelia ended on the north side, at the edge of the village, they would drink and dip their feet and shriek when the water was too cold.

In the winter, on the rare days when the cold rains came and they all had to go inside, Nikolai would beg his mother to let him stay at Agathon’s house until she gave in. The two of them slept side by side under layers of fur that only got used once a year, for occasions like this.

Agathon’s father would read them stories by the fire. Nikolai’s house didn’t have a fireplace, and he was always fascinated by this one. Those were the soundest nights of sleep he ever had, his head nearly buried under fur with Agathon’s hair in his face, his father’s soft voice lulling him to sleep. Nikolai took to calling him Father for a while.

Nikolai rapidly felt himself falling into something he was too young to know. All he understood was that his chest seemed to be expanding every day, a little more, filled with a little more sunlight and warmth every time Agathon laughed at one of his jokes.

Nikolai didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him at the end of the day, he wanted to stay for dinner and stay in Agathon’s room, sleeping on the floor by the fireplace if it was too hot for the furs. They would stay up all night talking and waiting restlessly for morning to come, where they could wander farther than their parents knew and would’ve never let them go had they known.

His mother never invited Agathon to their house, but that was okay. Nikolai didn’t want her sourness, her constant scolding bringing darkness to the light in his chest. One touch of Agathon’s hand and he swore he could fly into the very sun that beat down on them every day.

Nikolai once pressed his lips to Agathon’s cheek on impulse, no self-restraint so young, and he remembers the swoop in his stomach before Agathon turned his head and smiled at him with all the warmth in the world. Nikolai didn’t know what it meant, but he knew enough to sigh in relief and accept it when Agathon grabbed his hand. They ran through the grass field together that day, instead of a race.

And then, like most things in his life, his mother ruined everything.

That’s not something he realized until he was much older and she was dead. Hell, even recently, thanks to Katya, he’s been examining her ghost differently. Agathon was the first in many, many incidents she stripped away his privacy, his privileges, down to the way he thought about himself and his desires. Everything became about pleasing her just enough to keep her off his back.

Nikolai had been working up the nerve to tell Agathon how he felt for a few months, because even then he knew that sort of thing wasn’t always met kindly, when his mother broke the news. They were moving, going north to the capital city Thiria, leaving the town he’d lived in his whole life. Agathon wasn’t coming with them.

It would take a year, his mother said, but she would establish herself and her ideas enough to get her son elected by the community as queen. Nikolai had never had a day of sword training in his life, he couldn’t be a king, a fighter, but he had a silver tongue. He would be a queen.

The clever system of choosing queens and kings in every Actium country puts a pressure on the person to be worthy of the throne. If they are both a good diplomat and a good fighter, they choose whichever label they like best. If they are neither, they should not be on the throne. How simple.

After he’d be elected, his mother would buy herself all the fine clothes and indulge in all the food and get all the attention she’d lacked in her lonely life. Nikolai was merely an instrument. Which is exactly what happened.

It’s an accident that as he grew up in the throne, he started to care about Urkon and the people who brought their problems to him every day. When he learned about the ticking time bomb in his front yard, the one that wouldn’t ever explode but always had a small chance, he breathed through it and went on.

He grinned and bore the knowledge, at eleven, twelve, thirteen, that Urkon was so much more than his little western village and Agathon’s old home. He dealt with farmers who needed a land dispute settled, ambassadors from the west and east and north, he had servants waiting on him, silk and velvet, stuffy city air.

He goggled at just how much his mother didn’t care, but how much effort she put into pretending.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

Nikolai doesn’t remember much from after his mother’s bombshell announcement, which is partly good. It’s a lot of gaps in numbness and anger he can never get back, and she’s not around to fill in the details. He remembers holding back tears so many times with Agathon, not wanting to ruin their last precious weeks together.

Nikolai went kicking and screaming. He doesn’t want to know how he looked to the villagers, to Agathon’s family. He remembers the tears running down Agathon’s face, the gold fading at long last from his sunshine eyes. Nikolai’s mother was dragging him away, he was no longer close enough to touch him and shudder through the warmth seeping into his skin. Just the knowledge that he no longer could made him ache for it all the more.

Agathon was screaming for him, too. The pair of them must’ve been the most dramatic thing the townsfolk had ever seen, acting like they were dying. Nikolai remembers the agony on Agathon’s mother’s face, the effort it was taking her to hold her son back from running to Nikolai again. He broke free anyway, sprinting toward Nikolai and tripping over himself.

They were locked in each other’s arms for one last time, ugly crying into each other’s shoulders. “I love you,” Nikolai said, as he had seen Agathon’s parents tell each other while they cooked side by side, laughed, shoved each other playfully when bickering. He knew it meant something. He knew it meant everything.

His mother picked him up and carried him on her shoulder the rest of the way, but he watched Agathon mouth it back.

He only had a year with Agathon, but being ripped away from him was like reaching into his chest and pulling out an artery. He had never known pain like that. He told his mother over and over that first year when she was working her way up in Thiria that his heart wouldn’t stop hurting, he missed home, he wanted to go back.

Of course, he didn’t miss the town that much. Thiria was intimidating, but there was so much to do, always something to occupy him. The one thing he missed more than anything in the world was Agathon and his sunshine smile.

As a child, his feelings were so much rawer. He didn’t bother repressing them because he didn’t know how yet, and his mother wasn’t deep enough yet in her madness to teach him to.

Two years later, when he was queen with his mother the real queen behind him, while he tried and failed every day to buck off her hold, he met Saige.

He had forgotten and moved on from Agathon somewhat, of course. He learned from both his mother and practicality that he couldn’t spend all day crying in bed and begging to go back, threatening to steal a camel or a Windcarpet when he got truly desperate. Agathon wasn’t in his head every moment of every day, but he took one look at Saige and it all came back.

The day he met her, he had heard nothing about her but the king who had been put through hell and needed no one but her war of vengeance, and she heard nothing about him but the queen whose mother always seemed to be there.

The day he met Saige, he got his mother to leave them alone for a while. Looking into her brown eyes, her little smirk, her friendly smile, a little piece of his chest ached, but in a different way than it did for Agathon. Hers was the ache after a dislocated joint snapped back into place. Hers was the stretch in the morning, an ebbing headache, the ache of waiting for a healing wound to finally close over. Something that punched the breath out of you, but in a way that was right. Like it was supposed to happen.

The day he met her, he heard Agathon’s parents in her voice, bickering, shoving each other, watched her move and saw them bumping hips as they did the dishes together. He saw Agathon mouthing his final words to him when she spoke.

He’s never told her this, but Saige healed him. It only got better after that day. After stumbling, falling, she guided his feet and helped him find his footing. She did not replace Agathon, because that would be a disservice to both of them. Nikolai found space easily in his heart for her. It was as though she had just been waiting to move in to the space he had prepared for years.

He loves her. He would burn down the world for her, as he hopes she would do for him.

He doesn’t tell Kayani that, however. He skims over the depth of his feelings for Saige—he’s at peace with them, he has nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s pretty sure she knows, but it’s for them. Not Kayani, not anyone else. Not that.

When Nikolai’s done, Kayani is still watching with rapt attention, a bit of shock. He looks up at the moon and inhales. He didn’t realize he’d been rambling so long. Saige is still asleep, thankfully.

“Did you ever try to find him again?” Kayani asks.

“No. It was never the right time, even after her death.” He thinks of it, now. Trying. But the thought makes his chest ache, so he puts it away.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Hey! I wasnt the one who requested it, but I loved your how would the Blue Lions react to killing their SO! May I ask the same but for the Golden Deer if its alright?

{That was actually one of my favorite requests to write! It’s been a long time so I might be a bit rusty, but let’s give this a shot :)} 

Claude: 

 He had accounted for the possibility of you betraying him. Your disappearance had not been something he took with ease, yet the lack of contact or declaration of death for so long had him thinking 

Emotions are fleeting...the human mind was complex. Your loyalty was never something he wanted to question but he could never put his complete faith in you 

Even when you stood at his side protecting the crests, befriended his people, treated him as a true partner...he just couldn’t completely put his faith in you. Not with so much on the line 

 He wonders if that’s where he went wrong. Heavy rain clouded his sight but the sound of your voice rang dominant across the field. As you stand at Gronder with your weapon focused on his friends- your friends; Claude could not help but momentarily reminisce over the times you instead showed him your smile. The one that temporarily alleviated the weight of his dreams and expectations from his shoulders 

He would be the one to get it back. The professor had already converted other students to their side so there was a chance 

One you didn’t want, as you aimed at their head with tears pricking your eyes. He dismounted his wyvern instantly 

“Was it all a lie? Tell me...is this what you want for your home (Y/N)? Come fight with us” He slowly begins his approach, but the words die out as you attack him this time 

 A shrill battle cry is all he hears before he watches an axe lodge into your side. He’ll never hear the answer, but he didn’t need to. It finally clicked

White hair 

You planned to die 

His brows pressed in further as Lysithea gasped at your fallen form. Before he would have killed to know more about the hidden experiments going on in the empire, but not like this. They’ll come to collect the body before Hanneman can conduct any research, but he’ll give them more. Much more 

Raphael: 

Raphael doesn’t like to think on the battlefield. It’s not that he enjoys pummeling people without a glance, but if he looks back then he won’t look foreword. He’s confided in Ignatz many times after being scolded for running ahead, but when thinking can cost you your life he prefers not to waste the effort 

 Especially because he takes longer to process complex emotions and thoughts compared to the others. He trusts them to be tactical while he uses his muscles to save the day

Back in the day he had a perfectly reliable head to think for him. He cleared their path and they took care of all the important business. The classic ‘brains and brawn’ duo that no one would expect to ever find genuine interest in one another. Aren’t they stereotypically supposed to fight and be at each other’s throats? Not in this case 

“Haha! THAT WAS GREAT! Nice Job (Y/N), I hope today’s menu has meat because you need brain food and I need to feed my muscles!” 

 You knew Raphael and how to predict his movements, and he had complete faith in your judgements. Even at the monastery you both made the most efficient team to do chores  

 Instead of trying to change him, you worked to match his pace and became his partner. On the field and in life. Raphael knew he didn’t have to second guess with you at his side, and he felt what he wanted to feel.

He loved you. Your brains, your laugh, your heart, your cooking no matter good or bad...you. It was an emotion that came easy to him.

Though sometimes he berated himself for not thinking. Sometimes you’d get in trouble if he broke equipment or did something else out of line. Yet you remained patient and calmed him down at the same time.

It was difficult to adjust to fighting without his partner. He essentially had to relearn everything through experience, but he had full hope that you’d come back 

That hope clouded his judgement when he saw you conversing with the professor at Aillel. He was so overcome with joy that he mindlessly pushed aside enemies to get to you without actually examining the scene

His fury took over when the professor’s sword went straight through your stomach.  He tackled them to the ground and it took both Lorenz AND Hilda to pry him away. 

“You idiot! They’re the enemy!” Hilda shouted at him as he settled down. He couldn’t process it. They wouldn’t hurt their family, him.

 Yet, they wore red. Red that grew darker as their blood seeped in 

 Ignatz: 

“Can you paint my portrait?” You asked him one evening long ago. After a particularly grueling training session with the rest of class he had snuck off to sketch the trees by the market. The year was young and he still wasn’t too familiar with all his classmates 

You were new and he had took to your appearance instantly. He could replay your introduction mentally over and over. Your smooth words, slight bow, and the way your feet glided effortlessly to the closest seat you could get to the window. He was of course too shy to approach a new student since he wasn’t the social sort, but luckily he did not have to do much. 

You took the liberty of following him to his painting spot. He was flustered at being found, but you merely plopped at his side and began to eat your lunch. Where you had it stashed beforehand? He still doesn’t know 

 He had never been more aware of another’s presence, and his art showed it as the paper crinkled in his grasp. Yet somehow you seemed enamored at the picture forming on the page, so much that you asked to model 

He grew anxious instantly and decided to head back for his own meal. With no given answer you had left the topic behind, and from then on he began to find you nearby often. From acquaintances to friends, and from friends to ‘lovers without definition’. No confession was ever spoken but he knew you made decisions easier, life joyful, and the rest of his peers agreed as much as he. 

He drew that portrait. He drew it over, and over, and over, and over because he refused to forget your face. He would remember you and fight twice as hard to make up for what you couldn’t give. He swore that to Claude and everyone else when you were pronounced missing in action.

 and now? His eyes glisten as a body fitted under a white tarp lays yards away. You hadn’t tried to harm him but you were healing the enemy. It was decided that you were not with the Empire, but instead travelling through and became swept in the battle. Perhaps you didn’t know? Perhaps you simply decided to help whoever needed it no matter their side? 

He clutches his bow to his chest. One arrow, and you were down. He didn’t know 

He didn’t know but the pictures would never let him forget. The pages never felt the same from then on 

Lorenz: 

Relationships should never be formed unless you have something to gain

It is a nobleman’s duty to protect the weak, the poor, the sick; yet, there must always be distance.

A nobleman must always carry themselves with a sense of professionalism. They must not display weakness, and a true leader is born of being able to separate their personal affairs from that of those they govern. 

 One day Lorenz will be the head of the Glouscer territory, and soon the Alliance as a whole if he has his way. Death must not phase him and he must be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of his people

He follows the laws of a noble. He knows them on paper, but not in practice. 

 Only as he grew during an age of dispute and fighting did he begin to learn that actions differ from voice. All that he pledged as a young man held no meaning, because gradually he began to realize that he is not the most fit to govern Fodlan. He was incapable of completely tossing aside his personal desires or making the best decisions with certainty. Yes, he was well educated and would make a great right hand

Yet the title of leader would never be his. Why? Because he is a noble by definition 

The professor was a noble by heart. A true leader who let actions speak for them and selflessly protected the entirety of Fodlan instead of one singular portion.

 Lorenz is a noble in name, but in nature he is a man. He is a solider, a son, a friend, a politician...a human. One not immune to temptations or the grievances of loss no matter what face he may display for the public eye.

 There was a soul he once found vibrant. They were a mere commoner yet full of dedication. He placed a barrier around them immediately, one he was not allowed to cross no matter how tempted. They did not fit the criteria he sought

 Yet the night of the ball he allowed “them”  the curtesy of a dance. Their warm hand on his own, their body held tightly in his embrace, and lighthearted small talk being tossed between quips about their poor dancing skills 

They left his mouth dry as he bid them farewell to their next partner. He allowed the barrier to resurface as he went his own way

“You must rethink this (Y/N). How could siding with the empire lead to any promising future/ They will kill us all and then themselves in the process! Please, join us” 

“Spoken like a true noble, Lorenz. This social hierarchy has divided people for too long and you would realize that if you’d only look beyond Alliance borders!” 

If only he had grasped their hand longer- listened. They were the first to show him a world beyond his bubble, if only he popped it sooner. 

 Hilda:

You really annoyed her in the beginning. The way you carried yourself like some kind of prophet, or how you’d question everything the professor taught. Was it so hard to just do what was needed and move on? Even with something as simple as weeding the courtyard you always had to add your own two cents

It was like always being under analysis. She got that enough from Claude and didn’t need two people trying to read her. On many occasions she tried to gain traction over you, but somehow her efforts never bore fruit 

For a try-hard you were very accepting of her shortcomings. So long as what you were tasked with got done, the performance of others was never a secondary priority 

If only she could be that carefree about other people’s opinions. Maybe then living would be easier? 

Perhaps you were what she wanted to be? Satisfied with who you were enough to question the world around you while remaining secure with what you had 

Someone with the ability to step beyond your comfort zone and make your own decisions. Respected, knowledgeable...loved for who you are. Maybe that’s what drew her to you and lead to her envy forming into adoration 

and that adoration being trampled by sorrow 

“I still love you so no hard feelings, okay? I can’t back down” is what she told you. It was a taunt, but she did not expect your smile 

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve decided to show your backbone, just think of this as a spar like old times”

The casual talk did not fit the clash of blades that followed. Nor did it suit the battle roaring nearby 

A spar- just like old times. It was a familiar battle but this time her axe did not halt before delivering the deciding blow. 

Her hands shook as your body fell, yet you still appeared at peace despite the gash adorning your back. Perhaps you knew this would be the outcome before the day even began

Hilda did not cry, but asked for you to be buried on alliance soil. If anything she owed you that curtesy

Leonie: 

She would never forgive you. Not today, not ever. 

How dare you choose to side with the people who killed the captain? He never did anything to anybody, and if you chose to betray everyone than Leonie would return the favor

She decided that any history between you two was nonexistent the moment you lifted your weapon. Mercy was a word you forgone long ago when instead of defending Garreg Mache, you slaughtered it’s inhabitants 

She thought you felt the same as well. Yet, fate always liked to twist in ways to hinder justice 

She watched from a distance as the professor approached your fallen form. They had insisted on trying to sway her old classmates, but she scoffed at the mere thought 

What made them think traitors would be good allies? Did they want to be stabbed in the back like their father?...like the captain 

She ignored the sting in her chest as you swatted their hand away. You had some nerve to reject their kindness and it pissed her off. She wanted this entire situation to simply end but- 

Her feet moved on their own

“Why are you such an idiot? Were you always this irresponsible?” her words cut deep, clearly shown by how you turned away. She could only grit her teeth at the stubbornness and reach for her lance 

You made your choice, and clearly it was up to her to deliver justice if no one else would 

So she did what she’s always had to do, the brunt work. With one swing it was over and you were just another count among the others 

She doesn’t know if the captain would praise her for remaining strong or scold her for remaining indifferent 

Lysithea: 

Everything always boils down to one thing: people cannot be trusted. Each and every time Lysithea has allowed someone close it has blown up in her face 

and somewhere deep down, she knew this situation wouldn’t have ended any differently. The world always found new ways to crush what she cared for 

The only question that remains is how much longer will she have to endure? How much longer did she have to fight? 

because now she had to fight for two. She had to find a cure or die trying 

During the battle for Garreg Mache many had been taken prisoner. She hadn’t the empire to conduct unethical experiments; maybe torture, but nothing like what she was witnessing. 

It was a fever dream one couldn’t fathom, but the mindless husk killing without remorse kept her in reality. What had they done to you?

She noticed the white hair in an instant. One of her worst fears had come to life seeing you at the death knight’s side, but the way you hadn’t even flinched when she called your name made her terrified 

Not even a whack of thoron could snap you out of it. She began to lose hope...were you even there anymore? Is this what they had planned for her if she didn’t flee?

“Say something you jerk! Don’t tell me you’re letting some petty magic keep you grounded, fight it!” 

No matter what anyone said it did nothing. When moral dwindled the only solution left was to free you through other means 

The death knight escaped after you fell. Next time...next time he would die at her hand. 

Lysithea instantaneously moved to further her research after your burial. Not for herself, but to find out if you were gone long before they found you. She needed to know if your death was peaceful, if you could see that she tried 

If you would forgive her 

Marianne: 

“This is Nova. I have to leave for a mission, would you watch him for me Marianne?”

 Bright blue eyes bored into hers as she gingerly took hold of the bunny. It’s fur was soft, well groomed. She took notice of how it snuggled into her arms as if it feared no human. Marianne knew instantly that the animal was well loved and cherished. The though made her almost refuse the favor in fear of hurting it, but her classmate’s insistence wasn’t something to fight. 

  Despite her warnings (Y/N) never listened, and at some point Marianne gave up on pushing them away. Their company was appreciated yet she would never say it, and the cuddly creature in her arms truly proved their trust in her 

 She could only nod in agreement as they skipped off to prepare the bunny’s necessities to bring to her room. Marianne hoped she could care for the animal properly, and that nothing would happen to it

She worried for the wrong reasons, as (Y/N) never returned home. They were sent to face Solon and avenge the death of the Professor’s father. Marianne was asked to remain and help in healing injured soldiers from the most previous confrontation. 

·If she knew that would have been the last time (Y/N) would show up in her room, she--no, she wouldn’t have done anything. She may have tried to convince them to stay home but Marianne knows she would have not confessed anything

  Not that she valued their friendship or that she worried for their wellbeing. Not that she was grateful they trusted her with Nova, or that they help her care for her horses. She wouldn’t have even thought it. 

 She didn’t think of it afterwards either. Her fondness for her deceased friend wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if not for the bunny. Despite everything she cared for it as if it were (Y/N) themselves. 

When she sees a familiar figure take charge at Gronder, time freezes. She remembers the bunny sitting in her dorm without an owner. She wonders how abandoned it must have felt to never see it’s best friend again. She feels for the bunny because it’s how she felt.

Without thinking she shoots a blast of magic their way and watches them crumple on the floor 

Why did they abandon their precious bunny? Did they give up on it? Did they give up on her? 

Did you...finally realize you had befriended a monster?

[reginarubie]

Daenerys and narcissism, she also displays it

Daenerys, when the story starts, is a character with which it’s easy to empathize, having been raised on the run by a clearly narcissistic young man (which sets the example for her, because children learn through example and Daenerys has had two examples in her life: Viserys self-entitlement and his weakness and the Dothraki way, she coupled the two things, strength with self-entitlement and she became what Viserys was but more powerful) who abuses her.

But slowly we see her starting to become as narcissistic as Viserys if not more.

Here you find a list of the characteristics of people with narcissistic disorder:

- Have an exaggerated sense of self-importance

“If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VI)

In this excerpt we see her choosing this entity with which she identifies herself (the dragon) over that of a woman. She chooses to see herself as special instead of common. Even though in her world she has been raised to believe herself special (and didn’t feel like a princess until she rode Silver) in this moment she is at a crossroads: being a normal woman with an happy life with her husband and son or choose to be a dragon. She chooses power, to be the dragon.

Now I do believe that as a victim of Viserys and Drogo both as often happens to kid victim of abuse (especially by family) she dissociated and in the rupture she identified with the dragon she sees in her dreams.

But in this moment she believes to be happy with her new life with her first abuser gone and could easily choose happiness in being just a khaleesi and live her life with her family or pursue her brother and hers ambition for the Iron throne.

- Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration

“And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys IX)

“Dany turned on him angrily. "The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike."” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VII)

“They never saw me for a queen, she thought bitterly. I was only an afternoon's amusement, a horse girl with a curious pet.” (A Clash of Kings, Daenerys III)

Which I am sorry, but that is reality doing a check in. No one in Qart cares whose blood she has (from what kings she descend) they care for what she has done, her achievements and for now she is just “the horse girl with a curious pet” we see her own self entitlement, remember this comes immediately after she is thinks that she is not being given not even a cup of water from the Pureborn since she knows she offer poisoned wine to people they deem dangerous.

- Expect to be recognized as superior even without achievements that warrant it

“When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.” (a Game of Thrones, Daenerys IV)

I choose this snippet for a precise reason, until now Daenerys has done nothing, but be a Targaryen that could warrant her a claim to the Iron throne but her brother is still alive, by her own conception Viserys is the one with the claim to the Iron throne (which it doesn’t apply since House Targaryen was dethroned and he had to take the Seven Kingdoms by right of conquest, but I digress) not her. So why does she assumes that her son will sit on the Iron throne? Her brother’s ambition has already become hers, she does not care her brother might marry and have heirs and kids of his own. Her son will sit on the Iron throne.

And she tries to get the Dothraki to recognize her son’s and hers claim to the Iron throne trying to convince Drogo to take the Seven Kingdoms for her and not for her brother. Despite either of them having done nothing to actually take the Seven Kingdoms.

“Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men.

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate. [...] Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VII)

Here we see that despite having done nothing except working behind her brother’s back to get her son on the Iron throne, she is ready to sacrifice the life and freedom of whoever because that is the price of the Iron throne. If that’s not entitlement without achievements to warrant it, I don’t know what might be.

- Exaggerate achievements and talents

In many instances she keeps reminding everyone who crosses her, or tells her no that what she dreams come true, and therefor she is special.

Her whole behavior in adding title after title, her being convinced that if she dreams of it, it will come true... it’s a good attitude, a powerful attitude, until you use it to justify every wrongdoing you do or to obtain what you want in the way that you want without caring for the prospect of the others.

- Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance, beauty or the perfect mate

“He should never have done that. He is thrice my age, and of too low a birth for me, and I never gave him leave. No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. [...] Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow.” (A Storm of Swords, Daenerys II)

And while, yikes Jorah really is thrice her age and there is nothing wrong with wanting her lover to be handsome, that of too low birth for me never sat right with me, because Daario was even lesser of birth than her but since he was handsome to her and she liked him better than Jorah she took him as her lover.

She likes pretty things and worries about power (see also when she is disappointed in Qart they do not consider her a Queen) and more, she cares to take back the Seven Kingdoms and have power to make her realm filled with fat man and maidens, but she never really puts effort to think how to achieve that. She thinks only how to achieve the power and she realizes that herself “"Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver's Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on."”

- Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people

All the times she spews about being the blood of the dragon (they are too many) and uses her being of the Blood of Old Valyria as if she is a goddess among men and should be treated accordingly.

As I have said in the beginning many of this aspects of her personality are due to what she has been taught (that she is special, a notion reinforced because she walked into the fire and survived, but she brings it to the next level and if it was anyone else in real life we’d say they have taken a power trip) and the examples she has been given. I have little doubt that if she had seen people behaving better and in a non pathological way she could stand a chance of not turning in Viserys. As things stand I think she dissociated to survive her trauma (a trauma that still haunts her - she still dreams of Viserys haughtily provoke her) and she identified with the dragon to the point that bit by bit every ounce of humanity is discarded. She still does good, she helps the ill in Meereen and I do believe she is convinced she is helping in the Bay even if she is doing the opposite.

Now, I am no psychologist, I just read and research a lot. If someone else, who is more knowledgeable than I in the matter, wants to give his input I’d be grateful to learn more.

[aarcanechaoss]

Runaway

Okay so I wrote something anyway love you guys :)

Meet Amaya Harlow noble and full time badass

“What do you think you are doing ungrateful child!” A slap echoed in the study. The man in question was Cristano Harlow, noble of the Clover Kingdom. “I keep you fed, I keep you clothed and you can’t do a simple thing for me? Your father!”

The man was in a rage, his fiery hair seemingly matching the flush on his cheeks as a second slap echoed.

“I’m sorry.” Amaya whispered through quiet anger.

“No you aren’t.” He spat before gripping at her hair. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, you will marry anyone I choose, better yet you’ll do anything I say. For example- if my business partner wants to see the merchandise you’ll let him see it…. Understood.”

“Yes sir.”

Grey eyes locked onto the wide fearful eyes of her younger brother- wondering if it would happen to him too. It wouldn’t. Cristano would never lay a hand on his son. His daughter however he slapped for simply answering a question in a way he didn’t like.

That was it. Amaya couldn’t handle it anymore she had to leave.

Once Cristano left Eren stepped towards his sister.

“Amaya?”

“I have to leave Eren.” She said softly. His stormy grey eyes locked with her silvery ones in confusion. “He won’t hurt you. He never has. I can’t live like this anymore.”

It hurt to hear his older sister sound so broken, weak, fragile. She was always boisterous and rowdy with him teaching him magic and sword play she even taught him archery considering that was the only thing their father would boast about her, his eldest child- her incredible archery skills. It was pathetic really that he didn’t see anything else worthy of being a Harlow.

“Where will you go?” He asked. He was only 13 while he understood her leaving he still wanted to know she’d be safe. Thirteen was when he had to start becoming a man his father told him. Amaya gently ruffled his auburn locks, the shade so much lighter than her bright scarlet ones.

“The magic knight entrance exams are soon. Maybe I can join a squad and keep out of fathers radar.” Eren’s eyes sparkled. The idea of his sister being a knight filled him with so much joy.

“Promise to write to me?”

“Always.”

It was only weeks later when she’d escaped and made her way to the capital. A silver locket pressed to her chest with her hand as she navigates through the busy streets towards the arena for the exam. The locket held a picture of Amaya and Eren, a good luck charm from the little wizard.

Next thing she knew she had a number and was waiting for the exam to begin. She pulled her cloak tighter against her for comfort. This might have been insane why did she think she could hide from the Harlow watchers like this? Becoming a magic knight… wouldn’t that put more eyes on her? No. She promised Eren.

The first test was basic, fly on a broom, she felt like a child standing so perfectly upon the old cleaning utensil high above the rest. She sniggered quietly watching people stagger and wobble beneath her.

Next was magic blasting? She had to blast magic at a wall. She wasn’t too sure about that considering blasts weren’t something she ever worked on. With a steady breath she allowed her grimoire to flutter, a new page being written, the royal blue covers seemed to glow happily at the new page making her smile. A small ball barely bigger than her palm appeared, a black spiral formed with what seemed like white sparkles. Her hand buzzed urging her to throw it. Without any beautiful movement she threw the orb hard at the wall tearing a hole clean through. She jumped a little in excitement before straightening herself out and walking towards the next test.

Moving targets. She held back her excitement. Technically there wasn’t anything against her using weapons as far as she was aware but she didn’t bring her bow but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make one out of magic…. Actually no she had something more fun up her sleeve. With a puff of her chest her grimoire came to life once more.

“Rain fall target lock.” With a tilt of her head a grey cloud seemed to form around her grimoire and with a crack rain water seemed to strike its mark with ease. She smiled again, pulling down her hood to hide the glee, that was always her favourite spell.

Time to create something with magic. Amaya’s nose scrunched she has no idea what to do that that task. She could bring over a small Thunder cloud, darken the arena, make it rain or make a shield or mist… that might be a good idea. With a quiet hum Amaya stepped forward hands seemingly just swaying through the air. The squad captains watched closely confused at the simple movement as the air began to still.

“Is she crazy or are we just not seeing what she is?” Jack asked, the captain of the green mantises. Amaya’s head snapped towards the captain making him furrow his brows- had she heard him?

“Excuse me?” Her voice carried towards one of the other examinees.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you could you do me a favour and blast some magic at me. I can create mist shields and well it’s a bit hard to see as you can… well see.” Amaya shrugged. The other mage squinted at the slightly hazy orb just barely visible. They nod. Magic water swirling in their palms.

“Is she actually crazy what’s happening?” Jack asked again.

“She’s got balls is what.” Yami, the Black Bulls captain, laughed.

The mage’s magic swelled before blasting towards Amaya who stood perfectly still. The captains and those watching nearby held their breath only to see a spray of mist swell around her the water magic disappearing at a touch.

“It was a shield.” Amaya yelled out in conformation. Held breaths dissipated- okay she wasn’t crazy that’s good.

Next she needed to help a seed grow. She won’t lie that was very easy especially with magic that involves the rain. It bloomed into a beautiful blue rose, Amaya hummed happily as she held the rose up to be seen- Charlotte was more than impressed by this.

Finally. Amaya had been waiting for this a fight. A mage stood across from her, his magic seemingly water of some kind. Maybe snow she wasn’t sure. With a grin she took a step forward.

“Little missy thinks she’s tough just because she’s been doing so well so far.” He taunted. From the shade of her hood all he could see was the grin that split across her face. Taunting back she laughed lowly.

“Little man thinks he’s special with his pretty purple robes.” He flushed.

“Don’t mock me little girl.”

“Ouch that one hurt.” She snickered. Her tongue swiped across her teeth. “Are you going to fire first or just keep walking backwards?”

“You insolent child.” Within an instant her smile dropped and so did she beneath the shade of her grimoire which was left floating above her cloak. “Where did she go-“

“I’m right here.” She whispered into his ear. His eyes widened and head turned, she was behind him. But how? He wanted to yell. She had only seemed to have rain magic of some kind. “What did I scare you?” She laughed.

“No you lowly peasant. A mere slave like you could do no such thing. You vile rodent of a being.” He barked, trailing into insults many people chose to cover their ears for.

“People like you piss me off.” She spat before blasting him with her new found spell- though more subdued so as to not put a hole in him. He fell to the ground skidding away from his Grimoire. He looked up at her, long scarlet hair shadowing her face, silver grey eyes staring him down as he slowly lost consciousness. “Oops.”

With a yawn she waited her turn cloak now resting comfortably back on her shoulders. Her number should be soon she thinks. She’d heard before the exams began that two new squads had formed over the last few months, Black Bulls and Golden Dawn. Grey eyes scanned the Captains, she really hadn’t thought about who she’d like to join. Definitely not the Silver Eagle or the Grey Deer she wasn’t a fan of the Silva family and while she knows the Grey deer have a good reputation her father spoke of the captain highly so that’s a no. The Coral Peacock didn’t peak her interest and within the lack of feminine traits she has the one thing she got from her mum was at least a sense of fashion- so she wasn’t a fan of the colours sue her. Purple Orca’s also was a no her father was friends with their old captain. Blue Rose didn’t peak her interest, Charlotte was nice they’d met before but all girls meant she’d not be allowed to have fun- Uh yes because Char is a stickler for following rules. Yep. The Green Mantis just wasn’t up her ally she’d definitely butt heads with Jack knowing her personality when pissed off. Crimson Lions… the captain isn’t ugly… but again a stickler for rules and orders she might not get much freedom. The Black Bulls had Yami Sukehiro as its captain, many people in the nobles know of him as the foreigner that pisses off the Royals and such. She might get along with him if memory serves her right from the few times they met when she was sneaking out- doubtfully he’d remember that. Golden Dawn she new nothing about. She didn’t know the captain except that he was a noble and that he wore a mask at all times according to the crowds knowledge. She stared at him, drinking in his posture and movement. He was a kind man probably lenient if this is the first time he’s a captain.

She didn’t expect to see all hands but the fact that Nozel was the only ones who didn’t raise his hand made her smirk- so maybe he’d recognised her she couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“Golden Dawn.” She said before anyone else could.

“You’ll be the first person to-“

“”I said the squad I want to be in referee is that not what I was meant to say?” She asked. Her grey eyes stared up to look at her Captain who gave a genuinely kind smile.

“Well uh-“

“Welcome to The Golden Dawn you’ll be shown to your designated area by a guard.” William interjected. She nodded before walking off.

Yami whistled lowly to his friend.

“Can’t tell if you bagged an insane woman, an attractive woman or one that’ll fuck you over.” Yami joked.

“Now Yami don’t be crass.”

“Don’t deny her beauty I saw you watching her.”

“We all where.” William responded quickly.

“Sure sure.” Yami laughed.

William rolled his eyes, he could tell she’d make a great asset.

[startanewdream]

Chasing Dreams

Summary: When Ginny Potter is having doubts about her pregnancy, her father-in-law shows up to give her some help, flying time and, of course, present his suggestion of baby names.

Read on AO3 or below:

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The wind blows in her face and Ginny closes her eyes, happily, enjoying the feelings that only the breeze over fifty feet in the air can bring. It's been a while since she has felt that breeze, considering the doctor warned to…

Doctor? 

She opens her eyes, confused, but she can't remember anything specific. In fact, she doesn't even remember exactly how she got there - she knows she is on her Firebolt, well above ground, in a Quidditch field that looks like the one in Hogwarts; there is a mist around the field, but she thinks she can see the edges of the castle. It's been years since she played there. Perhaps she had a contusion? She can't recall, but still, it would take more than a Bludger to stop her from playing Quidditch.

'First season in the Holyhead Harpies, third match, right?', asks a voice close to her and she turns to see Harry slightly below her, also on a broom, his face turned away from her.  She thinks there is something strange with his voice. 'That's the game a Bludger broke your foot after fifteen minutes of play and you refused to leave the game'.

Ginny nods, laughing at the memory.

'I told Gwenog that I needed my arms to play Chaser and they were working perfectly fine'.

'And Harry didn't know if he should be mad at you or kiss you'. There is a playfully chuckle. 'Guess we know which won in the end'.

'Harry…?'

The man turns to her, and now Ginny can see it's not Harry. He looks remarkable like Harry though, but the man with her has more lines in his face, his black hair is starting to recede, his nose is longer, and his eyes are completely different. Hazel eyes that shine with more mischief than she ever saw on Harry.

For a moment, Ginny is troubled, feeling like there is something wrong there; then she relaxes, as some part of her mind recognises him.

'I hope you are not listening to gossip, Mr. Potter', she says, grinning at James Potter with the feeling they are sharing a long-lost joke.

'You mean that article of the Witch Weekly saying how you and Harry like to shag on changing rooms, Mrs. Potter? Because I would never read that kind of gossip'.

'As if', Ginny scoffs lightly. 'Everyone knows you and Sirius are the worst tattletales ever, Mr. Potter'.

He laughs in agreement.

Ginny can't remember when that started, but she knows calling him formally is supposed to be a joke between them. Like he was annoyed when she first called him Mr. Potter ('It's James, Ginny, Mr. Potter was my old dad') until she started dating Harry, and then he'd started calling her Mrs. Potter long before they even began thinking about taking that step.

Ginny doesn't remember exactly - a lot of things seem mussed in her head -, but she thinks of a hug on her wedding day, hearing James Potter telling her she was already a Potter even before the wedding vows.

She thinks she might have dropped a tear back then, though the exact memory evades her.

'Well, you and Harry are our favourite celebrity couple', assures James. 'But I promise I give you privacy always - no matter where you are, though I must note that Weekly Witch tends to be right once in a while'.

Ginny feels warmth through her body that has nothing to do with the bright summer day - is it summer? She thought they were in February… -, as her mind perfectly recalls the aftermath of last year’s final match of the Quidditch league, when she and Harry had postponed the victory party in favour of him helping her ease all the tension from the match…

James coughs, as if to draw her attention, and Ginny blushes, trying to think desperately of something that could back away the memories of being with Harry in the shower and how his mouth -

'Quidditch!', James cries suddenly, drawing her attention. 'How about one-sided Quidditch? We can bet who scores the most'.

Ginny is about to say they have no Quaffle to play when she notices the ball in her hand. She doesn't remember taking the ball - and there is a nagging feeling she shouldn't be playing…

'Ginny?', calls James, and when she looks at him, he is smiling gently. 'It's okay, you can play now'.

His tone is reassuring, and she lets herself believe in his words. Besides, though she can't recall the reason, she feels like she misses flying; this should be silly - ever since she left school, all she’s been doing is playing Quidditch professionally, though in the last months…

The thought eludes her again.

Thinking no more of it, she throws him the Quaffle and goes to the hoops. Ginny was never a very good as Keeper - she can play Seeker very well and she loves chasing, of course -, but she can defend somewhat; most of the time, she just watches James Potter flying, dodging some Bludgers that come out of nowhere, and she thinks he flies really well, like if he really trained for it, instead of being more natural like Harry; his moves are perfectly executed, like a professional dancer.

He manages to score a few goals before she finally gets his ticks. James likes to show himself off; even when he has a clean shot, he likes to do manoeuvres that almost make him break his neck, before throwing the Quaffle.

'Oh, you got me', James admits in a defeated voice after she makes the fifth consecutively defence. 'Lily warned me that flaunting would only lead to me embarrassing myself'.

'You are good', Ginny assures him hurriedly, but James just shakes his head, undisturbed.

'I used to be, but I'm rusty. Well, fair is fair. Let's switch positions. Don't be afraid to put your father-in-law to shame, huh?'

Ginny grins. She flies to the middle of the field and as soon as he throws her the Quaffle she begins.

Her style is almost close to his, she realizes; they've both been trained. But Ginny is a top Chaser and there is a reason she holds the scoring-record from the Quidditch League, so after twenty minutes, James refuses to give her back the Quaffle after she scores another goal.

'I think that's enough', he says. 'Sirius won't stop laughing when he hears I barely managed one save that was luckier than any talent on my part'.

'We can keep it a secret', Ginny promises, and she thinks once more this is one of the things she and James Potter share.

How she never tells when she catches him eating the last piece of cake that Lily saved for herself, and how he never tells her mom the time she managed to be drunk at the Potter's New Year's Eve Party.

She can't specify in which year that happened, but it seems like something that could have happened - then it means it did happen, right?

‘You are really excellent’, James says, flying closer. ‘I’d seen you already, but playing with you…’’

Ginny frowns, not knowing how to answer. His comment seems off; of course, they’ve played before, in one of the many times she had dinner over the Potter’s and Harry convinced them to a family Quidditch game on cool nights. They all would play, her brothers against James and Sirius, teasing them for their old age to which they’d answer that they had more experience, while Lily would laugh, acting as a referee and asking them to avoid faults for once.

That had happened, she can’t have imagined it…

‘You remind me of myself, you know’, James adds, distracting her. ‘We both have been flying since we were young, and I’ve broken more than once through my parent’s broom shed’.

‘I thought your dad was the one who taught you how to fly’.

‘He did, but he and my mom were a bit protective. You know, I was their only son… They wanted me to fly safely, and it took them a while to see that if they didn’t want me to do something, then -’

‘Then they shouldn’t forbid you’, Ginny concludes for him, smiling knowingly. ‘Yeah, half the reason I wanted to fly so much was that my mom said I was too young and my brothers refused to let me play’.

‘See? We were both rulebreakers’. He winks at her. ‘Between you and me, that’s what attracted Lily and Harry to us’.

She raises her eyebrows.

‘Harry broke more rules than I ever did’.

‘Says the girl who once broke the headmaster’s office to steal a sword’, remembers James fondly. ‘Still, they both like to break some rules now and then, but their passion is not on it. That’s why we are so good to them. We encourage this side of them’.

‘You approve us. I mean, me and Harry, together’.

Ginny doesn’t know why this information is important to her; it should be something that she already knew, but still a part of her feels warm at the thought. It’s like if she had always wondered if James and Lily would like her, would approve her relationship with Harry, would cheer them...

He throws her a funny look.

‘Of course I do. I mean, for a while I thought Harry was totally going to miss you, and Lily had to forbid me of doing anything - I was just going to nudge him in the right direction, come on -, but things turned out perfectly, didn’t they? You should see me when you first kissed - I was practically waving little flags written “H&G” in a heart…’

His voice suddenly stops, and James blinks as if he realizes he is oversharing. Ginny’s smile, which first came out when he was telling his reaction, dies slowly as she registers what he is saying.

It’s wrong, somehow. James Potter couldn’t be there.

Harry first kissed her in the Gryffindor Common Room, after the Quidditch game and he was alone because he’d been in detention with Snape - Snape who had always disliked Harry, even though he’d protected Harry all in the name of a long-lost love…

A love that had died with her husband years ago.

Ginny blinks and then she chokes as if the air is not enough to breathe, as if she is underwater instead of flying well above ground. With a sigh, James pushes her towards one of the stands and she barely notes he’s helping her to sit.

She breathes slowly before returning to look at James Potter. He looks younger now somehow, younger than her even, barely in his twenties.

And he looks worried at her, which she thinks is kind of ironic considering he’s been dead for the last twenty-four years.

Oh, goodness, he is dead. And if she is seeing him… She remembers Harry telling her, so many years ago, how he died once, how he saw Dumbledore then...

‘You are fine’, James assures her, looking at her as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. ‘You’re sleeping on the couch of your house right now’.

She nods, still dumbfound, and her hand falls to her lap. Her flat lap.

Now panic crushes over her, more than before when she thought she was dead, and she remembers exactly why the doctor told her she shouldn’t fly anymore, why she hadn’t played Quidditch in the last six months…

‘Your baby is fine too’, adds James. There is a thoughtful smile on his face. ‘This is just a dream, Ginny’.

Relief floods over her, even though she can’t help but think it’s strange not feeling her swollen belly or being able to see her feet.

Now that there is no problem - that her baby is safe - she looks around curiously. As if the mist of early had suddenly vanished, she can see the Hogwarts castle in the distance.

‘I never really played anywhere else’, says James fondly, looking in the same direction. ‘All my Quidditch career was here in Hogwarts, that’s why you are dreaming of here’. He sighs. ‘People always told me I should’ve played professionally’.

Ginny remembers hearing Sirius and Remus describing James, a long time ago, on quiet nights in Grimmauld Place.

‘Sirius always told me how good you were, Mr. -’, his eyes catch hers and she grins. ‘James’.

‘I enjoyed showing off too much. Here in Hogwarts it may have worked, but it’s a cooperative game, I would have sucked playing it in a real league’.

‘I don’t know’, says Ginny slowly. ‘What I like chasing, more than seeking, is teamwork, knowing the other players and working together as one. And for all I’ve heard, you were very good at making people trust you and trusting back’.

‘With one exception’, he murmurs and there is a shadow on his face. ‘Well, I never had the opportunity nor the interest. But who knows what might have happened?’

Ginny feels the same shadow in her heart. She doesn’t know what James Potter would have done with his life, but there are other things she knows – how he’d watch every game that Harry played, how he’d be his son’s most passionate fan, how he’d give his grandchildren their first broomstick.

This thought makes her sad and she feels tears coming to her eyes, as easily as during the first trimester of her pregnancy, when everything made her cry.

‘Oh, no, no’, James says hurriedly, looking at her worriedly. ‘This dream is not supposed to upset you. I thought I could distract you’.

‘Sorry, it’s just - I wish you had played Quidditch instead of being in a war…’

‘I’ve fought in a war so Harry and you and all your generation could be free to do whatever you want. And if it meant I’d die for it, I’d do it again without thinking’. He smiles assuringly. ‘That’s what being a parent means, Ginny. Doing anything for your child’.

She bits her lips and looks at James Potter’s eyes. Even though the colour is very different from Harry’s, she thinks there is the same comfort there, the same patience and the belief that things will turn out fine somehow if you just never give up.

‘I don’t know how to be a mother’, she admits, whispering something that she hadn’t dared say out loud because she never thinks anyone could understand her. Her mother had seven children, Hermione doesn’t think of kids yet and Harry…

Harry is even more worried about himself as a parent than her, and all things considered, she doesn’t want to burden him with her worries.

‘No one does because there is not a formula’. He chuckles lightly. ‘Me and Lily - I don’t know who was more in panic. We were young, we never had even discussed kids, the war was at its peak… But we managed. You will too, and you won’t be alone. That makes all the difference. Sirius, Remus and -’, he hesitates briefly, ‘- Peter didn’t know how to change diapers any better than we, but having them there, having a family… That’s what you need and that’s what you already have’.

‘It’s just not this. I can learn all these things and Harry is there to help but… I worry about me’. She avoids his eyes. ‘I know it’s incredibly selfish, but I don’t know what I will do with a kid, it changes everything, and I’m scared… Not very Gryffindor of me, I know’.

‘The thing I’ve learnt is that being a Gryffindor has less to do with never being afraid and more with never letting fear control you. And from what I’ve seen of you, Ginny, you never let anything control you’.

She nods, in silence. Not being controlled is something she is adamant about ever since she was eleven.

‘You get the right to be scared for you. Of course you do. You don’t stop being you when you become a mother. And you are twenty-three. You still have time to figure it out’. He gestures to the field. ‘If you want to go back, you can. If you want to lay down and retire, you can too. Like you once said, everything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve – and you have that more than most’.

She lets the words – her words – fill her, trusting in them.

‘I - thank you, James’.

‘No problem’, he says dismissively. ‘That’s me, calming future parents’.

‘What?’

‘Nothing’. He presses his lips for a few seconds. ‘That is why you are dreaming now, you know? I saw how worried you were, and I thought maybe we could talk a little. It’s always good to chat with your favourite daughter-in-law’.

‘Am I not the only one?’

‘Still my favourite’, he promises, and Ginny believes in him.

She glances at him. Now James is playing with a Golden Snitch that has just appeared, almost absently, seeming to just enjoy the wind that messes with his hair.

Now she knows she’s dreaming, these things seem to make less sense than before, but still she knows – even though no one told her before – that, like her, James always felt better flying than walking on the ground. If she closes his eyes, she can imagine being with Harry in the living room of the Potter’s house, listening to James recounting his best Quidditch matches, laughing of how he exaggerates in his stories until Lily teases him with the description of what really happened.

(‘I wasn’t knocked by the Bludger, Lily, it was just a scratch’) (‘James, you stayed on the Hospital Wing for three days) (‘Only because you were there watching over me, I could have left the first day, but you were so worried that I let you care for me’) (‘You prat, I was worrying madly over you’) (‘That’s because you were already madly in love with me’) (‘Merlin, could you two find a room to ourselves? You are embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend’)

Ginny blinks, disorientated. These memories can’t be real, but somehow she can almost feel the heat from the fireplace, the softness of the couch as if she and Harry were sitting there now. She can hear their laughter echoing in the room.

‘I know’, James says quietly and sadly. ‘It would be amazing if it had happened, wouldn’t it?’

‘How –‘

‘I think you are just one of those people with the power of imagining. Seeing what it could have been’. He sighs, looking beyond her. ‘It’s good, but it’s also dangerous’.

‘It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’, she recites, thinking of Harry telling her this a long time ago.

‘Dumbledore always had the best phrases. It’s a good advice’. He smiles. ‘Still, Ginny, if there is one thing you could really remember from this dream… Talk to Harry. About your worries. He will listen and support you’. He sighs. ‘Almost ten years and that kid is still deeply in love with you, you know?’

‘I do’, says Ginny calmly.

Their love is one of the things that always keeps her going. Harry encourages her as much as he encourages him, and she doesn’t know how she’d deal with their unplanned and unexpected pregnancy if it wasn’t for him. 

‘Well, it’s obvious by now, but I always supported you. I told Lily ever since you first defended him that you would be together’. He grins. ‘It earned me five sickles’.

Ginny doesn’t know what money is good for someone who is not alive, but she is tactful not to say anything.

‘So Lily didn’t support me?’, she asks instead, rather worriedly.

James blinks.

‘What? No, of course she did. But she bet you’d be together only in his Seventh Year, and I bet Sixth. Harry was much better than me, he couldn’t take that much time…’

‘He took long enough’, Ginny says playfully. This brings another sad smile to his face.

‘Well, he was slow considering -’

‘He was too busy saving the wizarding world, yes’.

‘I saw you two, you know’. He rolls his eyes. ‘Well, not when you took your strolls in the grounds and certainly not in all those detours to broom cupboards, but when you were sitting together in the Common Room, just side by side, holding hands, hugging. This is something Harry never had enough of in his life. Physical contact. If I could give you any advice… Hug your kid. Let him always know he’s loved and cherished’.

‘I will’, she promises. ‘Harry too’.

James nods, then he raises.

‘I think our time is almost up. How about a last flight around the pitch? I know you miss flying’.

‘Oh, I do’. She grabs her broom, but before she mounts it, she turns to him. ‘Huh, James? I know that Harry would probably say something like this is real as long as I think it is… But just between us, is this real?’

‘Harry is usually right about these things’, he says cryptically, winking at her.

‘So if it’s real… no offense, but why seeing me, not Harry?’

‘It was you who needed some comfort and Harry already knows I am always with him. Plus, I couldn’t help but think…’

He hesitates, looking sheepishly at her.

‘I just noticed - like I said, I watch sometimes and - I know you know it’s a boy - I noticed that you and Harry never discussed names - so if it’s up for suggestion -’

‘James’, she stops him, smiling. ‘Harry and I never discussed it because there was never a question. Our baby will be called James, there wasn’t ever doubt about it’.

‘Oh’.

James’ grin is infectious, like watching the sun burning, and Ginny is reminded of how brightly Harry smiled when she told him he was going to be a father.

She’d always listened to people saying how Harry looks like his father, but this is the first time she really sees it. It’s more than the physical appearance.

She wishes Harry were with her in this dream.

‘I was just worried, you know’, James says after a minute, with barely contained satisfaction. ‘If you would think of naming him Elvendork - even though it’s unisex, always good - or after Severus Snape, imagine that’.

‘James Severus would sound catastrophic’, Ginny grins at the horror in his face. ‘But I’m more inclined to James Sirius. Much more explosive and -’

‘Marauder’, completes James, smiling. ‘That kid will be lucky to have you as his parents’.

‘Thank you, James. Not only for your confidence in us, but for… well, everything’.

‘It’s me who has to thank you. You gave Harry a family. That’s the only thing I ever wished for him’.

He mounts his broom.

‘Shall we?’

She laughs, delighted, and joins him for a last flight in the field.

[darkhymns-fic]

Hopes of Summer

At what should be a happy family outing, Kratos worries about the inevitable when he catches sight of Anna's Exsphere.

The pain of losing someone should not have been new to him at all.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Kratos Aurion/Anna Irving, Lloyd Irving, Noishe Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Fic for Day 1: Aurion Family Day/Free Day for @krannaweek! This got more angst then I meant it to but with fluff in the end to make up for it.

--

Kratos had only been eight when he started to learn swordsmanship from his father – true lessons instead of play, wooden blades held in his palms so that he could get used to the weight of eventual metal.

War had already long started. There was no time to rest, not for him. It was something that didn’t need to be said out loud to be understood.

Just the feel of his father’s hands correcting his own (Don’t hold it so tightly, you will break your wrist before long) and the curt nods of a soldier, teaching him to survive.

And in war, you must survive.

Yet even still, Kratos had fallen to his knees, arms shaking with his plain, wooden weapon. In a real battle, the quick lunge from his father’s sword would have ended him right there. Another bloodstain on the grass, another lost soul of the Tethe’allan country. Instead he saw the gleam of the sharp blade pointed at his throat – a split-second, nothing more – before it was pulled back.

“You must keep practicing,” his father told him, a voice that many years later, he could barely recall. He could not remember the man’s face, nor his mother’s. Four thousand years was too long for one to live, too long for one to remember anything of value. “Don’t make any more mistakes.”

Just the sensation of the ache in his palms, the fear that ran through him at the sight of the blade so close, the question in him that rose when he heard those words directed towards him.

You must, you must, you must. Since then, his life had been full of acts that he must do.

But it only made his regrets pile up until it became uncountable.

The calluses from his sword practice would always remind him of that.

When his father later died in battle, he had not wept at all. For that was not something he had ever been taught.

.

.

.

--

“…You’re not feeling well.” A stated fact more than a question.

Anna pushed aside Kratos’ hand with a sigh. “As I told you for the dozenth time, I’m fine. Don’t fret over me. I barely have room to breathe.”

It was rare for them to room at an inn, but the summer months in Sylvarant could be so unforgiving. No amount of shade was enough to weather the humidity, for his wife or his child. So it had to be an inn, in a small, isolated town, where at least the walls could shelter them from heat – if only briefly.

Yet still, Anna’s face was flushed, her forehead covered by sweat. She sat up, but not without effort.

Kratos held up his hands, as if to reach out to her again. “You should keep resting-”

“What did I just tell you?” She shot back, bit her lip as if just tasting something so bitter. “I’m sorry. But I said that I am alright. I’m just winded from the walk. Let’s enjoy the day, please?”

He didn’t want to keep saying it, despite her complaints. He didn’t want to comment on how much slower her steps seemed to be, on how much paler her skin was, on how often she seemed to lose her breath.

The symptoms were all too obvious by now.

(If he looked further, where her shirt covered it, would he see it? How the skin around her Exsphere was more wrinkled than before, how it must have been red and inflamed, how the pain must have centered there, as it always was…)

He had to stop himself, cutting the despair off, as sharply as cutting off an infected limb.

“Then let me get you some water first before we go out. Is that acceptable?”

She sighed again, but this time with a little smile. “I wonder if you will ever stop being so formal, but I suppose that’s just who you are…”

To the side of her was a small bundle, just underneath the bed covers. It moved and made a sound, a mixture of a snore and a little gurgle. The blanket curled in on itself around that same bundle, until it was all folds and snores.

Kratos looked to the little bundle with concern.

“He can…still breathe under there, yes?”

“You are such a worrier today.” But Anna humored him by carefully unwrapping the blanket, revealing first the soft brown spikes of his hair, and then the puffy curves of his cheeks, along with a clenched fist that was half being sucked on, knuckles disappearing into the boy’s mouth.

Still, Kratos worried a little…

“See? Lloyd is just fine. He’s probably having a nice dream right now!”

Small and vulnerable, stuck in sleep. Lloyd had been crying from the heat, but once inside, he still wanted to curl up in the bedcovers, to stay close to his mother. The inn room was simple, a single room with the window half-open, the curtains letting in the breeze that he wished had been about while they had been walking. The bed itself was small, but he had been fine giving it only to Anna and Lloyd. He didn’t need any sleep himself.

Yet, as Anna reached over to Lloyd, hands gently taking his drool-covered fist, pulling down the red shirt he loved to cover his stomach, a cough left her throat. Then another, and another, making her lean over, back arched like the gentle slope of the hills outside.

Kratos placed his hands on her, his calluses hidden by his gloves, yet could not hide the shaking of his fingers. “Anna!”

She breathed harshly at first, the sound enough to wake up Lloyd fully. Eyes blinked, the same shade as his hair. The child turned around, eyes curious as he watched his father cling to his mother. Could he see the fear that he was feeling right now? Could he even understand?

“Kratos, you’re scaring him.” Anna spoke so clearly, so strongly, that it belied the pained position she was in. She gathered Lloyd into her arms, and the child only continued to blink. He didn’t cry, and this was the same boy that would weep over Noishe not giving him a ride on his back.

“You said you would give me water?” she gently reminded.

Kratos felt the pain in his palms, but swallowed it down, taking a step back. “Forgive me. I will bring you some.”

“Thank you.” Anna raised her head, and she was smiling once more. Lloyd was clinging to her shirt, his hands curling into the fabric and pulling down from the neck.

From there, Kratos saw the hint of the Exsphere. He saw the redness around like a ring, the wrinkled skin, the hurt he knew she felt.

He turned to get the water for from the pitcher set on the side table. He hoped the feeling he felt in his throat wasn’t regret.

--

Lloyd was laughing wildly, holding out two wooden sticks in his hands as he rode on a whining Noishe, bouncing along in his seat within the green fur and shouting, “Go! Go!”

Kratos had never felt more of a nervous wreck as he watched his son nearly fall several times, always eventually righting himself up with a great show of flailing his small arms. So Kratos hovered near, following along the Arshis as it went in the direction Lloyd was yelling out gleefully, using one of his sticks to point the way.

It was early evening, the air finally cooling down, leaving a gentler summer breeze. Anna was seated in the grass, watching as Lloyd led his mount to wherever he wanted. They had left the inn for a small stroll outside, down by hastily-arranged wooden fences, by the dirt roads that led into the isolated town, where dragonflies flitted about to dance across a small lake that was nearby. Only a few eyes turned their way, most retreating to their homes, though unsure why tourists would ever come to such a place.

Kratos gave little thought to it – only to his son which he continued to fret over, and to Anna that he saw by the corner of his eyes. She was not as pale now, or coughing as much. Still, Kratos saw the occasional tremble.

“Are you sure you can catch up to them?” she called out with a grin. The waning sunlight fell over her hair, burnishing it. He could see the same effect on Lloyd’s hair when he turned to look.

“I am simply watching over him…” he protested, still hands held up, ready to catch his son at any moment.

“And you seem to be doing very well!”

Noishe unexpectedly did a little hop then, one that made Lloyd squeal and Kratos stiffen. One of the dragonflies had rushed across the grass stalks to then land on the animal’s nose. A whine as his paws danced over the ground, with a sneeze to get the dreaded bug off. Lloyd only laughed afterwards, even as he waved his arms to maintain his balance.

Kratos stiffened, resisting the urge to just take Lloyd away and to wrench those sticks from his hands. Anna had insisted he be allowed to play with them, but they had look so rough and crooked, and he could imagine the scratches already on his son’s palms.

“Noishe,” he simply said, his tone having only a hint of hardness. But somehow, Lloyd’s voice was even louder, drowning his out.

“Go!” He was shouting again, trying to slash away at the dragonfly that had so upset Noishe. He missed his swing by a wide margin, but seemed to enjoy the action regardless. “Go, Noishe!”

He saw the creature’s big ears perk up, saw the way he danced around on his paws. Was he listening to Lloyd?

“Goooo!” Lloyd shouted once more, pointing up ahead where a small hill undulated before them, where it led to thickets that dotted the ground, rustling in the breeze.

And somehow, just like that, Noishe had taken off, running so fast as Lloyd shouted into the wind itself. A blur of green and brown, seeming to fly right over the grass to reach the hills and disappear into those same thickets where the sun could not push through, where the leaves seemed to swallow them up immediately, out of sight.

Maybe it was just instinct, in the end.

Kratos had rushed over to them so quickly, he could barely notice his legs moving. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he had slipped and used his wings, foolishly where others could see him, even in such a small, barely populated village. He broke through branches and leaves to catch up to a boy and his dog-like companion who continued to run.

He hadn’t meant to react so hastily, but he still held the image of Anna’s Exsphere in his mind, the meaning of it weighing on his shoulders. It made him feel slow, and weak, and somehow despite all that, he halted in front of Noishe’s path, making the creature stutter in his steps. Lloyd did another squeal, arms stretched out wide as he saw his father with them. He had already lost one of the sticks he had been waving about so proudly.

Kratos rounded on Noishe, voice has hard as flint. “Stop!” He clenched his fists, the tide of anger and fear in him impossible to overturn. “What would happen if he had fallen?! You’re supposed to keep him safe!”

The sound of his own voice, full of incredibly guilt, finally made him stop – but not before it was too late.

It had been enough to make the Arshis do more than halt. A quick backwards step of four paws, upturning the soil beneath. The giant ears that soon edged downwards in a soft arc, the rapid blinking of dark eyes. It was still a marvel that he hadn’t whined right away, even as he soon did so, the sound a little keening as fallen leaves were crushed beneath them.

Lloyd had also stopped, surprised by Noishe’s movements, by his father’s anger. The action made him drop his last branch to the ground…and then the familiar sheen of tears appeared in his eyes.

The sight was nothing new to him at all. But now, just now, he felt something prick his chest, seeing both Lloyd and Noishe shiver, knowing himself to be the reason for it. “Wait, Lloyd-” He walked up to them, all while Lloyd continued to cry harder, and Noishe’s whines matched with his.

His son wept so much. Kratos couldn’t remember the last time he had even shed a tear.

“Can you hold him?” a voice asked him.

There was Anna was to his right. He had no idea how he hadn’t heard her, when he could hear the careful steps of a starving wolf from miles ahead. But when he turned, she was there, her face pale, her hair a little haggard. She had run after them as well, and though she tried to hide it, he could hear her quickened breath.

“Kratos, please,” she said, gesturing as Lloyd continued to cry, his tears falling onto Noishe’s fur. “And put your wings away.”

So he had used them, only now noticing the glow of blue that cast over her, the motes of sapphire in the air. Hastily, he de-summoned them, feeling foolish.

But the tone in her voice was different than usual, something he couldn’t place. Was she angry at him? Disappointed? But he couldn’t deny her instructions, and so Kratos went to pick up Lloyd who continued to sniffle, but now right into his very shirt. (He could wash it later, he supposed).

Noishe had then gone to lay down in the grass, tail laying dejected, his fur making him blend in with the greenery all too well, almost hiding too well within the thicket they had blundered into. But still he saw the dark paws stand out, along with the pink of the Arshis’ tongue, half-lolling from his mouth from the heat that still lingered, and the exertion from before. He looked so ashamed that it made Kratos regret his earlier words.

It was something he found himself often doing.

He was surprised though to see Anna kneel besides Noishe, hands reaching out to scratch behind one of his giant ears. The whining continued, but it lowered considerably, along with a tail lightly thumping the ground.

Kratos still felt Lloyd crying into his shirt, completely unsure of what to say.

“You know,” she said, fingers finding the right spot for Noishe, his eyes closing, his great head leaning against her hand. “You are not as good at hiding your secrets as you think you are.”

A sentence that left him stunned, if only for a little while. Lloyd’s cries lessened, and by now he could feel his shirt becoming drenched with snot. He patted his son’s head and let his fingers tangle in his messy hair.

“You look at me like I will die at any moment now.”

The chill ran up his spine, immobilizing everything except his voice. “No, I’m- I’m not. I am only worried. The weather has not been good for your condition-”

“And what is my condition, Kratos?” Anna raised her head, and with the sunshine angling down, it was hard to see her expression, the way the light cast shadows from the trees, the way it made his eyes blink. “You still haven’t told me what this thing I carry will do to me. But I guess you don’t really need to. I’ve known for a long time what will happen. I’ve been at that ranch for longer than I would care to remember.”

A small hiccup from Lloyd against his chest. Kratos thumped a hand against his back, trying to soothe such them away. “Anna…”

She turned away, instead facing Noishe again, planting both hands into the creature’s fur to continue her petting. Noishe let her, knowing now this was more for herself than for him. He hair fell, revealing the chain of a pendant he had given to her long ago.

“I don’t want you to look at me like that. I…don’t want to be reminded of what will happen to me…” She freed one hand from the fur to wipe at her eyes. “Because I see how it eats at you, until you let it show. I only want…to enjoy what we have. I don’t want this…thing I have.. to hang over us until then.”

Another soft hiccup from Lloyd. He had his eyes half-shut, his crying making him sleepy. This was fairly normal for him.

Kratos took a breath, then sat down on the grass next to Anna, just a few feet away from Noishe. He took a moment to speak, finding everything in his much too long years giving him absolutely nothing.

But soon, he had to say something, even if it was weak and uninspired.

“It is no excuse… but I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.” He rubbed Lloyd’s back, watching how his son’s blinking was slowing, how the eyelids fell. “I just don’t want to…lose this.” And he realized then, the fear that held him. “I never want to lose this. But acting like this will only…make it seem like I already have. I’m sorry…”

She faced him, and he saw again her Exsphere, still looking pained. He knew how the stone would soon take everything away from her, and it was hard to not think on it. The future had suddenly felt so dark and ominous, with no clear roads to turn to.

But when she looked at him, he saw a curious change in her eyes. Something of bewilderment. Not the first time he had seen it from her, for he tended to do things that confused her, but he was not sure of what could cause it, at this moment.

“You’re crying,” she said. And with that, she stretched her hand to brush at his hair. “Huh. Now I know where Lloyd gets it from.”

Kratos blinked, and just then he felt it. The soft trek of a tear down his cheek. It confused him greatly. He reached out wipe it away, the sensation so unfamiliar that he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling. “I’m…sorry, I didn’t-”

“Now why are you apologizing over that?” Anna shook her head, then leaned in. The action was quick, her lips over his, the kiss warm and heating up his face significantly. All the while, Lloyd continued to snore in his arms.

From the closeness, he saw her Exsphere up close. The pain there was still apparent, skin around it still inflamed, but the fear he felt was not as prominent anymore. Not with her kissing him to soothe it all away.

Anna was smiling when she leaned back, once again running a hand through his hair, playing with it. “You can be so silly sometimes.”

“Uh.” Kratos once again had no idea what to do with her words. He flushed, eyes turned back to Lloyd as he slept on. “T-Thank you…”

There was just the wind rustling the grass, the chirping of crickets as the sky above them darkened. Noishe had stopped whining, but he still looked a bit dejected, his great head on his paws. The Arshis’ own apology was plain on his face.

Kratos sighed, reaching to pet his devoted friend on the head. “I should be apologizing to you as well, Noishe… I’m sorry to have ruined our family day.”

Anna gently pushed him on the shoulder. “You haven’t ruined anything… but maybe you could learn to ease up. For all of our sakes?”

He smiled at her, still remembering her warmth that washed away the hurt in him. Even so, another tear fell down his cheek.

To think he could miss a feeling he was never sure of ever having.

--

It was already nighttime once they walked back to the inn. Kratos had walked carefully, careful not to bounce Lloyd too much with each step that he took. But the boy continued to sleep, making small noises as he drooled once again on his shirt.

“See?” Anna said, giggling. “He’s having another nice dream.”

The way she nudged him just then was subtle, but he saw it in her eyes. How she looked to Lloyd, and how she had let Kratos carry him all the way, Noishe trailing behind them happily, nose occasionally poking the back of Anna’s head.

“Here, you can hold him now,” he told her, and gently gave her their son to clasp.

“Certain I won’t get tired, are you?” she said, but he saw how eagerly she went to hold Lloyd. And it seemed that Lloyd seemed to like this new change, his tiny arms moving to wrap around her neck, to make more little noises that were hums and the like.

Again, with the motion and the weight of the child on her, the collar of her shirt shifted down. Once again Kratos saw the Exsphere, same as it was, but with a tinge of blue to its surface – alive in its very own, strange way, a parasite that continued to live in her.

The sadness was still there, fear of what was to come next. He had never wept for his father’s death, or his mother’s – or perhaps he just didn’t remember it. But if he would lose her…. then what next?

Quickly, before she could see the expression on his face, he bent down to kiss at the space just above her Exsphere. The heat of her skin, the hardness of the stone against his lips. Anna made a small squeak at the action.

“Kratos!” But there was laughter mixed in, one hand pressed against her mouth to keep it muffled. “Are you…trying to kiss it better now?”

Something about the words, the way she said it, and her bright voice altogether, once again washed away the despair to the very corners of his mind. “Then you must tell me if it is working.”

“Hm…I don’t know.” She tilted her head in thought. “Perhaps you’ll need to do it a bit more so I can be sure.”

Ah, again she could make him flush like a fool sometimes. But the smile she gave him was worth it.

With the stars above them, and Lloyd sleeping soundly, he felt he could still find a hope for the future somehow. That it was something the eventual pain could never drown out.

Maybe he could believe that.

[askdani]

Tales of Dani - Chapter 2 - The Invasion (Part 2)

Having to abandon one of his blades, Leonardo continues to fight the Foot Bots at a construction site. He sliced, kicked, and stabbed all that stood in his way. As he watched the last one fall, Leonardo failed to notice that one of the bots he took down earlier grabbed his foot and tossed him down. He screams, falling into the icy water below.

A few blocks away, Dani was dodging every obstacle in her way while trying to figure out where Leonardo and the robot ninjas were. How could she lose them so fast? She then heard a scream. It sounded like it was coming from the construction site. She turn around and ran, hoping she wasn’t too late. ‘Hang on, Leonardo. I’m coming.’

Leonardo pulls himself back out and gets up into a fighting stance, panting. Shredder stares down at him, showing no emotion. The three mutants look to him in anticipation “Now you may finish him,” he says.

Tiger Claw, Rahzar, and Fishface jump down to the turtle, attacking him. They landed so many hits on him in his exhausted state. Something in Leonardo then snapped. With a battle cry, he grabs Fishface by his water tube and tosses him to the side. He attacks Rahzar from behind and kicks him. He lets out another cry and faces Tiger Claw, rolling along the ground to kick him low.

Leonardo gets up from the ground, catching his breath. In a flash of lightning, the Shredder was right behind him. Turning a moment too late, the turtle was struck down by his gauntlet.

Tiger Claw picks him up when his T-Phone rang. He pulls it out and looks at the messages from Michelangelo. “Dude, where are you!? Dude, we’re at April’s apartment. HURRY, Chumpy!” “They wait for him in the girl’s home,” he says. “Bait them out and destroy them,” his master orders. The three mutants leave the site, taking the fallen leader with them.

Shredder walks around a corner and sees Splinter looking at one of Leonardo’s katana blades. “Where is my son?” the rat asks. The Shredder laughs. “I’ve taken him like I took your child so many years ago.” Closing his fist in anger, Splinter ran to Shredder, and the two began to fight.

(MEANWHILE)

Water pours into Kirby’s face, making him wake up and see April and Michelangelo looking at him with worried faces. “I just had the worst dream,” he says. “The Kraang were trying to invade.” Michelangelo walks to him. “Don’t worry, Mr. O’Neil,” he says. “Reality is way worse than your nightmare.” Donatello smacks him in the head for freaking him out.

“We gotta move!” Raphael says, running into the apartment with Casey. “Kraang Prime is stomping this way!” “Raph!” Michelangelo hugs his brother, relieved that he is okay. “Aw, I missed you too, little brother,” he says, patting his shell. April runs to hug Casey. “I was scared I’d lost you forever!” she tells him. “No worries, red. Your man is here,” he says with a smile, unaware that Donatello was watching. “Not to break this up, but Leo is still out there!” he reminds everybody. “What!?” Raphael asks. Michelangelo responds, “Long story, bro. Basically-”

But before he could start telling Raphael what happened, Leonardo crashes through the window, sliding to a stop on the floor. “LEO!!”

(Back at the Construction Site)

Dani ran to the construction site, hoping to find the blue masked turtle. There were robot ninjas strode everywhere. She came to a sudden halt when she saw a katana blade that was stabbed through one of the bots. She recognized it. The blade belonged to Leonardo. Looking around in circles, Dani could not find him. ‘What happened here?’ she thought. 

Suddenly, she heard more noises, voices that were unfamiliar to her. She took a closer look and saw a man in metal armor fighting a mutant rat. ‘Wait.. Is that... the great Splinter?’ Dani thought, remembering a time when Slash told her that a mutant rat raised the turtles as his sons and taught them ninjutsu. She doesn’t remember him telling her about a man in metal armor though. ‘Who is he?’ she thought.

“You grow tired! Your skills have become weak!” Shredder taunts, punching Splinter. “Yet I am stronger than ever! Fueled by anger, by rage!” He throws another punch, but Splinter blocks it and throws him to the ground. Dani watches from her hiding place, amazed at how the mutant rat fights. “Rage is a fuel that burns quickly,” he says. “Always the wise one,” Shredder responds, growling in anger. He throws three kunai blades at Splinter, which he has able to dodge. But it distracted him from a punch in the chest. Taking advantage, Shredder punched Splinter several times more and threw him against a crane. A load of pipes fell on top of the rat. Dani’s eyes widen. She pulls her blade out, ready to defend the mutant rat.

As Splinter strains to get free, Shredder reaches down and grabs him by his beard, ready to finish him with the blade of his gauntlet. “What wisdom do you have now?” Splinter glares in response. But before Shredder could bring his blade down and Dani could attack him from behind, Leatherhead breaks through a nearby wall and clamps his jaws around him.

Seeing that this was a distraction for the man in metal armor, Dani rushes to Splinter and strains as she tries to lift one of the pipes. Before the rat could ask the hooded girl who she was, she says, “Don’t worry! I’m on your side.”

The mutant alligator slams Shredder into the ground a few times and tosses him away. He turns over to see the hooded girl trying to remove the pipes that were on top of Splinter. He hurries over them. “My friend,” he asked. “Are you hurt?” But they were focused on something behind him. “LOOK OUT!” Dani shouts.

Leatherhead reacts too slow and Shredder attacks from behind. He roared and thrashed, managing to throw him off, only for him to be assaulted by Shredder’s fists. Splinter and Dani could only watch, their eyes widened in horror. Before he could recover, Shredder charges toward Leatherhead and kicks him down the same hole Leonardo fell in, splashing into the water below. “MONSTER!!!” Shredder turned and saw the girl that was wearing a cloak, glare at him.

Dani could feel nothing but anger. She didn’t know this mutant, but he didn’t to be murdered so ruthlessly. Shredder needs to pay. She closes her fist, grabs her sword, and charges toward the man in metal armor. “NO!” Splinter shouted. 

She swung her blade at him several times, but Shredder kept dodging every move she made. He raised his other gauntlet, but before he brings it down, Dani grabs Leonardo’s katana and blades met with a clang. Now wielding two swords, Dani’s eyes were filled with rage and determination. She let her anger take control. She flips backwards and and continues to fight him. However, it didn’t last long when she missed again and Shredder punched her, making her tumble to the side.

Groaning in pain, Dani tries to get back up, only to be pinned by Shredder. “I don’t fear you,” she says, glaring at him. “Then you will die braver than most,” he responds, raising his gauntlet, ready to finish her.

Not wanting the same fate to happen to her, Splinter finds new strength, freeing himself from the pipes. Shredder turns to see the rat begin to attack him once more. He pushes him away from Dani. “Splinter!” she shouts, watching the two fall into the hole.

Dani crawls to the edge, staring at the hole in shock. Lasers suddenly fired at her. Shielding her head, she turns to see that the Kraang were coming toward her direction. ‘They must’ve followed me,’ she thought.

Looking back at the hole while trying to block lasers, Dani knew she had to make a choice. Go after Shredder or get herself to safety. “Remember what he told you,” she tells herself, getting up slowly. She grabs a smoke bomb from her pocket. “Splinter is a master ninja. He’ll win this battle... I hope.” She throws her smoke bomb at one of the droids and it goes off. When the smoke finally clears, the droids see that the girl disappeared.

(TO BE CONTINUED)