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zet-sway · 3 years

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Spiritual Shrios Summer - Release

PROMPT WORD: RELEASE - | - WORDS: 2686

Rated: "E" for Extremely Spicy - not for children AO3 Link: "Singing Southward" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "But her blood is singing southward, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine."

Full disclosure, this prompt fought me and kicked my ass the whole way. I can't look at it anymore. I hope it's more enjoyable for people who haven't been looking at it for like two weeks lmao. Many thanks to Rosenkow for that excellent playlist that really inspired my Shrios muse.

The heavy thrum of battle is where she loses herself. Shepard would take sweat and the pounding pulse of combat any day over the silence between stars.

Swirling winds whip sand across her face and body. It crunches in the joints between her armor and she hates the sound but it's easy to ignore as she slams another heat sink into her shotgun and charges into the last remaining crawler. It's thrown by the impact, the momentum of her body splits the carapace against her armored fist. The smell of viscera in the air, the humming of biotic barriers. Her body sings. She feels untouchable. The keystone slams the ground again.

The ground beneath her feet rumbles and she hears an unholy sound. A thresher maw. Her battle-lust is broken instantly and she snaps to attention, every sense laser focused.

Her shotgun and fists will be little help to them now. She exchanges glances with Grunt and Thane, waving them toward cover while she hunkers down on point, grenade launcher at the ready. It's not the biggest thresher maw she's ever seen but their size isn't the only thing that makes them dangerous. Positioning is critical when fighting something that can burrow and spit. Her combat HUD tracks its movements through the ground and she directs their movements, their gunfire to its next point of exposure.

But there's a problem. Her visor's sensitive electronics were never meant to be used in a sandstorm.

The maw dives again and this time the data is wrong, pinging across the arena, indicating wildly different trajectories that conflict with the laws of physics. Not great, but there's nothing she can do about it now. Adapt, improvise.

She tears the headset from her face and makes her best approximation of where it's going to appear next, signaling the team. They open fire, it dives again. Then the rumbling stops. Her best is not enough. There's a split second of silence before the beast bursts forth not twelve feet away from her position. Dust and debris erupt in a disorienting cloud and she can tell by the shadow cast over her that she's in deep shit, struggling to find her footing on the fractured, quaking ground.

A scorching heat envelops her and her vision goes dark. There's a shout in her comm, a weight pressed upon her, and the grenade launcher is wrenched from her hands.

Then a burst, an explosion, a blinding flash of light. Acid sizzles against her barrier and it pops, the sound rattling her ears in the darkness.

The orange sun of Tuchanka blinks back into existence as the dust begins to settle.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thane slumps into the stinking puddle of meat and organs, still clutching Shepard's grenade launcher. His scales are stinging and the pain is growing more intense by the second. Beside him, Shepard is calling in an evac while she rips at the panels of her hardsuit. Her under armor is a patchwork of holes beneath, and her skin is a frightening shade of red where the fabric is being eaten away. Thresher maw bile.

He's never actually seen a thresher maw before, much less fought one - he's more shaken than he would like to admit. Her voice is his anchor. By the time she's done shouting for Grunt to maintain a defensive position, she's torn the suit at the waist and stripped the top half from her body. She uses it to wipe the viscera from his head, chest, and hands before tending to herself.

Her ease of determination has him transfixed. He's trembling from their encounter, but Shepard- he's never seen her more focused. Brows knitted in concentration, voice firm, but calm. Her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. Wearing only her belt, legplates, and a black compression bra, she's slathering herself in medigei, a whirlwind of sand and dirt sticking to exposed burns across the hard expanse of her body.

Her skin is so vulnerable compare to his scales that she should be shrieking in pain. Instead, she seems completely unfazed. Adrenaline, perhaps. Or maybe she's every bit as otherworldly as he's coming to understand she is.

Their evac shuttle arrives and they pile on. Grunt is the first one to break the silence.

"Quick thinking back there, Krios."

Grunt looks at him with the same piercing gaze all krogan seem to have. Thane has always found them hard to read.

"Never thought I'd see a drell dive into the mouth of a thresher maw. You're tougher than you look."

He smiles, then. And Shepard smiles with him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Doctor's orders: 24 hours rest.

Shepard's armor clatters to the cabin floor and she strides into the bathroom, trying not to itch the scabs tightening over her skin. The burns are superficial - irritating, but not serious. In the mirror, they look worse than they feel. The sting is enough to drown out the other weird pains that live inside her reconstructed body. Her ears hurt. Her tear ducts feel swollen and pressurized. Her fingers are sore. There's a constant ache in her sternum and a soft wooshing in her ear. It's from her synthetic heart, and the abundance of blood it requires. But it means she'll heal faster, too.

The water hisses out of the showerhead and she sets to work cleaning the caked on grit and viscera from her skin. When she's focused on herself like this, it's hard not to think about all of the ways her body has changed.

On the SR1, she'd been in shape, perhaps even proud of her body. She'd thought of herself as a well oiled machine. She watched her nutrition carefully, spent just as much time honing nerves as she did strength and endurance. Her body, a product of her own work and service.

What she sees now is not what she remembers.

Notably, she's about 70 pounds heavier, almost exclusively due to her implants and the additional muscle she's put on to carry them. Adapting to the added weight of cybernetics and artificial bones had been an uphill battle since she rolled off that Cerberus operating table. Even her breasts are one cup size larger, and that one change carries perhaps the most bitterness. Her body is no longer her creation.

She sees herself as though through a stranger's eyes - a construct. The Commander they wanted. Not the woman she remembers.

Her new body is all about performance, both in the public eye and on the battlefield. Miranda had already told her she should be grateful for her various "upgrades." Her titanium fingers that never tremble, her artificial eyes that can see colors and details normal human's can't. Heightened olfaction, improved hearing, even joints with a higher range of motion.

A superhuman.

No, she corrects herself, with no small amount of vitriol.

A supersoldier.

The trouble is, being a soldier is what she wants. Control over her body is as much a necessity as a beating heart, and she demands it of herself every way she knows how. The problem isn't the upgrades. It's the autonomy ripped from her hands as soon as she was too dead to spit in their faces.

But this is the hand she's dealt, so she works with it, even if learning how to use her own body is still a learning curve. Testing her limits, evaluating response times, and sometimes... trying out shitty supplementary tech that can't stand up to a little bad weather.

Outside the bathroom door, the remnants of her visor are crumbled together next to her terminal. Thane had crushed it underfoot when he dove between her and the thresher maw. That split second confusion in the field could have cost her life if he hadn't intervened. She hadn't expected a lone wolf assassin to mesh so well with the team.

She towels off and stuffs her armor back in its locker. The automatic cleaning cycle hums to life, and her thoughts whirl with it.

Thane's opened up a bit more since the night they spoke about Alchera. He has a surprising way of coloring the air with his words. And, perhaps most alarmingly, the more time she spends with him, the time she wants to spend with him. She tries to chalk it up to regular team synchronicity, but there are moments she catches herself wondering him on more than just a professional level. Tiny curiosities slither into her brain. Does he kiss like humans do? The very notion warms her blood.

How long has it been since she'd kissed someone? It feels like a lifetime.

And then - just one impulsive little thought, summoning the things she's not even dared herself to think. Does he fuck like humans do?

Almost timidly, she allows her imagination to wander.

Greeting the morning together in the shuttle bay, the harsh fluorescent lights casting dramatic shadows over his body as he bends through another impossible stretch. All that tension coiled within him, the hard planes of his torso, those absolutely delicious ass-kicking thighs...

For a moment, she feels as though he's close enough to share his heat. There's an old, familiar warmth in her blood - exquisite, tiny shivers flickering just beneath her skin - arousal.

Her eyes drift closed. She owes her XO a mission debrief, and she owes her pilot new destination coordinates. But her blood is singing southward, throbbing between her legs, and that's a good thing, right? A reassuring, human reminder that maybe she's still Shepard - a woman - not just a Cerberus machine.

Maybe those obligations can wait a little bit longer.

Scooting up her unmade bed to rest against the headboard, she tentatively rests a hand against her belly and traces a line from her navel to the juncture of her legs, almost as if she's afraid of what she'll find. Her flesh is reassuringly warm, and she passes over her center, teasing and smoothing back over blood-warmed skin, testing its sensitivity. At least here, her body feels like she remembers.

Thane's unfamiliarity excites her. She's never spared much thought for bunking with another species before, but he's more than handsome. Shepard wonders if drell are as introverted as Thane. Likely not, but his guardedness only intensifies her intrigue. The idea of touching him seems forbidden, like a closely guarded secret. She wants to run her tongue over the darkened skin below his lower lip, wants to trace the ridges down the back of his neck and feel the warmth of the flushed skin at his throat.

Her mind fumbles with the thought of him, unclothed and willing. He could be any number of iridescent shades of green under that tight leather getup - by the tantalizing gradient of color across the firm swatch of his exposed chest, he must be. Those dark stripes down his shoulders are trails she's hungry to travel, winding paths across the exotic unknowns of his body. Her fingers itch to follow them wherever they lead - with any luck, all the way down.

And down to what, exactly? For a moment, Shepard considers pulling up the extranet to satiate her curiosity and then decides against it. If he's not biologically equipped the way she hopes, better to find out later, when she's not vividly imagining the shape and color of his erection. Maybe green? But then, he hopefully isn't packing scales down there. No, more likely a familiar blush of color, like the frills of at his neck, or the inside of his mouth.

Her fingers brush carefully over her clit at the thought of his mouth, those gorgeous clit-sucking lips. An excited chill zips down her spine, settling - picturing him in this exact spot, head bowed reverently between her legs to worship her with his tongue. It's been so fucking long since someone ate her out.

The memory is old and faded - breaking fraternization rules with a youthful dark-haired recruit in the barracks. They hadn't even finished basic yet. Shepard had come harder than ever before in her life, only to later discover that recruit had told nearly everyone that they'd hated every second of it. She wouldn't have been upset if Cerberus took that memory from her.

But there's something about Thane. He's nothing if not a gentleman, she likes to think he'd be wickedly good at this. Warm, firm lips, an agile tongue... those fused fingers edging her on.

She uses her own to test that hypothesis, biting her lip at the familiar slick of arousal concentrated in her core.

There was a time when she'd rather be incinerated than suffer gentle lovemaking. She wanted it hard and fast, pleasure so blindingly hot she'd sneak out to the airlock for a cigarette in the afterglow. But her new body is a labyrinth of unknowns. Sex in this new skin, not knowing her limits, how much she can take. She wants to take her time.

Middle finger first, then following with another, she tests her reconstruction. Maybe she's just imagining it, but she feels a bit stiffer than she remembers.

But in the blurry comfort of her fantasy, Thane is a gentle lover. He's slow and patient, giving her ample time to acclimate both her body and her racing thoughts. Her fingers slip inside as far as they'll reach, leaving her palm to flex against her clit. She sighs, luxuriating in sensation.

It feels so good to be touched.

It's been years, in fact, and the roaring flame of her lust is surprising even to herself. To have him here, moving inside her, filling her with every stroke...

When her hand curls against her inner walls, her eyes roll back and an unholy sound leave her throat. Holy shit. Either this is the pleasure time forgot, or Cerberus spared no expense reconstructing her nerve endings. It wipes every other thought from her mind.

She's lost in the fantasy now. Hopelessly spellbound beneath the roll of her own hand - Thane's hips - languidly pushing the heights of her pleasure in body and mind until she's deliberately edging her orgasm because it seems a damn shame to end it so fast. Her head is swimming, discomfort collecting dust in the rational corners of her brain until her nerves are burning with adrenaline and wanting. Scattered thoughts come in incoherent bursts. All that matters now is the caldera of pleasure between her legs. Her mind. His body.

She can almost feel his voice. The words are lost but the sensations are loud and clear, encircling her, flowing through her, filling her. She wants to feel his desire, wants him to come undone inside her, calling her name, riding the high of his climax and all but demanding she come with him. In her mind, they gasp together, his arms tightening around her, his face buried in her neck, her walls clenching around him.

The electricity of release pulses through her nerves - organic, synthesized, and everything in between. For one sweet second, she's weightless. Then the spots are clearing from her vision and she's floating down from whatever far flung corner of the galaxy her soul's been launched to.

In the silence that follows, the gentle hum of the ship is the only sound.

"Fuck," she breathes out into the empty room. He's gone. The reverie slowly evaporates, vanishing into the metal bulkheads of the hull.

The familiar guilt of indulgence tugs at the edges of her fading euphoria. She hadn't banked on masturbating to her crew, but here she is.

It's just a daydream, no harm done.

But as she gets dressed, she asks herself why it's been so long since anyone's crept into her mind like Thane.

Shepard shakes her head, straightening her back. A little movement to clear the errant thoughts trashing her rationality. Her scabs itch. Her mouth is dry. There are more important things to be doing. Things that will quiet the tiny voice in her head that whispers 'no one wants your weird cybernetic body.'

At least she can still show herself a good time. Small victories are perhaps even sweeter during wartime. Maybe she feels just a little more human than she did an hour before.

#shrios #spiritualshriossummer #thane krios #fshrios #spiritual shrios summer #zet writes things #me in the background screaming like that video of the old man in the mountains with the cowboy hat #ITT: femshep gets herself off #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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unlockthelore · 4 years

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Inexcusable Excuses [ Yōkai AU ]

Returning to the Western Palace, Rin happens upon an irate Sesshomaru and finds the cause to be inexcusable. From the fic Feathers in the Wind on Ao3. For more updates, follow the feathers in the wind tag on this blog. If you’re looking for Yōkai AU, search the yokai au tag.

Rin held out her arms as she soared through the air. A wide blue sky surrounding her as she rushed through the dampness of the clouds. Sable black feathers warmed by sunlight brush against her arms, cool wind currents carrying her westward. This was freedom in the most unadulterated term. Nothing to meet her at this height but the occasional flock. Endless skies opened around her, and a canvas of land rushing beneath the sea of clouds.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she banked sharply to one side, curving through the clouded veil, the ground arching up to meet her as she shot up into an arc. Beyond the forests blanketed in patches of sunlight, cliffside and raucous waterfalls catching ocean spray on her feathers as she crested over their peaks, a valley blooming from hill to vale dotted with villages, lies a castle set upon a precipice so tall it nearly could vanish into the sky. Rin tipped her head back as she allowed her eyes to wander across its watchtowers, meeting eyes with soldiers who saluted or waved as she shot past.

Her giggle lost in the booming rush of wind as she soared over sloping rooftops and beneath archways, startling some who were passing by. Hearty apologies drowned out in barrel rolls between posts and open doorways, shoji rattling in its frame.

Familiar faces blur amidst unfamiliar, and yet none belonged to the one she was looking for.

Half a millennia of sneaking in and out of the Western Palace leant her knowledge of its layout but upon being permitted to traverse its better known pathways, she couldn’t resist flying.

Wings fluttered, beating as she made her descent into the open fields of her favorite garden where a lone figure sat beneath an aged gingko tree bursting with verdant green leaves. Clusters of feathers surrounded her as her wings tucked close to her back, dew-covered grass wetting the soles of her feet with each hurried stride.

To her surprise, the field was fairly empty. No one milling about the flower beds, tending or otherwise. Not even his retainer or the two-headed dragon who often trailed at his heels in earnest. With the wide array of colors and scents, narrow spaces cut around terraces and small patches of grass used for lounging — it was hardly a place to be sullen. And yet, somehow, he was.

Standing with his back to her despite the both of them knowing he was aware of her presence. A sure sign of irritation.

Shaded beneath the leaf canopies, Rin’s wings twitched as she approached and reached out to lay her hand against his back. There was an odd smell to him and her nose wrinkled but she pressed forward, cradling his sides between her hands when he didn’t turn. No longer did brackish tears roll down his cheeks when he became upset. Ever since he’d become a daiyōkai one hundred fifty springs old, those days were rendered memory.

Yet still, she goaded him into turning toward her as if naught had changed, angling with an odd turn at his hips. Eventually, his body gave way to her pestering and shifted amidst the damp grass squelching wetly beneath his boots.

A slight glower in his eyes, shadowed and distant.

“Sesshomaru?” Rin called to him in a hushed tone, soft and confused when the recognition returned to his eyes.

He didn’t glare at her with discontent or brush aside her hands. Instead, his sleeves swept against her arms as he pulled her close, pressing her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest. A startled huff of a breath squeezed from her lungs — he never instigated hugs — or rather, he seldom did. The scent on him was much stronger now and Rin shut her eyes, concentrating on picking apart his usual musk from this.

Perfumed, almost powerfully so, and if her nose was correct she’d smelled this before on one of the lesser lord’s daughters. One that had been incredibly interested in being chosen as Sesshomaru’s bride. A strange tremble went through her as she pulled away, staring up into his eyes sympathetically. Downcast and apprehensive, and despite his face giving away nothing, she read him all the same.

Her heart cinched as he presented his cheek to her, a sideways glance filled with disdain. Rin pulled her lips thin. Dread pooling in her stomach as she sniffed his cheek, recoiling with a disgusted scoff.

“… Did she kiss your cheek when you weren’t paying attention?” She asked, drawing her sleeve over hand to wipe at his cheek. Although her own smell was that of the forest, ocean spray, and sodden earth, it was infinitely better than this.

“Mm…” Sesshomaru hummed in a deadened tone, his inexpressive veneer cracking as his eyebrows pulled together with the faintest scowl. Rin slipped her fingers free of her drawn sleeve and traced her nails over the incline of his marks. Golden eyes flicked toward her, softening and strangely bright. “I told her I wasn’t interested and she seemed to take it as a challenge.”

Rin rolled her eyes. Again, she thought derisively. Brushing off his cheek then patting lightly as if it would erase the deed. In truth, it was a distraction for herself. Irate thoughts buzzing in her mind like bees. A challenge? When would the world learn that forcing him to do something wasn’t the way, or anyone for that matter? Justified anger on his behalf crept up and swelled in her chest as she thought of giving the young demoness a piece of her mind later. While it would likely result in a fight, she was more than prepared to fight on his behalf.

Or perhaps it was because she felt a mighty need to protect him. Half-glaring at nothing and curling her fingers in his silken sleeve, Rin felt her face warming and wanted desperately to bury herself in his chest and forget. Propose a race so they could soar through the clouds together and forget all that laid below. An overwhelming blah settled over the colorful thoughts and she barely noticed until her nose was buried against his chest that he’d hugged her close.

A soft “Huh?” muffled against the lining of his nagajuban, glancing up when she felt the weight of his head resting against her own. When his hold on her was secured, hands tucked beneath the fluttering wings at her back, Rin dared to sigh. Her toes pressing into the soft, cool earth and kicking up small clumps of grass, thin bands on her ankles ringing when she stamped her foot just shy of his boots. She swallowed anger and bitterness.

Why was he comforting her?

Rin grumbled, turning her head so her mouth was freed while her cheek pressed against his chest. “…I’m still angry,” she murmured in a half-hearted protest.

“You can still be angry,” he muttered and her heart tittered in its beating. His smile was evident in the gentle airiness of his voice, clawed fingers threading in her hair, carefully working through damp locks. He never told her not to be angry, nor how to feel at all. And from the tight way he held her to his chest, as if she would vanish if he loosened his hold in the slightest — she could tell he was angry himself. “But you’re the only one I want.”

Unconsciously, her wings fluffed at his words. Pleasant warmth prickling at her spine and the back of her neck, the colors of the garden blurred beneath her closing eyelids. Sesshomaru could be incredibly sweet when he wanted to, and no matter how tightly she tried to grasp it, the anger was dissipating. His affectionate hold drew softer sighs and giggles from her lips, soft lips brushing against her ear left bare from his nuzzling her hair aside.

A disgruntled groan warbles from Rin’s throat as she swatted at his back, curling her fingers in his kimono. “Stop that, I’m trying to stay angry.”

Sesshomaru pulled back and pressed a kiss against her hair, the deep baritone of his voice reverberating through her in a bell’s toll. “I made a promise to you.” He reminded, her brow arched until he pulled away. “One I intend to keep.”

Her hold on the last vestiges of angers loosened at the memory.

A younger Sesshomaru, innocent in only the ways a youthful appearance could bring, holding onto her hands as she floated above him. He was remiss to let her go, but the days’ light was gone, and she had to return before Midoriko began to worry.

It wasn’t in jest when she pulled him closer.

Promising him that there would come a day where she would not have to take flight and leave him to go home. They would build one together. Where they could watch the sun rise and fall. A home where they would stand side by side, hold hands and smile. Not as lovers if he didn’t desire. But as friends.

His eyes shined in the amber light filtered beneath the leaves that afternoon. The same gingko tree they stood under now, where she promised she would make a home with him and he promised himself to her, letting her hand slip away.

A cherished memory. One Rin kept buried deep in her heart, never to bring up again.

And yet he had.

Sesshomaru, who all believed to be cold and unfeeling, recanting warmly a promise made centuries ago. Gods, how could she be angry at that?

Pulling away to meet a golden gaze, she huffed at the sincerity in his eyes. Involuntarily puffing her cheek as she glanced aside at the flower beds arcing around the grounds.

“You could just say you love me, you know.”

She hadn’t seen what expression he wore and was prepared to drop her feigned ire to start up another conversation. Then, without warning, whispered words pressed into a kiss ghosted across her forehead.

“…I love you.”

Clutching the back of his kimono, she cursed under her breath when he held her closer, his smile barely in view from her flickering glance.

“Okay, okay…” She sighed, unable to hide a pleased smile when he kissed her cheek. “I get it…”

Unbeknownst to the pair, their image shimmered in the glittering reflection of an orb. A pair of onlookers observed, one in surprise while the other fond and content. The former, clearing his throat, looked away with his hand covering his mouth.

“I feel like I just witnessed something private,” he said with a small amount of sheepish self-consciousness.

“Perhaps,” his co-conspirator said to him shamelessly, waving her hand to dispel the image. “But we know our son’s feelings.” Her fingers curled beneath her chin as she stared at the crystal ball’s surface with a charmed quirk to her brow. “That little bird is the only one he cares for.”

The Inu no Taishō smiled, lacing his fingers over his stomach with a self-assured look at his wife, lying back against his pillowed throne. “And he’s very steadfast,” he quipped, a toothy fang showing as his face split with a knowing grin. “Much like someone else I know.”

Her eyes widened and she shot him a sidelong glance, more annoyed than upset. So similar to their son was she in showing her emotions, drawing a belly laugh from him. While she set her belongings aside, he opened his arms, giving his best smile to ease her slight scowl.

“Don’t be angry, Kimi,” he cooed, catching her raised brow and unimpressed look, adding on to hasten the blow. “I love you.”

That seemed to be what did it. Rolling her eyes to the heavens, she cast a slight smile in his direction then gracefully curled in his arms with her head resting against his shoulder. He would have been fine with that being the end-all. Deciding to leave the matter of discussing the lesser lord’s daughter to another time.

Then, without preface, she hummed pleasantly and muttered, “… and I you, beloved.”

Glancing down at her, his smile faltered then returned with ache in his cheeks. He squeezed her a bit tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

That was a phrase he would never grow tired of.

#inuyasha fandom #sessrin #sesshomaru x rin #sesshomaru #rin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #feathers in the wind #yokai au

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onceabluemoonwrites · 4 years

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Cursed Kiss - Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Title: Cursed Kiss Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: T

Pairing: Bianchi/Chrome Dokuro

Tags/Warnings: There is some violence

Prompt: Cloud day: royal au for @khrrarepairweek

Summary: The tale of Kuromu Dokuro is an old one, perhaps preceding even the existence of the monster hunters. To think the woman in the tale- the monster she became- is here, in front of her? Bianchi shudders to think of it.

Still, she has no choice. Her grip tightens on the knife in her hand, but before she can start to make her move, Kuromu- Chrome?- raises her hand, shaking her head. ‘’No need to fight your way out, darling, if you want to buy your brother’s freedom. All you need to do is take the geas on in his place.’’

Monster hunter Bianchi bargains her freedom for her brother’s and has to stay in the vampire Chrome’s castle. But the horrors within are not the shadows that whisper and follow Bianchi wherever she goes- no, to the contrary, the horrors are inside the mind of her captor.

AO3 link

Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

It wasn’t, Bianchi thinks later, when her mind is clearer, that she did not want Chrome to take her hand. She had desperately wanted to take her hand, to feel what it would be like to squeeze it, or to simply take it, softly hand in hand, skin to skin.

Somehow, the thought of it makes her ears and cheeks go red and warm. She doesn’t really know how to interpret that. Her entire relationship with Chrome is already complicated enough without the warm feelings in her belly interrupting, let alone the butterflies whenever she thinks of the lovely woman, vampire or no.

It's why she’s staying, now, even when she doesn’t have to anymore. The geas is gone, and it confuses her so much, because if geas wasn’t what was holding her here anymore, then what was? It’s clear as the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s Chrome. Chrome, all by herself.

Bianchi likes Chrome. She really does. She likes their little games of property destruction that are actually just them training side by side in inappropriate places. She likes the way a drop of wine so often clings to the corner of her mouth at dinner. It makes Bianchi want to go up to her and lick it off her face. She likes the way her eyes follow birds like she’s hunting prey. She likes shooting at them with her.

She’d just wish she’d be able to reconcile the hunt of birds of prey with the way Chrome’s obviously hunted humans before too. But that’s the thing too- before. Bianchi’s not sure if the preying on humans is actually a thing of the past, but she hasn’t seen Chrome do anything of the sort in the past few months she’s lived with her, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Does she not hunt humans anymore? And is there even a way to ask Chrome that without immediately ruining Bianchi’s romantic prospects with her?

It makes Bianchi laugh at herself, high and mean. Romantic prospects? Who is she kidding? She knows she hurt Chrome a lot, that night when she told Bianchi about her past. Bianchi would be lucky if she’d be able to salvage their friendship at this point.

As much as she’d like to say the opposite, while Bianchi likes Chrome, she’s not sure she likes her monstrous nature. And that isn’t fair to Chrome, not fair at all, because it’s simply who Chrome is. That’s not something you ought to judge a person for, except what Chrome is eats humans and Bianchi… Bianchi is frustrated and angry and a little sad to because she just doesn’t get what she’s feeling right now.

It helps, that Hayato writes to her. Every week, a hawk arrives at her window. She reads his letters dutifully, like an older sister ought to, and writes back. He writes of his friends, all vividly described long before it comes out just what they are. Yamamoto, she already knew of. The witch, who enchants right and left. Hibari, the taciturn vampire who protects his little town with fevour. Tsunayoshi, who Hayato is so, so weak for. Bianchi startles when she finds out he’s a goddamn mountain lion shifter. Ryohei, loud, so loud, his caterwauling often described before she is told he is a siren, though one that’s rather bad at his job. Mukuro, who Hayato dislikes, but can’t help but respect, a mage that has mastered the art of the illusion.

His tales soften her heart towards them, make her life vicariously through him. Her life isn’t bad. Far from it, even. She enjoyed her peaceful days here, together with Chrome before Bianchi let her down, but sometimes she did wish for a little more excitement.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter, because she’s alright here with the stupid mess she made of her own feelings, and Hayato is free and happy. She might not trust all monsters, but she has accepted that not all of them are bad, and if his friends are as good and true to him as Hayato describes them, then surely he is well protected. He’s fifteen, by now. She has missed his birthday. He’s an adult now and he has the right to roam wherever he wishes.

She misses him, though. She misses him terribly.

Thankfully, Chrome is very good at distracting her. There’s been a wall between them since the incident, but when Bianchi pulls her to the kitchen one evening before dinner, Chrome doesn’t protest. Bianchi starts handing her ingredients to chop before she gets the fire going. There are no words between them, not about why Bianchi’s still there, despite the geas being gone, nor why she’s doing this.

Bianchi doesn’t explain.

Chrome doesn’t ask.

The cold regality in both her demeanour and posture reminds Bianchi of Chrome’s past as princess. That hurts. But it shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t.

Chrome is a person so lonely that she placed a geas on the entrance of her castle, as if catching herself a companion with a geas was the best option she had. It worked, of course, but that’s another issue all together.

When they bring their dinner to the table, it’s been perfectly set by the shadows already. Bianchi pets them when they leave them be, her quiet love for Chrome’s strange servants warming her inside out and lending her courage.

Eating the food they’ve made together, Bianchi’s dawdled enough. She needs to put her big girl panties on and talk to Chrome.

After dinner, for the first time that week, she takes Chrome by the hand and leads her to the huge stuffed chairs in front of the hearth. ‘’Get us some wine, please,’’ she asks the shadows. They comply immediately, getting the hint.

Chrome is looking at her. Her eyes are no longer wary, like they were before, but they’re… Soft, almost mellow in the low light. Possibly because she knows Bianchi is still here even though she doesn’t have to be. Because that means something, even if Bianchi has a hard time saying it.

She swallows as she receives the wine glass from the shadows, Chrome getting one as well and the bottle being deposited on the table. Bianchi clears her throat. Chrome watches her calmly, which isn’t good for Bianchi’s nerves at all. ‘’So,’’ she starts, ‘’I know I’m not the best at being… emotionally available at times.’’

Chrome snorts.

‘’Ouch. But I can’t deny I deserve it after our last talk about feelings and our pasts. You told me about your issues and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about that.’’

Chrome doesn’t make any excuses for Bianchi, and Bianchi loves her more for it. She doesn’t need others to excuse her actions. She needs to learn from them.

‘’Go on,’’ Chrome says, ‘’I suppose you’re going somewhere with this?’’

Bianchi nods. ‘’You told me about your issues, now I’m going to tell you about mine.’’

Chrome takes a sip of her wine and peers at Bianchi over her wine glass. Bianchi takes that for a go ahead.

‘’So the first thing you’ve got to know is that I became a hunter because I’ve dealt with monsters before. That includes the monster that killed my family, but also the human monster that was my family.’’ Oh god, this is hard to talk about. But she has to, if she wants Chrome to understand.

‘’When I was seventeen, I found my mother floating in our well the night after a were attacked our village. He’d killed countless amongst our neighbours. My mother most likely just searched for a place to hide as the were went to town on them. She drowned after not being able to swim more after hours and hours of hearing the onslaught above her go on.’’ Her chest hurts and her voice is thick, but she soldiers on. Chrome reaches for her hand and Bianchi squeezes it, thankful for the warmth the skin-to-skin contact brings her.

‘’Here’s the thing: I hate my mother. Hayato’s my half-brother, you know. She hated him. And I can’t understand how anyone could want to hurt Hayato, let alone kill him, drown him in that very same goddamned well. I wondered whether it was karma when I discovered her corpse in it. I remember that so clearly. So vividly. It was bloated, her body. So bloated, as she was floating on top of the water.’’ She stares into the fire, the only thing grounding her the pressure of Chrome’s hand in hers.

‘’I hate the woman who did that to Hayato. I do. But I also love the person who sang me the very same lullabies I sang for Hayato later, who tucked me into bed, who rocked me through my every nightmare. The woman who kept my milk teeth in a box because every part of me was precious to her. I love the person I remember her being before Hayato.

But then again, I loved Lavina, Hayato’s mother, too. Thinking of her is painful. I was too young at the time to really understand what was happening, but I remember the look of betrayal on mt mother’s face the day my father came home with a bastard and the news that my baby sitter- Hayato’s mother- had died.

Sometimes I wonder, you know,’’ Bianchi stares into her wine glass before taking a gulp. ‘’Sometimes I wonder if Hayato’s conception was even something Lavina consented to. I mean, I’m not a nine year old snot anymore. I’m older, hopefully a little wiser and definitely a whole lot more jaded. Lavina became a bit of a social outcast among the adults when she got pregnant. Nobody knew who the father was. There used to be lots of children at her house during the day when their parents worked, but there were a lot less after that. She never really seemed like the kind of person who would sleep with a married man to me. At least not if she knew he was married- and Lavina knew, without a doubt, as the one who minded me.

The last memory I have of her is actually of the very same day Hayato was born and she died. I and the other children had no concept of the scandal she was, seeing our age, so we loved listening to her stomach, pressing our ears against it trying to hear the child’s heartbeat. We loved touching her stomach too, if she let us, trying to feel the kick of the baby’s little feet. Of Hayato’s little feet.’’ She gulps down the rest of her wine, before turning her head and looking straight into Chrome’s eyes, watching the strange shadows the flames in the hearth cast upon her face and her curious purple eyes.

‘’Chrome, I loved my little brother before I even knew he was part of my family. But that was a weak love. But that day, seeing my awful father thrust my baby brother on my mother so callously, drove something home to her if no one else would love this little ugly creature that my mother hated so, then I would.’’

Bianchi is tearing up, the tears starting to roll down her face, but she can’t stop now. She has to ask, otherwise it will always remain in between them, an invisible wall of unasked questions and hurt that cannot be spoken of. ‘’I can’t condemn you for your nature, but I also can’t let me tear myself apart further with not knowing. Please tell me: do you still hunt humans?’’

Chrome looks up. ‘’Not innocent ones.’’ And then, because Chrome is cruel, as much as she is beautiful, she says: ‘’You can’t say that about your hunting of my kind.’’

And that hurts, but Bianchi swallows the lump in her throat and says: ‘’Yeah. Yeah. That’s more than I can say.’’ Her voice cracks on the last word.

Then she cries into Chrome’s shoulders until she falls asleep, warm against her side. Chrome lets her, snot and tears be damned, handing her a handkerchief to clean herself up.

It feels like an absolution.

She wakes up in a rather uncomfortable position, with her neck in a crick. She groans, massaging her neck as her eyes slowly blink open. Violet eyes are staring at her directly. She blinks again. No, Chrome’s still there, pressed up against her in the very same chair. They’re lucky the furniture was large enough to allow for it. Bianchi’s slid down to Chrome’s lap at some point, feet over the side of the chair, Chrome staring down at her. She has the most longing expression Bianchi’s ever seen on anyone’s face and her breath catches in her throat.

The small hitch in her breathing seems to shake Chrome out of her reverie. The expression leaves, once again gone behind her mask, but it doesn’t change that it had been there. Doesn’t change that Bianchi has seen.

With her heart beating in her throat, Bianchi reaches up, wraps her arms around Chrome’s neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

It is soft. It is warm. It is beautiful.

It’s all Bianchi ever needed

The cooking together becomes a regular thing, but with a lot less coldness, more talking and a lot more kisses sneaked in between passing each other cooking utensils. There is laughter and love in the halls of Chrome’s dark castle, and even the bare stone doesn’t seem as cold as before. Bianchi catches Chrome humming a cheery tune in the hallways when she thinks no one is there, and the whole thing is so sweet she has to kiss her for it.

Bianchi has started growing flowers, both of the poisonous and the non-poisonous varieties, and they brighten up the gloom of the castle. Were the shadow’s whispers used to be haunting, they are now almost never found without their giggling. This is both wildly annoying and pretty endearing, the exact same category as Bianchi knows from experience little siblings fall into.

She’s thinking of inviting Hayato to the castle. She writes a letter, with a proper map and all to the castle, sending it his way. Do NOT enter through the main entry has been underlined twice, despite the fact she knows Chrome removed the geas sometime ago. There are undoubtedly still spells on it, though, so she doesn’t want to take the risk.

Another new addition to her and Chrome’s daily routine are the walks. The moonlit walks, where they leave the gate and roam the land. One of these days, Bianchi wants to take towels with them and go skinny dipping, though she hasn’t quite told Chrome that yet. Perhaps it will be a surprise.

How far can she tempt Chrome before Chrome devours her alive? A year ago she would not even have thought of such a thing, especially not in combination with a vampire. But Chrome is her vampire, and that makes her giddy and happy and oh-so reckless.

Just how reckless is clear when they are ready to depart on their walk for the night and the beating against the castle gate starts.

Bianchi startles. ‘’What- What’s going on?’’ But she hears the voices outside the gate and she knows. ‘’Oh my god, they’re here. My former colleagues- the hunters, they’re here. How?!’’

Chrome stares up at the gate. ‘’I smell the blood of your hawk.’’

Bianchi presses her hand against her mouth as if to keep herself from vomiting as her stomach begins to roil. ‘’Oh my god, I sent Hayato instructions as to how to get back here to visit. They shot Queen down and found the fucking map. This is my fault!’’

The banging upon the gate is like a heartbeat. It’s so consistent, the battering ram colliding with the wood and steel, the precision almost inhuman. It would make Bianchi laugh, if the fear didn’t close up her throat. She reaches down, taking Chrome’s hand, not taking her eyes off the courtyard before them. ‘’They won’t take you.’’ She says it with desperation colouring her words. ‘’They won’t take you, I won’t let them!’’

She promises it with all that she has in her. It has been so long since she’s felt actual happiness. Now she has it, she won’t let go of it so easily. She’ll fight to the death to defend it, to defend Chrome, if she must.

Chrome laughs and it startles Bianchi. She’s so much older in soul, and yet her body seemingly younger than Bianchi’s. Her gothic dress swishes around her feet, showing her pale, naked feet as she lets go of Bianchi’s hand and begins to circle her, as if taking her in.

Bianchi feels naked. She hasn’t worn her armour in almost a year now. It hadn’t exactly been meant for anything more than hunter raids, far too stiff for the necessities of daily life. It had to be, in order to be strong enough to defend against the monsters of the night. The dresses that Chrome had stored in the castle weren’t exactly the kind that could be worn to battle, but they’d been good enough for a quiet life here. Good enough for spars with Chrome and writing letters to her brother.

God, Hayato. What is she going to tell him if she dies here tonight? He won’t understand. He never did.

Or, perhaps, he is the only one who can understand. Nobody loves monsters as much as her brother, after all, and even if it landed her here, in this moment, she can’t resent him for it. She loves him. She loves him, just as she loves Chrome. Tears well up in her eyes. She hates herself a little for that. This is no time to cry. This is the time to fight.

Chrome quits circling around her, to stand on her tippy toes to reach up to her. ‘’The thing you keep forgetting, Bianchi,’’ Chrome breathes into her ear, a hand creeping up her sides, caressing her chest, ‘’Is that before there can be hunters, there must be prey.’’

And with the soul of a hunter far older than any kind of human hunter, she pounces as the gate breaks apart in pieces.

Their enemies never even make it past the threshold.

There are, Bianchi muses later that evening, definitely perks to having a vampire girlfriend. One of them is her tearing apart your enemies, which is way too hot and probably also illegal because of the murder. Not like anyone’s going to be able to tell, though. The castle is hidden far too well for that.

Chrome returns to her, dripping in guts and all kind of gory bits, but Bianchi doesn’t mind. She leans down and kisses her, deeply and with tongue.

Chrome laughs when she lets go. ‘’What did I deserve that for?’’

‘’Being amazing!’’ Bianchi smiles back.

‘’We’ll need to get the location of the castle to your brother,’’ Chrome says, leaning her forehead against Bianchi’s. Bianchi sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. ‘’After all, I can hardly marry you properly if I don’t even know your family.’’

Bianchi’s eyes fly open, meeting mischievous eyes. ‘’You!’’ she slaps her arm, but the pleasure in it is evident.

‘’This time,’’ Chrome states, ‘’We’re bringing him the letter ourselves, though.’’

Bianchi fully agrees with that.

Hayato and all his monster friends come to the castle for the wedding.

#khr #khrrarepairweek2020 #day 6 #cloud day #royal au #fanfiction #bianchi/dokuro chrome #bianchi #dokuro chrome #onceabluemoonwrites fic

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sovietghoststories · 5 years

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just friends | teaser

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): FWB, Possessive/Jealous Bucky, catching feelings, denial, dealing with PTSD, smut Summary: Following a bad breakup, the reader and Bucky begin a friends with benefits relationship. Naturally, it blows up in their faces. Notes: The prequel to a hotter touch, a better fuck aka the get together that was requested quite a bit lol. This has been in my drafts pretty much since I posted ahtabf but I’m finally feeling inspired to finish it (hopefully sharing will really kick my ass into gear too). I’ve got quite a bit more planned but I wanted to show you guys I’m not totally dead 😂

The heavy metal door creaks open, the rusty hinges groaning. Across the way, Bucky leans against the railing. The red cherry of a cigarette cuts through the dusky morning light, a trail of smoke curling around his bowed head. Shoulders slumped, he looks broken, defeated by some unnamable thing.

Seeing someone so strong brought so low breaks her heart in two. Y/N makes sure her footfalls are heavy enough to alert the super soldier to her presence. She came up here to comfort him, not have a repeat performance of what happened in the bedroom.

There’s something about him that seems fragile at this moment as if she presses too hard with her fingertips, his edges will shatter like thin glass. He doesn’t turn his gaze away from the pastel skyline though every inch of his body tenses when she stops next to him, her own gaze fixed firmly on the hard planes of his face.

Swallowing, Y/N reaches out and brushes her knuckles against the exposed skin of his bicep, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her touch. The air between them is charged with all the things left unsaid, the words stuck in the back of her throat, consonants and vowels a tangled jumble of nonsense.

Silence stretches, a divide the size of a canyon growing between them until she plucks up the courage to break it, settling on a quiet, “It’s okay, you know that right? It was an accident.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he curses, the railing groaning beneath his palms as his jaw clenches hard. “I’m so goddamn sorry. I could have really…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but he doesn’t need to. “This is nothing, I’ve had way worse,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. “Thankfully I’m a quick healer.” It’s not that she’s trying to downplay the seriousness of what happened but rather she can’t stand the thought of Bucky shouldering even more guilt for actions he had no control over. That was in his past. She never wants him to be forced back into those cold, lonely shadows.

“I hurt you.” His eyes are sharp and dead as they finally pull away from the sky, flicking down to the sleeves covering her wrists, knowing the circle of bruises that lie beneath. “And I could have done so much worse…” “What matters is you didn’t. I’m OKAY, promise.”

Reaching down, Y/N laces her fingers with his, giving a quick squeeze that he answers with one of his own. She contents herself with watching the sunrise, sharing the quiet as Bucky rearranges his broken pieces all the while something feels like it’s trying to claw it’s way up her throat. She forces it down. “You’re still learning how to be a person. Please don’t blame yourself, Buck. Shit happens. As far as I’m concerned? We,” she gestures between them with her free hand, burrowing into the warmth of his side, a quick smile breaking out across her face as she meets the endless depths of his eyes for the first time since she came up here, “Are good.”

Keeping her captive, the ex-assassin raises the hand wrapped up in hers. His lips feather over the jut of her knuckles, each kiss saying everything if only she was willing to listen.

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Everything comes crashing down a few days after the Incident. The morning starts off normally enough, filled with sleepy murmurs and soft kisses. It’s only when Bucky heads out to grab breakfast that the world goes topsy turvy. Y/N is in the kitchen fixing up something to drink when Steve joins her, leaning against the wall pointedly. Before she can greet the captain, he’s already speaking, his brows low over his eyes and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need to be careful, Y/N.” Confused, she smiles and gives him the side eye. “Good morning to you too, Steve?”

The forearms crossed over the trunk of his chest flex, his golden head ducking to meet her eyes, tone grave as he says, “I mean it, Y/N.”

“Okay,” she says with a huff. “And what exactly is it that I’m meant to be careful about?” “You know what.” “No I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.”

The verbal circles are beginning to get on her nerves. She wishes Steve would stop being so cryptic and get to the point, her hazy, happy mood quickly evaporating in the face of his disapproval. Of what, she has no clue but it rubs her the wrong way, hackles raising. There’s something distinctly...judgey in his expression. “He’s been through a lot, and I don’t really know what’s going on besides what he’s told me but this isn’t a good idea and I think you know that. Someone’s going to get hurt and it’s not going to be you.” Frowning, Y/N does her best to ignore the rush of blood his words bring, the anger bubbling up from deep within. Where does he get off on saying shit like that, making accusations?

The fact that he even thinks such a thing about her cuts deeper than any knife. She would never do anything to hurt Bucky. If anything, she’s been the most supportive out of the group. It sure as hell isn’t Steve sitting up late, watching movies and distracting the ex-assassin when the voices in his head get to be too much. “Excuse you, Steve, but you have no right to talk about this. You don’t know shit about what’s going on between us, and even if you did, you should know I would never do anything to hurt him. Where have you been these past few months when he can’t sleep?”

His frown, if anything, grows even more severe, the tick of his jaw evidence enough that he’s getting agitated. The blue of his eyes burn like ice. His refusal to rise to her bait sets her teeth on edge. “Anyway, Bucky knows what this is,” Y/N grits, fingers tight around the porcelain of her mug while in her mind she’s pretending it’s the captain’s stupidly thick neck. “We have an agreement, not that it’s any of your business.” “Do you?” A critical brow raises, leveling her with a look that sends her stomach plummeting, sweat beading her brow as she’s forced to hang onto every word that comes out of his mouth next. “I’ve been friends with Bucky for a long, long time,” Steve says. “Childhood friends. And even then, he doesn’t treat me half as good as you.”

She scoffs, shifting as an uncomfortable sensation zips down her spine.

“I mean it, Y/N. He doesn’t bring me coffee and a pastry from halfway across town just because they’re my favourite. So maybe you should take a step back, think about why he does that for you but not me and what that might mean.”

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Strong fingers wrap around her wrist.

Turning, Y/N looks back, focusing on the slant of his nose to avoid looking into those ocean eyes. “Did you need something, Bucky?” Sweat prickles at her temple. The shackle of his hand burns her flesh. She fights the urge to pry off the uncomfortable touch. The lines of his face are soft, open, his mouth a gentle curve. “Can I come by tonight?” “Um, probably not.” Swallowing roughly, she ignores the stroke of his thumb along the back of her hand, stitching together an unsteady smile. Her stomach flips, her feet shuffle. “Tasha wanted a girl’s night…”

The super soldier’s smile dims. “Oh, well you guys have a good time,” he says, wooden and stiff. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Beautiful.”

“Ah, mhm, yeah, see you.” She does not run, she walks briskly to her room. The door slams closed behind her back with a finality that rings through the silent hall, Bucky left staring at her retreating back.

The walls are caving in, heart and mind racing a mile a minute. She doesn’t know what to do, which direction to turn. Everything’s gotten significantly more complicated than she expected. With trembling fingers, Y/N manages to tap out a scattered text to the only one she trusts to keep this on the down low. Not even 10 minutes later, Tasha’s lounging across her bed, watching with lazy eyes as Y/N paces the length of her room. “Y/N, I don’t see what the problem is. Bucky’s clearly into you, and you’re into him. You’re just too chicken shit to do anything about it.” She holds nothing back, examining her cuticles while her friend and teammate has a melt down. “This would all be solved if you just DTR.” “No, Tasha.” Flopping down next to the redhead, Y/N groans into her comforter. “You don’t get it. There’s no relationship to define. He knows what this is.” “Does he?”

“Jesus Christ! I text him when I want him to eat my pussy, that’s it, that’s all it’ll ever be.” She raises a critical brow. “What about all the cuddling, the kissing, the gifts?” She smirks, eyes glittering coldy. “Does he sleep over?” The silence is damning. “When are you going to stop fucking around and actually talk to him about all of this?” Tasha sighs, reaching over to run her thin fingers through Y/N’s hair. “All you’re doing is making things worse for the both of you.” Turning into the touch, Y/N soaks up the attention, curling tighter into a ball. “That is never going to happen because there’s absolutely nothing to talk about.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #fic teaser

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sol-korolevas · 5 years

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[be still, foolish heart];

pairing: leon kennedy x reader; chris redfield x reader

warnings: minor violence, some cheesy and cliched stuff but idc bc i love these idiots

words: 9k+

a/n: i’ve always wanted to write for chris since watching all of the videos with him. so here’s a story with both him and leon. enjoy and please leave any feedback if you want <3

you’ve known leon for a while. that sense of knowing was what made you feel connected to him. as a child, you were seldom seen alone and he was rarely not trying to tease you about being his shadow. it has come to a point that you believe you can read into his mind, that maybe there’s something deeply wonderful about him and you, together.

most mornings saw the both of you shooting at empty glass cans with rubber bands and small rocks, pretending you were cops. your mothers both watched on the kennedy’s wrap-around porch, with knowing smiles on their face.

now you wonder, what were your mothers thinking?

and most of all, what were you thinking when you accepted the job as a police officer alongside leon. what were you thinking when that childhood friend, the kind and brave boy, became the boy that you love.

eventually however, the boy you love was just that, a boy you love. but then you notice the startling emotions you have for him. you think it’s not just love anymore but some ingrained connection that transcends love.

yet still, you call it love.

claire redfield is never written into your fate, but she is written into his. you watch from afar as they hold hands with sherry, that orphaned girl from raccoon city.

you see a picturesque representation of a family. that burdening thought only intensifies when sherry asks if leon and claire are boyfriend and girlfriend. you almost flinch, trying to make sense of the how and the why.

(the truth is that you want to be in claire’s place. you don’t need to hold hands with sherry but you do want to be seen as leon’s girlfriend.)

no, you don’t hate claire and you’re not bothered by sherry’s presence.

“can we adopt a puppy?” sherry asks excitedly as she looks to both claire and leon.

“maybe later,” leon responds with a crooked smile. you’re suddenly aware that his gaze traveled to claire as he said it. so you decided to tear your eyes away to the side, hoping it can relieve the weight clinging to your heart.

you suddenly feel lost and awkward, until you see a truck heading your way.

“hey! over here!” you yell, waving at it, only to watch it drive past you with the driver holding out his middle finger. a tight frown settles on your face before you hear leon laugh.

“well, guess we’ll be walking for a little more,” he says. he winks at you and you feel your face flush before you look away and walk just a little faster.

——————-

time passes and the world shifts.

it’s on every mission with leon and claire that they work so well together, like two puzzle pieces–like a couple. though in retrospect, you should be prepared to accept the fact that your childhood friend is just a friend now.

and yet, where did you slip up? which opportunity did you accidentally let go?

you’re just a third-wheel–claire’s friend and leon’s childhood friend. you’re no longer in the equation that is their relationship.

it’s a sad reality and you don’t think you’re ready to accept and move on.

as you watch leon support a tired claire back to the medical tent, you stand to the side watching them. the gun in your hand feels heavy and cold despite its warm grip. leaning against a tree, you feel your brows furrowing as the injuries on your knuckles flare. the urge to go into an undead wasteland and fight cries within you. the relentless desire to tear and rip apart something, anything, just to relieve all the frustration, the anger, and the jealousy.

it’s not until chris redfield clears his throat that you look up. a bit on edge, you jump back and your finger skim against the trigger. at best, you are mildly surprised, but chris is a man who read microexpressions well.

“did i scare you?” he asks kindly, head dipping to the side. there’s concern etched onto his face and you almost feel bad.

“uh no, just thinking really hard…sir,” you force your voice to sound light. even though he’s claire’s brother you couldn’t skip the formalities. he’s not like his sister and certainly not like leon; there’s something heavy and firm about him, something that makes you half-nervous and half-shy.

not that you think he’s intimidating but–

“you’ve been awfully quiet these days. claire’s worried the missions are taking a toll on you. do you want to take a leave?”

chris’s sudden words set you on alert as you lock eyes. you are at a position where you need comfort from another. at the same time, you also want to be left alone. chris is caring a little too much and that makes you anxious, mind now heavily saturated in a desire to change subjects. most of all, you want to lay down and sleep.

as if he notices, chris’s face softens as he adds, “i can escort you back, (name).” however, you acknowledge that chris isn’t a bad person. claire’s always quick to remind everyone who would listen that her brother is a soft man inside the soldier persona.

in the past, you used to associate chris as nothing but a soldier. looking at him now, you are starting to wonder whether if he has a life outside of wars and battles.

that same curiosity keeps you rooted to your spot.

sensing the quiet, chris extends out his hand, silently encouraging you to take it. slack-jawed, you warily look at it before drifting your gaze back to his face.

chris’s lips curl into a smile, a gentle one, and slowly it dawns on you that he has a natural pull to him. you’re drawn to him like everyone else who has met him. easily you relinquish all preconceived caution about him as you slip your gun in its holster and take his hand.

there’s an awkward pause right when your fingers make contact with his, before he places his thumb against your knuckle and gently pulls you out from the shadow of the tree above.

his eyes never leave your face. the blue of his gaze is filled with warm intent. truly chris is a good soldier, not just with his combat skills but his attentive personality. for the first time, you feel yourself relax a little as he walks you down the path.

and quite suddenly you realize that chris is holding your hand. despite his presence right beside you, you couldn’t help but see a little of leon in him—or at least, the leon from your childhood.

quickly you turn your gaze to the ground, teeth worrying your lips as you attempt to calm your mind.

taking in a deep breath, you tell him, “thank you.”

————-

you’re looking again, thinking of the things that should happen but will never happen. through the twist of fate, once again leon and claire wedged their life into yours.

it all started with claire asking you to move into her family’s house.

“oh and, both leon and chris will be visiting when they’re off their missions,” she said airily. you don’t know how to handle your facial expressions anymore and claire noticed, smiling as she pats your shoulder.

when the boys do visit, you walk out to the veranda, hoping you may find some comfort among natural light and fresh air.

in front of you are countless trees and a private orchard behind them, belonging to a wealthy family. when the wind passes by you can smell the sweet fragrance intermingled with the scent of pine and wood.

the door opens and you turn to see leon coming outside. you are quick to notice the dark bags underneath his eyes. while it bothers you to see him like this, you also know that it’s common. even you had your fair share of insomnia and nightmares that prevented you from sleeping well.

“hey (name),” he says, offering you his boyish smile that you like. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“oh yeah, definitely a while,” you respond casually, face still tethered to the front. you think you see his smile pull back into a frown for a moment from the corner of your eyes. try as you might, you couldn’t help but feel bad all of a sudden. this could be your chance to remedy your difficult relationship with him, however one-sided and silly it may actually be.

“so next mission…it’s just me and claire.” he says it slowly as if trying not to set off some kind of fuse. that’s when you notice just how red his cheeks are. though you’re hurt to hear this, you still find yourself leaning against his shoulder.

just like old times, you think.

you close your eyes for a bit as the gradual and familiar feeling of peace overcomes you. “oh, i’ll root for the both of you–stay safe.” your voice sounds too casual and you just notices. leon inhales sharply but he doesn’t say anything; instead, he presses himself against your shoulder. his weight against you calms you, but it also reminds you of your attachment to him.

you wonder if, and when, you will ever learn to move on.

let go (name), let him go.

still, your mind dwells on the terrible things. in the past leon never worked with others, he was a lone wolf. but then things changed and he’s now working with claire and sometimes you and claire.

as always, claire is the abrupt twist in your fates. it’s not her fault, of course not—

“(name)?” leon’s voice echoes inside the back of your mind.

you open your eyes and let out a hum as a response.

“when this is over, not just the mission we’re going out on i mean, but when all of it is over, do you think you’ll stay with as an agent? you’re really something on the battlefield and i heard chris wants you to go on more assignments with him.” he’s scratching the back of his neck as he says this and you hear the uncertainty between each syllable. but you also notice the way he picks his words. the way he says us.

that’s okay, you think.

that’s okay.

you think you feel your heart dropping into a pit of disappointment right then.

it has been leon and claire, then you.

you shouldn’t think about this.

really, you shouldn’t for your own good.

pulling yourself up, you manage to detach yourself from the railing as you steady yourself. “maybe, though i-i do want to try being just an ordinary civilian first.”

you’re preparing to turn when leon catches your wrist in his hand. his lips are parted as if he wants to say something. then it begins to dawn on you.

“(name)...” he utters your name, soft on his lips. “i don’t think that’s possible anymore.” his pale eyes glint with sympathy as your face falls.

“i hate this life leon, i hate how it changed us—how it changed me.” your voice is brittle and shaky as you look at him. his gaze ceases to move from the right side of your arm, the scar from your first encounter with the undead still deep and ugly. but what he doesn’t know is the hidden meaning in your last words.

there’s something unreadable on leon’s face but just as you want to look up he has his hand placed on top of your head. his thumb is rubbing gently against the skin of your forehead.

“not your fault (name), and it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay,” he says quietly. his voice is so soothing that you feel lulled to comfort. that’s when you remember that a piece of him, the leon you knew as a child and the leon you love, is still with him. that is the intricate part of him, both unsettling and nostalgic.

your hands closed into fists as you fight the urge to cry.

after a moment’s silence, you decide to step away from him. he drops his hand to his side but his worried gaze is still trained on you. though you wish you can stay with him a little longer, the need to hide within the comfort of your room is greater.

a little time to yourself may pacify the turmoils ebbing within you.

“thank you, leon,” you say,” and please, come back alive, both of you.”

—————–

claire and leon depart the following morning. you wake to claire telling you goodbye before you hear her going down the stairs. still groggy in your sleep, you swear you hear leon’s voice by your room, talking about something before he too leaves. after their departure, the house becomes quiet and you feel your heart beating within its ribcage. they’ll be gone for a month into yet another battle and during those months–

no, you don’t want to think about it.

so you don’t and you get dressed and head out to the living room. there’s not much to do here besides watch television, hoping in some way you can flush out the worry and unrest with something else.

then you hear someone shuffling around in the kitchen and you remember chris is here too.

you suddenly remember that day he took you back to base. chris even extended his offer to send you home before realizing you didn’t have one anymore. dimly, you also remember that it was him who told claire about your situation.

even outside of missions he looked out for you.

you fold your hands on your lap as you linger upon the array of moving images on the television screen. chris is…chris is doing something; you don’t want to bother him.

“did you have breakfast? claire left some out, but i can definitely make you some good ones,” chris says from the kitchen, “my food is tastier.” you lean forward and see him appear in the doorway dressed in a sweater and jeans with a steaming mug in his hand.

“you sure she’s okay with you talking down on her cooking?” you couldn’t help but give him a teasing smile.

he feigns hurt before setting his mug down on the counter. “oh, claire knows i’m a far better gun handler and cook than her.”

you shake your head and lean back against the couch. “thank you, but maybe another time chris,” you say.

“very well, call me if you need something though.” he moves away and you turn your gaze forward.

the television is now playing advertisements and soon your eyes start drifting to the photographs standing on the table. you hear chris moving around the kitchen area, before you hear his heavy footfalls on the carpeted living room floor.

your hands tighten against one another, subtly praying for something to happen.

a small part of you want to go back to your room, but chris is already here.

“they’ll be back, don’t worry.” chris’s assertive voice pulls you out of your silence. he’s sitting beside you with a good distance put in-between. even out of armory he’s still bigger and taller than any men and women you’ve met. you remember keenly the first time you met him on an assignment. he wielded his fists like a club, smashing through mutated heads.

that’s when you decided that you’re safe as long as he’s here.

later, you asked him to train you in hand-to-hand combat, hoping that it can aid you along the way, should you only have yourself to depend on.

“how’s claire’s house? good?” he inquires, brushing his hand along his jaw. he’s turned to you, with one leg on the couch and the other on the ground. there’s not much room in-between now, to the point where you can smell his natural scent. it’s rather funny, but you notice that the difference between leon and chris is a shower.

today, you feel a different air about him. perhaps this is because he has no reason to be a soldier right now.

“yes! i like how nice it is...being an agent for the government has a lot of perks, i assume,” you say, rubbing your thumbs together as you look at chris. a slight smile crosses your face and you hope chris doesn’t mind your awkwardness. then, you remember that claire is out on another mission and your face falls. “she’ll be okay, leon’s with her too. and i can vouch for claire’s ability to survive” you didn’t mean to add the comment, besides trying to calm yourself down. you suddenly feel empty inside, useless even. if you aren’t useless, then you would’ve been picked to go too.

“both of them are good people, they will be fine. if not, i’ll find a way to get them out, bring them out of their graves if necessary.” chris’s gruff voice pulls you back into reality. you think you see half a smirk playing on his face, but there’s also a tightness to it.

“i don’t want to ever see my friends become an undead, if that’s what you’re trying to do,” you tell him. though you said it in jest, you realize the extent of such an ordeal if it will occur. too many times you had to put down people both familiar and precious to you. you’re not ready to put down a few more, but you know it’ll happen again.

hearing no response from chris, you place the back of your head on the couch headrest, letting out a small sigh. a strange silence befalls and it reminds you of the silence that came between you and chris after your last mission together. idly, you slide your fingers across your knuckles, feeling the scars there.

“thank you for everything chris,” you then tell him, “without you, i suppose i’m...dead.” you think back to the first missions you had together with him, and all of those times chris came to save you and everyone else. if anyone ever truly deserves a break, it would be him. “also i’m sorry for piers.” your voice drifts off, realizing that you shouldn’t have mentioned him.

you turn to look at chris, fully aware that he’s listening and you see a thoughtful expression, though grim and serious, on his face.

a tense silence supersedes the first. you aren’t privy to chris’s stiffness and how his face becomes thoughtful.

“what do you think of my leadership, (name)? all those men, piers, and the civilians. they died because i wasn’t enough–i should be and want to be but i’m not.”

his regular stoic face showing shards of betraying emotions–for the first time, you see him crestfallen, what you see is a man carrying broken pieces and a man filled with grief and lost hope.

you don’t know chris as well as you know leon and claire as a person. at the same time, you’re not born to mend doubts and sow wisdom. but he’s still someone you trust and respect enough that his sadness lingers within you like a bullet.

sitting up straight, you turn your body towards him, pressing a hand gently on his. “i think you’re phenomenal, as a soldier and an individual.” you pause, now at a loss for words. “and i know this may be a bit uncouth of me to say but deaths happen, even to good people. the best we can do is to live on and do what we always do: fight.”

you’re aware that you’re holding the hand of someone who has wielded it as a weapon. you’re aware that this same hand eviscerated countless enemies. but right now, you feel it tremble within your grip. countless scars and calluses etched upon his flesh—all symbols of chris’s sacrifice and of which marks him as a soldier. he’s always a hero to you, a superhuman even, a man larger than life with a god-like aura about him. yet in this moment he feels different—

“don’t doubt yourself anymore chris,” you finally add, eyes drifting to his face. it’s the same unreadable expression he usually wears, but his gaze is penetrative and intense. there is a hurricane of emotions in there that leaves you both breathless and mystified.

the difference between you and him is that of a rivulet and an ocean. maybe your words are not enough to console him, so you express your desire to comfort by squeezing his hand.

his response is simple, just a nod.

you let go of a breath you forgot to exhale.

though you fight like a wolf you are still meek when it comes to social interactions. so you suppose now is the best to distance yourself and leave chris to himself. “i’ll be in my room if you need me chris.”

except chris catches your hand in his grip and you suck in a breath, cheeks flushing at the abrupt contact. his hand swallows yours as he holds it like a lifeline. a thought occurs in you that he could possibly have held the hands of dying soldiers like this, firm and steady.

without thinking, you wrap your other hand around his, hoping it can alleviate more of his doubt and stress and whatever emotions that are plaguing him. but you know that’s not enough. in the end, it will take years and years of rehabilitation to steer chris and everyone involved away from the darkness clawing in their heart and mind.

you slowly exhale before letting it out, saying, “i’m here chris and i promise you that i will be here, with you and everyone else until i die. i won’t give up on you, leon, claire, or anyone else–we’ll win, we’ll win.”

chris is leaning towards you as he places your hands on your lap. his jaws clench, shoulders tensing in a way that makes you suspect that he’s not entirely pacified by your words.

“don’t say leave (name), i—“ he stops and he’s holding your hand so tightly again that you wince. “-don’t want you to leave, not like how piers and the others did.”

memories of soldiers turning into monstrous beasts and soldiers killed in gruesome manners still haunt your mind. there is little doubt in you that chris is burdened with the same imageries, except his comes with the feeling of failure to these individuals.

you remember watching him on several occasions gunning down soldiers under his command. those were all once people who were like him. some of them even knew you and had spoken to you.

and it’s sad to realize you only know of chris’s hurt and torment right now, when he’s baring his all. you also wondered why he chose you of all people to talk to, when he could go to claire or even leon later on.

he’s looking down at his own lap so you say his name. rather than attempt to speak more, you instead smile softly at him, hoping this simple gesture can translate into something hopeful for him.

“i won’t chris, i promise.”

he closes his eyes and sighs.

————–

almost a month later, claire and leon come back. you see claire dragging leon by his hand and you notice how red leon is. claire is smiling and leon looks embarrassed. you try not to think to that image, but to the thought that two of your best friends are home.

chris is not too far behind you, his arms resting against his chest as he welcomes them back.

“congratulations on not dying; also congratulations on a mission well done. i got the reports by the way, you both did great.” he winks at claire and then offers to assist leon with his injuries on his arm. “now if you turn…” he unwraps the bandages around his arm and assesses the damage. “i’m afraid (name) and i will have to put you down with our fists.” chris turns to look at you, briefly smiling a little.

“not gonna turn, i promise,” leon replies with a slight chuckle. you’re aware that his eyes have drifted onto you before he turns his gaze down to chris.

you find yourself feeling strangely calm and happy this time.

these days alongside chris has been your happiest. he gave you peace and you gave him reassurance. if you had met him years earlier then maybe–

“oh (name), can i talk to you after we’re done?” leon’s bright voice brings you out of your thoughts. there’s something hopeful dancing in the light of his blue eyes. of course you couldn’t turn that down, not when he’s the one asking.

“sure, come to my room later,” you say, voice softening a little as you remember chris is here too.

you see chris’s body tensing before he turns his face around. “i think i’m done here.”

for a little while you feel your face fall a little, initially hoping that chris would stay for a bit, even just to talk to you and leon. “claire and i will be fixing something for everyone, call me if you need anything okay?” when he walks by you his arm brushes against yours, causing you to stiffen this time.

gathering yourself, you then turn your attention back to leon. he has a blank expression on his face; either he’s hiding something or he’s oblivious to what occurred. and to be honest, you have no idea what happened either. chris has always been odd sometimes and you attribute it to his lifestyle.

but these days he has been close to you in physical ways. you are fairly confident to think that something is happening between you and chris, something that’s slowly bringing you out from your carapace of sadness from watching leon and claire.

“so i think we’re not needed in their sibling bonding,” you say slowly. you can already hear claire teasing chris in the kitchen. to your embarrassment, she’s asking chris if he found someone yet. awkwardly, you give leon a toothy grin before adding,”i’ll be in my room, come in when you’re ready.”

you turn and quickly walk your way up the stairs.

not long afterward, you hear leon knock on your door. you turn to see him standing against it, coolly looking at you.“you can come in leon, no need to knock.”

it’s then you notice that his hair is longer and stubble has formed on his chin.

leon finds his way next to you, seating himself on the floor beside your legs. he leans back and you have to remember that he still needs a shower. dark stains, blood you believe, clings to his shirt and you can smell something coppery sweet.

unlike a majority of people out there, you are used to it. even as children, both you and leon would climb on your bed soaked in mud-water and grime. now, the only difference is the absence of a mother or two yelling for a change of bedsheets and a bath.

“you probably don’t know this, but the mission was in your hometown.” leon’s voice is quiet as he looks up at you. there’s that same hopefulness in his eyes as if he wants to see you react. you do, of course, because the implication is there.

“the undead are gone?” you say, almost shyly. you can still remember the first night you went back, only to be met with the grotesque images of your friends and, most terrifying of all, your mother. “all gone? the town’s now safe?”

safe isn’t a correct word to say, but you grew up there. to you, that town holds a cherished aspect of your past in you. that town was where you were born, where you grew up, and where you found your first love–

“all clear, we just need to make sure the virus is gone from the water supplies and sewer systems. then, we get to cleaning it all up, but that’s for another crew.” leon smiles and you suddenly want to hug him.

and you do, because you’re both happy and still in shock over the news. you drop to the ground and crawl around to his front, before wrapping your arms around his shoulder. leon doesn’t tense and he returns your embrace with his own. in his arms you feel again the steady wing beats of a bird, caged within your ribs. warmth and affection seep into the cracks of your heart, sinking deep into the marrow of your bones.

in the end, it’s your childhood friend who gave you the greatest gift of all. still, you allow yourself to kindle your love for him in another direction.

it’s time to let go.

you lean your head against the side of his, briefly relishing in the closeness, and selfishly wanting it all for yourself.

“later i want to go back there. come with me?” you ask, voice small.

he’s rubbing soothing circled on your back. briefly, leon’s grip tightens as you let out a contented sigh. “yes, of course (name).”

------------

the day comes quick but steady. though the town is free of the undead, leon and claire both warn ahead of stragglers that might have laid hidden within the buildings. of course, such a trip lures chris out too, insisting that he wants to come.

because of the nature of this trip, only you and leon has a gun by your side.

“honestly, (name) can destroy anything with just fists, give me the gun instead,” claire says, begging chris as she steps out of the car.

“and (name)’s also good with guns,” chris is quick to respond, but there is a warm smile on his face. you laugh at the exchange and then at claire’s pout, relishing in the sibling bond between them.

leon’s laughing too, quietly as he stands off to the side. you look at him and he notices, blue eyes settling on your face as he tosses you his crooked grin. not long afterward, he walks up to you and places his hand on your shoulder, saying, “take the lead (name), and prepare for anything inside.”

you nod and you walk first, leading your small group towards the path that connects to your town.

the few soldiers that are still stationed here gives a brief salute before returning to their stations.

claire walks up beside you, whispering, “chris isn’t talking to them, i think he wants to see this town bad.” she then looks over her shoulder at him. “oh and, i think a certain someone’s presence is making him more vigilant.” she gently prods you with her elbow and gives you a wink.

you know of the implications of her words and you frown a little. “don’t say that, chris is my superior and friend. besides i–” you stop, realizing that you shouldn’t say anything. your hands trail the gun holder, before finding its way skimming across your bandaged knuckles.

“heh, you’re popular (name),” are claire’s words as she grins, a bit too wide for you to be content with it. she pats your head and your mind lingers to leon, who’s talking to chris. you look back and see them talking between each other, sharing some kind of secret conversation. when they see you looking, both of them pause and look away.

noticing them as well, claire adds, “oh i’m just kidding! unless you didn’t hear anything then it��s a secret between me and (name).” she giggles and then steps back to give you space.

you are about to say something when you notice the view in front of you. the past minute has been a picture of a deserted town, with broken glasses and missing shop signs. now, you can see the destruction; the fire, the upturned cars, the dried blood staining the streets and buildings. worst of all is your memory of this place; you still remember what it was like before the outbreak happened.

closing your eyes you let out a shaky breath. you hear claire calling your name, but her voice sounds distant. everything feels far away, but you continue walking. it pains you to see this but you still want to walk ahead.

soon, you stop, muscle memory bringing you in front of the building that was your apartment. you just realize that you and your group have walked a fair way into the town. and save for the conversations at the beginning, no one has spoken. a part of you want to enter the building alone, but you know better than to do that.

“take your time, (name).” it’s chris’s voice keeps you rooted to reality. all of a sudden, the air feels suffocatingly warm. a budding silence ensues, filled with the same silence that almost makes you nostalgic in a deeply disconcerting way.

“i will, but it’s been such a long time. i grew up here, and last time i–” you stop yourself just as you hear a banshee-like shriek coming from the apartment complex. you feel something fall within you, dropping into the abyss of darkness as you sprint into the building.

something roars in your ears as you take the stairs two at a time. the heavy footfalls of your comrades follow behind you, but you’re not listening to anything but the scream. you don’t even have the time to draw a gun before you see something ambling towards you.

“mom?” your voice is small and hesitant as you shine a flashlight at the undead. she is dressed in the floral red dress you bought her, with several deep garish wounds littering her body. you think you make out bullet wounds too, but you can’t find the opportunity to see properly before you’re taking a step back. there’s something behind her, wriggling and squirming as they move. “mom, what’s happening?” you yell, voice high and scared as she continues walking forward.

someone yells behind you and you hear leon calling for you to shoot. then you realize that the tentacles behind your mother are connected to her back. before long, they are whipping across, seemingly trying to get to you and the rest.

a long groan rattles the hallway, crushing your heart even more as you finally take out a gun.

“shoot her (name), do it!” claire says. she’s right beside you, planting half of her body in front of you, jaws clenched and hands shaking. as your mother moves closer, you feel time suddenly stopping.

you’ve shot countless undead and mutated undead before. but this is different because this one is your own mother.

and despite the monstrosity that’s her appearance, you still see a normal woman.

in the flash of a second, one of the tentacles extends towards you. you see red, but it’s not blood. claire has blocked it with her own body, the tentacle penetrating her upper left thigh. you hear the sickening sound of bone and the way its wriggling through her, attempting to slide more in.

a series of gunshots ring out and you hear the awful monstrous screech. weak-willed and delirious, you sink to your knees just as claire drops down, moaning in pain. despite everything, your tears come down as you watch your mother’s body collapse to the ground.

“this isn’t right, this isn’t right…” you mutter, turning your hands palm up as you look at them, sweaty and shaky.

“claire!” leon’s voice resonates inside your head, loud and clear. you watch with lips parted as he pushes past chris towards the fallen woman. he quickly takes her into his arm, gaze lingering on her as he prepares to leave.

an emptiness plunges itself inside your heart as you feel yourself hoarsely whispering leon’s name. a chilling coldness runs down your neck, forcing you to scramble up, only to pitch forth before chris catches you in his arms.

for the first time, there’s something hateful in leon’s face as he catches your gaze. he says nothing and you think it’s for the best. you’re too weak to properly stand but you still turn your attention to chris. “y-you should go with him, i’ll catch up. your sister...she–” you feel yourself retching, the anxiety and horror crawling back up your throat.

he’s suddenly holding the back of your head and you don’t know what to do. shouldn’t chris be with claire? shouldn’t he be mad at you?

instead, chris is pressing you close to him, close enough that you can inhale his scent and feel the entirety of him surrounding you. you tremble as tears roll down your cheeks. many words catch in your throat, words of apologies, words of regrets–just words that you hope that will mend this in some way.

“come on (name), we need to leave,” comes chris’s steady words, as if nothing at all has affected him. he moves, bringing you with him. but it’s slow and you know that he’s doing it for you.

and you cling to him, thinking about what happened and how you fucked up.

this is all your fault, you and your foolish, foolish heart.

----------------

“claire’s getting treatment in a government facility,” is leon’s words, sharp and rushed as he comes into the house. he looks to chris first, as if hoping to hear something out of him. then he looks at you causing you to freeze while gripping your kneecaps tightly. “(name), why didn’t you shoot?” his voice is almost a whisper, but it sounds loud and clear in your head.

“i-i couldn’t, i see it and i see my mother, i’m so sorry,” you say, voice a blubbering mess. you stop talking then just as you feel nausea all over again. you couldn’t find the strength to look at leon anymore, neither could you stare at chris.

“is claire doing well?” chris finally says, his voice a refreshing addition to the tenseness of the situation. you look up to see him standing between you and leon. for the first time, you are glad chris has shielded you from him.

“why aren’t you worried for your own sister, redfield? why are you here?” leon’s unprompted question pulls your attention, forcing you to sit up from the couch as you make your way forward. unsure of why you are drawn to this, you silently watch as chris’s jaw twitches, as if he wants to say something.

his fists clench and you almost flinch, thinking he’s going to attack. every muscle upon him looks stiff, his figure poised to attack. there’s a sudden animosity on his face, and you suspect claire’s condition is only partially to do with it.

“i am, but i’m sure claire will be fine. we already secured the necessary vaccines to stop her from turning, the rest is up to the doctors,” comes his answer, calm and firm as always. he then turns and gives you a brief stare, his gaze softening a little. his fingers suddenly brush against your knuckle and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

instead of responding to chris, leon takes one step forward, body angling towards you. “(name), we need to talk.” his voice is terse and low, but you feel as if he wants chris to hear it too.

without thinking, you trail after him, shooting chris a look of apology over your shoulder as you went. you hope chris doesn’t follow, thinking there’s something wrong. you trust leon enough not to be hurt physically but you’re not sure about anything else.

leon’s hatred can run deep, and if this is what it comes to then–

no, this won’t happen. even if you realize it’s happening, you refuse to accept it.

he leads you to the veranda, the only place that you enjoy to be in beside your room. he has his arm hanging over the banister, eyes staring at the green pine trees. there’s a peacefulness in his face, only to be disrupted by the stiffness of his squared shoulders. you slowly walk up, placing yourself right beside him.

your fingers thrum against the wooden railing, mind unable to process coherent sentences. every time you try, you think back to claire lying on the ground, in pain with a hole on her leg.

this is all your fault

the voice inside your head isn’t yours anymore; you think you’re losing it because it sounds like both leon and claire.

“i never wanted this to happen.” strangely, you do find your voice. and it comes out quicker than you would like to. blinking, you start to realize how close you are to wanting to cry again. normally you wouldn’t be affected so easily but this involves leon and claire and it’s too much.

“oh, i know,” is leon’s clipped response. “but you should’ve handled yourself better. that thing could’ve killed claire and you, and chris and i might even die right there.” the last of his words come out shaky and quiet. he’s not focusing on anything, but he’s also not looking at you.

sensing you wouldn’t speak again, he continues, “the first time i was in raccoon city, a man told me to shoot anyone who’ve turned, uniform or not. that same man turned a few hours later and i had to dispatch him.” suddenly, leon’s face breaks into grief. you stop feeling the apprehension from before as you watch his shoulders sag.

“leon…”

he’s baring his teeth and you know that’s how he keeps himself from fully losing his emotions to sadness. “sometimes you have to do things you don’t ever want to do, for the sake of the many. that’s sacrifice (name), and i need you to understand that. but i promised everyone that i will protect them until i couldn’t, that i won’t let their bodies become hosts to another’s evil.” he’s gripping the railing so hard that you hear the wood creak underneath.

not knowing what else to do or say, you inch your hand toward his. slowly, you slide your fingers under his hand, quietly coaxing him to let go.

taking in a deep breath, leon relents as his hand goes limp in yours. you hold it for a while, before retracting yours to your side. “everything will be alright leon, i p-promise.”

you then look down until you see the white of the floor before preparing yourself to leave. instead, you feel a hand catching your wrist. for a second, you are reminded of chris and then it dawns on you that the man has never left your mind since that day.

before you can ruminate on why chris is so clearly ingrained in your mind, leon’s bringing you towards him.

your eyes widen as he leans close, until his lips are close enough to touch the shell of your ear.

“you and chris share something special, i noticed that,” his voice is low and husky, making your heart churn with something devastatingly warm. “do you like him, (name)?” his added comment makes your breath hitch. right after he says that his grip tightens. the lingering feeling of it reminds you once again of chris’s touch.

this turn from one topic to another, and to the one you least expect, causes you to take a step back. leon follows, his pale eyes never leaving yours. there’s no teasing on his face, but something much worrying, something that makes your heart soar but drops at the same time.

“no,” you croak out, head dipping down again as embarrassment reddens your face.

“no? it’s okay if you like him, (name). i won’t stop you from liking someone; chris is reliable and safe.” his voice is soft all of a sudden, bringing you to the times he and you would share stories together as young teens. but you detect disappointment too, of which makes you think about other possibilities, that perhaps–

“i had a crush on you!” you suddenly blurt out, head raising so you can properly look at him. for the first time today he looks taken aback, shocked even. his grip on your wrist relents a little before he’s holding it hard again.

“you had?” he murmurs. strands of blond hair cover his face, but you notice the change on his expression. a first it’s surprise, but then it morphs into sadness, stark and obvious. there’s a tense silence and you reason that leon’s processing all of this. then, he seems to chuckle to himself, before gripping both of your wrists and lifting them to his chest. “what went wrong, (name), what happened? how did chris come into your life and settle himself in there? how did we become just you and him?”

his words tear at you. those were the same thoughts that occurred in you when you looked at him and claire. but now, it all seems so trivial when leon’s the one saying it out loud. for a second, you couldn’t speak as you try to find the right words.

“you...you love me, leon?”

“yes, even though i shouldn’t. the only thing that kept me back was my own doubts and emotions. but (name), please tell me why you are different now, tell me what changed.” he’s pleading from his voice to the way his pale eyes gaze at you. leon looks so much more vulnerable here that you pause.

you think back to chris, all the times he casually brushes himself next to you when leon’s present. you think back to how tense chris gets when leon talks to you in that friendly manner. then, you think to leon, seemingly oblivious to the times chris is close to you.

of course, leon notices, how can’t he be? he just never mentions it, just like how you never mentioned claire to him.

then you wonder when did you let leon go. chris’s presence must have aided you in the relent of your feelings, even if a portion of it is still here, covered inside your ruined heart.

then, like heavy rain, your words tumble out.

“leon i–i never stopped loving you back then, i’m sorry-oh god i never thought it would end like this–i thought–i thought you like claire! i see you and her being so close and perfect together i grew envious and sad! but i never wanted to stop loving you leon. but, but then i–i don’t know, i’m not sure if i love you now, or if that love is still as much as my love for you before. i’m not sure, i’m sorry.” your hands drop to your side as leon lets you go. you then bring them up again to hold your head, suddenly feeling confused and dazed as your heart pounded wildly.

you didn’t want to say those things, you just want to tell him that you still like him. now, it feels like you finally severed a loose string that connects you to him.

and leon, being the one who’s always bad with relationships, with his suffering and his inability to find the connection he wants, continues staring at you. you wonder why you know him so well that you can analyze things he told you. all those broken relationships with those women he mentioned, and how he still loves you and only you.

only for you to completely turn it around, thinking that he never once loved you.

that should be something, that he and you are meant to be together. this should be all a trial for you to overcome together. instead, however, you see an ocean of uncertainties. the intensity and passion you feel for him is no longer as strong as before. to you, it would be unfair to tell leon ‘i love you’ when the fire is partially smothered.

“i stand on what i said, leon kennedy. i loved you but i don’t, so you should–you should find happiness elsewhere.” your words come out cruel, causing you to flinch as you step back. he reaches out a hand to you before deciding not to.

your ear is pounding as you head back inside; leon’s gaze is heavy upon your back.

while it pains you, you feel it reasonable to do so. sometimes, letting go is better than holding on.

---------------------

claire returns weeks later, to a house partially divided. she only hears what chris told her, but she says nothing when you and leon are in her presence. for the past days, leon is trying to go on as many assignments as possible, all so that he can detach himself from you.

you grimly accept that fact, but you also don’t want to be in the house, especially when chris is always trying to meddle in. you don’t hate chris, you never did, you only wish that he never came into your life like this.

the night time beckons you to go out, towards a nearby land that’s just a rolling green filled with nothing but a single tree. you sit down and lean back, breathing slowly as you look up at the stars. in a few weeks leon will be back, but then you will be on your next mission.

and you don’t know whether if you ought to think of chris as more than a friend. romance and desire have nothing to do with being on the battlefield. it’s even highly recommended not to fall in love with a fellow agent or soldier.

but no one can stop the matters of the heart. you’ve lived through that, but you don’t want to live through another one.

the momentary peace you sought breaks as you see chris walking towards you. you almost forgot that he used to come here too and it was he who showed you this place. lazily you wave at him and watch him wave back at you.

he stops and slides down on the other side of the tree. for a bit, you think he’s just giving you space, or maybe you think he somehow knows that deep down you want to be alone.

“am i an open book sometimes?” you ask casually. you place an arm on your bent leg, watching a moth flutter around your fingertips.

“sometimes, yes. but i’m good at reading people,” comes chris’s answer.

“so you should be a psychologist then.” you laugh at your own words, but really you’re trying to find a reason to be happy now.

to your surprise, chris laughs as well, though it’s short and almost dry. “then i reckon my patients will all be soldiers; you would be my favorite one.”

“psychologists are not allowed to have favorites, chris. oh and i think the proper term is a therapist actually…” your words drift off, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. you suck in a breath, body sagging down as you continue watching the moth, now having flown into your open palm. you turn your hand just as the mother walks around it, now making a path across your knuckles.

silence comes between you again, reminding you that you are not a person to hold conversations with. chris isn’t either, you decide, but he at least has his stories.

“may i ask you something personal, (name)?” chris’s voice cuts across the silence, each syllable hesitant but clear. you could guess what he wants to ask, so you drop your hand to the side as the moth flutters away.

“go ahead.”

“do you still love him?”

though you are expecting a similar inquiry, you still feel yourself dry-mouthed. there’s nothing to suggest what chris is currently going through but you can also take a guess at that. it’s now so apparent that chris must have liked you–he probably still does. if you are a better person, you would have made it clear the second you found out that you cannot be with him. but after letting leon go, you are thinking otherwise.

that perhaps, chris can fill that hole in your heart.

and yet, despite that feeling of wanting him, you also realize that he still cannot replace anything.

the hole in your heart has always been open, too deeply wounded for chris to completely fill it.

“yes, i do. but at the same time, i’m not sure,” you admit, looking down to your lap. “and i’m aware that you are fond of me, but i never wanted to tell you this.” you could have left out the last part, but you want chris to know because he deserves to learn what happened that day. perhaps that can change his opinion about you, perhaps, in some silly way, he will let you go.

both of you sought affection, you know that, but it’s not the right time, and certainly not with the right person.

before you allow him to speak, you then say, “will you let me go chris? i never wanted this to happen but i don’t blame you. i just want to be at peace, for once i don’t want my heart to be burdened with these feelings.”

for a moment, you thought you hear chris sigh. slowly you look around, only to see a small part of his body peaking out from the front of the trunk. so you stand up and walk around, deciding that it will be easier to talk to him here.

you squat down in front of him, placing both of your hands on your knees as you study his face. he isn’t looking, but he’s deep in thought. you wonder what he’s thinking; you couldn’t figure it out without overthinking impossible things, but you’re curious.

“leon still holds a place in your heart, even if you don’t love him,” he says it as a fact. chris opens his mouth before curling his lips into a tight smile. that’s the smile you know to be hiding burdens. finally, he leans forward and curls his hand behind the base of your neck. “and you’re alright to let him go? to let me go as well? (name), you know you deserve love, you deserve everything that’s good for all the mess this world made”

almost bitterly you laugh, hand reaching up to wave away whatever words he spoke. “no chris, i think it’s enough for me. love is something i shouldn’t try to find right now. i need space and only that.”

you think he’s going to pull you into him, but instead, he lets you stay here. you recall the times he would do the same thing to other soldiers, except he was lecturing them on morality and discipline.

if you and he had met much earlier, if he had been your childhood friend instead of leon, then tonight might have been different. you could have found love and be in love, but that’s another story.

“i heard your confession that day (name), you’re not exactly quiet about it.”

you raise your eyes up to chris. he has a frown on his face but quickly it turns into a half-hearted smirk. you’re suddenly aware of his thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your neck, reminding you of the time leon did the same thing to your forehead.

with a heavy heart, you lower yourself. chris doesn’t leave his hand on you for long, choosing then to drop it onto his lap.

“leon and i still share a deep connection,” you say, ascertaining your words. “but, i also moved on from him.” your hands push into the soft ground, fingers digging through dirt just as you close your eyes.

“so he holds a special place in your heart even though you moved on? that’s...that’s a soulmate (name),” chris pauses, eyebrows furrowing as if it pains him to continue. “i was hopeful that you would move on to me. but when i saw you and leon together i realized that you and leon will never separate even if you don’t love him. and then i acknowledged how awful it was for me to think of you in such a way, so i want to let go as well.”

his words shock you, only because he’s now telling you this. you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “thank you chris,” you then reply, offering him a slight smile, before shaking your head. “this could have turned out simpler if we just communicated better, all three of us i suppose.”

this time, chris’s laugh is lighter as he adjusts his position against the tree. “well, we’re soldiers (name), we’re only good at fighting and talking about combat strategies.”

as you both watch the stars and bask in the summer wind, you think you hear a distant voice urging you.

go to him, he waits.

-----------------------

leon calls the next week, saying that he will be back around the early morning. though initially excited, your mood drastically changes when you remember the words you want to share with him. nervousness buds in your heart that you couldn’t sleep. like most nights before, you pace around your room, only stopping when you want to stare at the moon.

hours later, claire comes into your room and tells you that leon’s back.

as always, his appearance could be for the better. dirt and blood and other matters cling onto him as he walks in. somewhere in the middle, his hair was cut, its edges uneven. at the very least, you see that he has shaven.

for the first time since coming out of your desecrated hometown, leon’s smiling.

you think back to chris’s words, that leon’s your soulmate. perhaps that’s why his mood is different; perhaps he feels it too.

a crooked grin spreads across his face as claire fist bumps him, congratulating him on retrieving the necessary information. he then turns toward you, seemingly expecting something from you.

you’re tired but your heart is soaring once more. silently, you cross the meager distance and put your arms around him.

“welcome home leon,” you tell him. you then pause, eyes lingering on claire and then to chris, who has made his way here. “we missed you.”

his smile is all teeth, bright and boyish and reminding you of everything you love about him.

“i missed you too, all of you,” is his soft response.

when your bodies connect, you feel the excitement of being so close to him. this time, however, you don’t doubt yourself or him it’s just this strange, oddly supernatural relationship between you and leon.

“and leon?” you say, face still hovering close to his. “can we start over? empty slate this time?”

for a moment, leon looks taken aback. but whatever feeling that’s going through him must be generous, for he says, “okay, let’s start from the beginning, (name).”

you smile, touching foreheads with him, fondly remembering those days of your youths.

#leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy #chris redfield #resident evil #resident evil 2 #leon scott kennedy #if you squint at the end you can see the words 'claire is cheering you on'#like if she knows then she would've supported yall!

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sepublic · 5 years

Text

Takua

Roaming the island of Okoto is a lone, travelling vagabond. Masked and constantly shaded from the sun with a wide-brimmed hat, a scythe slung across their back, at first glance this figure can be interpreted as almost menacing.

In reality, this figure is a young Okotan named Takua, and for all intents and purposes she’s actually a good sign if you’re out in the wilderness and lost. Takua is a traveler of a wide variety of skills and is proficient at survival and self-sufficiency.

Years ago, Narmoto was travelling the Region of Fire alone when he came across a feral child. This child was dirty, thin, torn-up, and could barely speak. When Narmoto asked this child where she came from, she responded that she didn’t remember anything besides her name; Takua.

Obviously not going to leave a child to die out in the wilderness, Narmoto invited Takua to Tawahi, feeling a kinship with her regarding strange origins, and escorted the feral child across the Region of Fire and even past Skull Spiders. Upon arriving at Tawahi, many Okotans were puzzled about Takua, who was taken aback by all of these strangers and their loud rambling.

Narmoto made arrangements for the local caretaker to look after Takua alongside other orphans who had lost their parents to the Skull Spiders. Efforts were made to ‘recivilize’ Takua, although she still proved to be a rather unusual child. She was anti-social, a bit of an introvert, and had a tendency to explore and get into trouble because of it.

As the years passed by, Takua grew up, improving upon her language, even if she hated staying still during lessons. In her freetime, Takua would often go about Tawahi, learning as much as she could, doing whatever she could, and trying out various things. She put together a hobby of collecting and scavenging, and even did some trade with fellow villagers for new items. Her inventory became a mess, and despite her poor grades at school Takua was clearly an intelligent and intuitive child otherwise, being able to figure things out on the fly.

Due to Takua’s troublemaker status, as well as her unusual origins, rumors unfortunately began to spread regarding who Takua was and where she came from. Some even went so far as to suggest a relation between her and the Skull Spiders, of all things, and Takua inevitably continued to be an outcast. As far as she was concerned this was fine, as she liked being alone, at least that’s what she figured…

Of course, Narmoto made efforts to encourage the villagers to accept Takua, or at the very least not treat her as some feral, trouble-making child who was always up to no good. Yes, he was still fixing his room from THAT prank, but…

If anyone heeded his advice, a young child named Jaller definitely did. The son of two proud Tawahan soldiers, Jaller was a rule-follower and a stickler for tradition. He honored his elder Protector’s suggestions and trusting in Narmoto, made efforts to extend the hand of friendship.

Jaller wasn’t the only one to have attempted this, but he was the only person to really stick around afterwards, and likewise be accepted by Takua. The two became an odd pair of friends, despite Jaller’s rigid adherence to rules and discipline, in contrast to Takua’s lenience regarding laws and habit for mischief. Jaller would work to remind Takua to stay on task and do what needed to be done, while Takua would often teach Jaller to loosen up a little and have some fun.

The two became close friends, often doing puzzles together as well as other activities. As Takua grew up, she learned how to fight- Although she was admittedly a bit averse to the lifestyle of Tawahi, she still possessed a strong sense of honor and justice. If innocent lives were in danger, she’d fight to protect them. The harsher rumors about Takua died down as she helped against Skull Spider efforts, proving to be ingenuitive and cunning in danger, but she was still of course regarded as the Town Weirdo, and this time Takua was perfectly fine with this arrangement.

Takua’s thirst for adventure and curiosity eventually won out, and she began to make trips to the other Mega-Villages of Okoto, paying members of the Gukko Airforce to take her using profits scrounged from side-jobs and errands done for neighbors. Takua quickly became enamored with the unimaginably gorgeous, strange environments of the other Elemental Regions, prying into the lifestyles of other Okotans as she inquired as to how they adapted to such strange lands. Takua lurned how to swim in Kiniga, find water in the Motara Desert, test for poisonous berries in the Region of Jungle, etc.

Soon, Takua’s antics became known amongst the other Mega-Villages as she developed a habit of scrounging for items, wooing some of the locals, and indulging in the local culture. Takua was determined to learn, and would even spend hours in Kokoro’s libraries, learning about the history of the island and desiring to figure out more. She asked the Brains of Okoto countless questions, voluntarily took classes in Kiniga, and so forth.

An accident eventually occurred that left Takua stranded in the wilderness, far from the other Mega-Villages. Everyone assumed her dead and mourned, but then weeks later Takua returned.

To everyone’s shock, she’d survived the entire time out there, using the skills and assets she picked up in her travels to self-sufficiently live while avoiding Skull Spiders. Many applauded Takua’s crazy boldness in managing to survive for so long, and Takua herself felt like she’d returned to a sense of nostalgia she’d longed for since arriving in Tawahi.

When she became old enough, Takua made her decision. She chose to become a lone traveler, combing Okoto for secrets as well as its natural wonders. Obviously everyone deemed her insane, and Narmoto begged Takua to not adopt this lifestyle; He knew of a few who’d tried it before, and just about all of them died.

Still, Takua felt certain about her decision. Somehow, she’d survived for so long out in the wilderness as a child. Being there, being alone, just by herself, against nothing else but the island itself… it felt natural. It felt like home. As far as she could tell, this was her destiny.

And so, Takua packed her bags and left. The soldiers of Tawahi watched, amazed, as she walked away from the village walls, eventually disappearing past the charred forests. Everyone was uncertain, especially Jaller- He trusted in Takua, even if he knew better than everyone else how stupid she could be. He might’ve gone with her, but he also recognized that Takua valued her isolation, and likewise he had his own duties to Tawahi. So he too stayed behind, but of course he also provided a gift to help Takua in her travels.

Takua began her lone, wandering vagabond lifestyle. She knew that a single Okotan would be harder to track than entire teams, and realized that alone, she could evade the Skull Spiders in ways groups couldn’t, as well as search ruins and other areas for answers, tools, and other assets against the swarms.

It was by no means easy, and many times Takua came close to death. A large percentage of her escapes were admittedly more through luck than her own skill or ingenuity, but one way or the other she survived. Takua’s path eventually traversed huge swathes of the island as she explored, discovered, mapped, and scavenged. Milestones of distance were passed as she hiked across mountains and accessed other Elemental Regions on foot. Takua eventually developed a habit of returning to one of the Mega-Villages, depending on her proximity, usually for food, resources, as well as to trade in what she’d found. Takua became infamous for finding lost artifacts in places no one else had dared venture, often arriving at Kokoro and providing invaluable ancient scrolls in exchange for a meal and a bed for the night.

Eventually, Takua became almost a bit of a cryptid amongst the other Okotans, who whispered about this lone traveler with the uncanny ability to survive out in the wilderness and evade Skull Spiders. Others asked Takua of her skills and how she did it, and as far as she could tell it was mostly dumb luck; But some were certain it was more than that. Some Okotans were even inspired to adopt the lifestyle of Takua, but of course she was adamant in discouraging those villagers. Most of the time, they didn’t quite know what they were getting into, or overestimated their luck and skills. Still, if the Okotan in question continued to insist on becoming a lone traveler and felt certain, then eventually Takua would step aside and let them be (as well as keep an eye out for them in her travels in case they needed help, even shadowing a few just to be sure).

Takua’s schedule became unpredictable. Sometimes she’d be gone for weeks, come back and stay for a few days, and then leave and suddenly return within a week. Takua’s curiosity led her to areas usually unaccessed by other Okotans, and she made a point of informing them of her travels. Still, a large majority of the island was walled off by Skull Spiders, which even she couldn’t do anything about.

Alone in the wilderness, Takua usually prefers to live a quiet lifestyle. Some have recounted how they were traversing the wilds when they looked up and noticed the lone vagabond sitting on a tree branch, back laying against the trunk, as she played a tune on her harmonica. Takua’s nimble swiftness usually allows her to stay above the ground, which while not perfectly safe still makes it easier to avoid Skull Spiders. When it comes to sleep, she often hides beneath a camouflaged blanket, and has a system of trip-wires to alert her to Skull Spiders; Takua is very easy to wake and alertable, even in sleep.

Other hobbies of Takua include sight-seeing, mapping, exploring, scavenging, messing with stuff, trading, solving puzzles, taking long walks/hikes, etc. She’s so-so at the Ussal Races, but has a fondness for a crab named Pewku. Every now and then she teams up with the local Okotans to help them on expeditions and missions beyond the Mega-Villages, and has more than once encountered the hermits Kantai and Melea.

#bionicle #bionicle g2 #Bionicle RaE #takua #jaller #narmoto #okoto #pewku #okotans #takanuva #character

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the-lone-wolffe · 4 years

Text

Entity- Prologue

Warnings- erm, not really sure. I'll say maybe a slight emotion warning.

The woods were eerily still; not a single cricket chirped, no owls were singing. Tall hickory and oak trees stood vigilant, guarding the creatures of the forest. The darkness engulfed everything around it, cloaking the shadows lurking about.

A lone house stood in the center of a broad clearing; a single window held light, shattering the darkness around it. Inside, a teenage girl with messy, raven black hair busied herself with writing, seemingly unaware of a sudden break the in silence. Perhaps her ignorance came from the headphones around her ears or the terrified look in her Hazel eyes. For a brief moment, she set down her pen and looked up, gently brushing stray strands of hair from her eyes. The girl sighed as she looked around the room, embracing the familiar comfort it provided. Pictures adorned the wooden walls, presenting some of her happiest memories. Images of her holding a dark haired baby, her brother, when he was just born. Other images showed the two of them camping and eating ice cream. She always let him have the larger cone. A few pictures showed a shaggy black dog, sleeping next to the brother and being hugged by the girl. The dog had been their loyal protector and friend for a long time, often joining them on hiking trips and walking them down to the school bus stop. The rest of the pictures showed a pair of red-headed twins with the girl. Moments where they were celebrating each other’s achievements and when they were a complete mess from exploring. Memories of all their expeditions and sleepovers together rushed back. Ridiculous pillow fights and dangerous games of “The Floor is Lava”. A different wall held several shelves, each filled to the brim with the precious treasures. Little things the raven haired girl had found while exploring the mysterious world around her. There were piles of sparkling rocks and various sharp shards of glass. Mason jars filled with old bullet casings and questionable teeth. Snake skin was draped across the jars, and an assortment of feathers and mystery bones were strewn about. Of course, her most important find she wore close. Leaning against the wall was a well worn navy blue backpack covered in patches. Lying next to the pack was climbing supplies and a well used pair of hiking boots. On a shelf all of its own lay her most prized possession: A hand carved walking stick from her baby brother. The girl smiled fondly as she remembered the pride in her brother’s face as he presented it to her. He still had a lot to learn about carving, so the stick was rather rough and was covered in odd niches. But it was extremely sturdy, made of dark hickory, and had the initials of their expedition family. His eyes had shone so bright when she accepted it, her approval meaning so much more than that of his peers. She had refused to use any other walking stick after receiving it. She brushed her fingers over her eye, gently wiping away the brimming tears. Sighing, she turned back to her journal, seemingly not noticing the creaking sound of someone opening the back door. Picking up the pen once more, she finished her note. 'I love you guys, so very, very much. And because of that, you can’t come looking for me. Don’t look for me. Please. Take care of each other………..Goodbye' She took a shaky breathe as she calmly put her pencil down. Steadily, she closed her journal and placed it in a secret cache beneath her desk, confident one of her siblings would know where to find it. Sitting straight, she turned the volume of her headphones from zero to six. Her hand drifted over to a different journal, and opened it to an unfinished entry. The house creaked slightly as steps came up the stairs. She began to write. The steps stopped at her door. Her hand drifted to the pendant around her neck and her eyes drifted from the journal to the one framed picture that sat at her desk. Its frame was a gorgeous marbled mahogany, and it surrounded four proud faces and one perfect dog. It was taken the day her expedition family had finished their tree house, a main base of operations and expeditions. She smirked, remembering how hard they had worked on a pulley system so her shaggy lab could join them. It was the last thing she saw as she felt a stinging prick on her neck, the last thing she thought of as the tranquilizer entered her system. The world went dark; the last thing she heard was the harsh voice of a soldier radioing a transport outside, “Target has been neutralized.”

#oh my gosh it's here!#i hope this turned out ok #entity #Ocs Story #if anyone feels like I missed a warning please tell me

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writing-freak · 6 years

Text

Masterlist

last updated/revised: 7/26/20

i. The Sports Festival

reader with a weather quirk faces off against shinsou in the sports festival

- pt 2: Parties for No One

you consider approaching shinsou after the sports festival. an unlikely friendship commences

ii. Heroes and Villains

requested; a mistake shinsou makes during a mission leads to the death of six hostages and you in the hospital. you manage to calm him down before a breakdown

iii. Soulmate AU Aizawa and Shinsou w/ Dreams AU hcs

requested; part of soulmate au week; every time you go to sleep, you meet up with your soulmate. unfortunately for your soulmate, you’re an expert at lucid dreaming, and manage to conceal your appearance by changing in every dream

iv. Soulmate AU Shinsou w/ Platonic Soulmates AU hcs

requested; part of soulmate au week; platonic soulmates appear as shadowy demons at night. when you overcome your fear of the monster in the night, you can get to know your own imaginary friend

v. Heroes Together

requested; after growing up close friends with shinsou, you are forced to move away and leave your home behind. years later, you return, reunited with the best friend who doesn’t seem to remember you

i. Big 3 Slumber Party

a sleepover with the big three leads to some truth or dare confessions you may or may not be ready to share about your best friend

ii. Smiles of Sunshine

requested; a first date scenario in which Mirio is determined to break you out of your shy, bashful, and slow-to-smile shell

iii. Soulmate AU Mirio w/ First Words AU hcs

requested; part of soulmate au week; first words au in which Mirio has “OH MY GOSH PUT SOME CLOTHES ON” on his wrist and you have “I am so sorry I did not mean to flash you” on yours

iv. Falling for You

requested; awkward, embarrassed, pining over here where you are absolutely determined not to fall in front of your crush

v. Don’t Leave

requested; angst; Mirio’s perfectly planned day is ruined by a horrible accident while he’s away at work

vi. Nighteye Reincarnation hcs

requested; platonic!Mirio; when Mirio hears of a quirk like yours, which can reincarnate the souls of the dead, he is determined to find you and spend one last day with his mentor, Nighteye

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 1: The Ticking Clock

part of soulmate au week; everyone has a timer on their wrist that counts down to the moment they meet their soulmate. yours has been on zero since before you can remember

ii. Facts of the Universe hcs

requested; friends since before you can remember, there are no boundaries between you and bakugou. you share everything, but how can he possibly share how he really feels about you?

iii. Facts of the Universe pt. 2 hcs

requested; angst with fluffy end; when you’re severely injured, bakugou can’t help but feel the universe he thought he knew so well crashing down upon him

iv. Dress Prank hcs

requested; fem!reader; how does bakugou react when you put on a revealing dress and tell him you’re going out to see another man?

v. Meet the Parents hcs

requested; when bakugou agrees to a dinner with your parents for the first time, the last thing he expects is for your dad to be exactly like him

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 2: The Red String of Fate

part of soulmate au week; tamaki, your shy soulmate, keeps running away from you, making the red string tied to your pinky longer and longer, and far more inconvenient for you

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 3: Blue Eyes

part of soulmate au week; you are obsessed with the color blue, and spend your life dedicated to the things the beautiful color produces. only problem? you’ve never been able to see it

ii. Promise to You

requested; when an ex-friend of yours who spent years shattering your self esteem shows up on your tiktok’s for you page, your boyfriend ditches his study session to calm you down

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 4: Save Your Soul

part of soulmate au week; everyone has colorful marks on their skin where their soulmate touches them for the first time. you’re determined to hide your soulmarks: a pair of hands on your waist

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 5: Drawing on Skin

part of soulmate au week; anything you write on your skin shows up on the skin of your soulmate. you often draw the attention of others due to the crazy doodles, scribbles, and words written all over you from head to toe

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 7: Running from Pain

part of soulmate au week; in a world where you feel every ounce of pain your soulmate has, you spend your entire childhood trying to keep your soulmate safe, and it seems like they have the same idea. that is, of course, until you’re off to the support course at UA, and find yourself in all sorts of trouble. you don’t feel so bad, though, cause whatever your soulmate is up to seems to be creating the same amount of pain for you as you’re creating for them

i. BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 6: The Power to Choose

part of soulmate au week; soulmates have matching tattoos on the same place on their bodies. a conversation with your best friend reveals just what she believes about the tattoo marked into her skin

i. Hide Away

requested; through your close childhood friend kirishima, you meet tetsutetsu, another hero in training who develops a quick crush on you. after a stressful day of getting ready and listening to your friend’s teasing jokes, you find yourself on your first date with the young hero

i. Soulmate AU Aizawa and Shinsou w/ Dreams AU hcs

i. Soulmate AU FatGum w/ Emotions AU hcs

requested; part of soulmate au week; soulmates can feel each other’s emotions, which can be frustrating, but comes in handy now you know your soulmate is one of the top pro heroes

ii. Late Night Snack

requested; drunk after a night out with friends, you can think of only one person to call, your boyfriend, the pro hero fatgum, begging for food and a bit of company

i. Soulmate AU Tokoyami w/ Black and White AU hcs

requested; part of soulmate au week; your soulmate’s fears and insecurities are like shadows, and can turn your vision grey until you meet them. when tokoyami’s colors start fading, he becomes desperate to find you

i. Risky Business hcs

requested; an american exchange student is caught dancing in their underwear like the scene from risky business by all of class 1-a

ii. British Transfer Student hcs

requested; a british exchange student deals with class 1-a’s endless teasing and ridiculous stereotyping as they struggle to deal with moving across the world

i. Forgive

the whole team, including your brother tony, attempts to get you and bucky on speaking terms after you refuse to forgive him for what happened to your parents

ii. New to the Team

the newest member of the avengers team, you can’t understand why everyone has accepted you more readily than the winter soldier, who joined months before you did and never got the chance to find his place among the tight knit group of teammates

i. Fighting

pre-serum au; you find yourself cleaning up after your older brother’s friend steve more times than you can count. after this last fight, you’ve had enough

i. Spiderboy

finding out your best friend is a super hero could quite possibly be the best thing to happen to your friendship. finding out flash anderson asked you out could quite possibly be the worst

ii. Flying

being iron man’s kid has its perks, but also its challenges. never leaving stark tower can be lonely, but when your dad’s new “intern” finds himself in the penthouse suite, you may have found yourself a new friend

i. Worry

loki calms you down when you’re stressed about a mission and can’t fall asleep

i. Carol Drabble #1

i. Useless pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

completed; a mutant with a power to manipulate emotions, you find yourself feeling useless when your friends risk their lives on dangerous missions. hank decides to help you find a way to use your power aggressively

i. The Invisible Mutant Chapter 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3

ongoing; your mutation allows you to hide away from others, hidden in the shadows away from those who are out to hurt you. now, turning invisible is a reflex, and you do it at the smallest bit of fear, but when a mutant with mind reading powers saves you from the streets and brings you to a safe haven with other mutants your age, you come to learn that fear isn’t everything, and your mutation is so much more

ii. Summer Fun

requested; you and your husband take your daughter to a water park for a day of fun, only to catch her manipulating the water in front of the other kids

i. Bullseye

requested; you and leo are stuck after dark trying to meet the requirements to finish your archery lesson with coach hedge. after a few hours, though, it becomes clear that neither of you are going to hit a bullseye any time soon

let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist - general, for a fandom, or a particular series - also, my requests are always open! Thanks for reading!! <3

#masterlist

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years

Text

Heritage - Part 6

Description: Steve Rogers wakes up in the 21st century to learn that he missed more than he could ever realize.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader; Steve Rogers & Y/N [Platonic]

Word Count: 2,843

Previously On...

Y/N woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. When she saw Steve’s name, she managed to wake up enough to answer it.

“Hello?” She slurred, not bothering to hide that she had just been sleeping.

“Shit. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” Steve instantly apologized.

“Is fine. What’s going on?” Y/N rubbed her face, trying to wake herself up more.

“Fury’s looking for you. He tried to get your contact from me, but I said you had to okay it first.” Steve explained with a sigh.

“You know what he wants?”

“You know how he is…”

“So that’s a no.” Y/N laughed lightly. “Yeah, you can give it to him. It’s fine.”

“How you doing?” Steve changed subjects.

“Ugh…still no luck.” Thank god Nat had made sure Y/N was a master in the art of lying.

“I wasn’t asking about him, Y/N. I was asking about you. You doing okay?” Steve pushed.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She might’ve answered too quickly. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Then he took in a deep breath. “Why don’t you come home, take a break for a little bit? Grant misses you. So does your mom. So do I.”

“If anyone needs a break, it’s you, Steve. I saw what happened in Sokovia with Ultron. Why didn’t you call me?”

The line went quiet for a moment. “We almost died, Y/N.”

“Still playing the overprotective grandpa role, are we?”

She could practically hear Steve rolling his eyes. “It’s not a role.”

“I could’ve helped.” Y/N pushed.

“People didn’t make it. Everything happened so quickly. Please don’t make this about you not getting to be a hero.”

Y/N felt guilty then. Because she knew she wasn’t mad about not risking her life to help the team. It was about feeling lonely. Steve had the Avengers, but Y/N had lost her camaraderie when SHIELD fell. Now she was traveling around the world alone, hunting a man who didn’t want anything to do with her.

“I gotta go, Steve.” Y/N lied.

“Yeah, alright. Just think about it okay?”

“Yep.” She answered a little too harshly.

A few hours later, Y/N was packing up her things. Fury asked her for a favor. It was a quick recon mission. He knew Y/N had the connections and skills to get it done without causing unwanted attention within the intelligence community.

Fury was sending a jet to escort her to the drop point. Which was why Y/N was walking outside in her all black outfit and mounting her motorcycle.

“Going somewhere?” A voice asked from the shadows.

Y/N’s body stiffened. “Don’t get too excited. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She muttered as she grabbed her helmet.

Bucky walked out of the darkness. “I know you’re too stubborn for that.”

“I got called on an assignment. Should be back in a few days.”

He hid it well, but his heart sped at the thought of her putting herself in danger. Specifically, danger that was too far away for him to watch over her or intervene.

Y/N eyed him, not knowing what he was thinking. “You still going to be here when I get back?”

They both knew her absence would be the perfect time for Bucky to move on. He would get further quicker and it’d make Y/N’s chances of finding him again even lower.

“Not sure yet.” Bucky shrugged.

Y/N’s face softened. “I hope you’re still here when I get back, Bucky.”

Bucky tried to ignore how sincere and gentle her eyes were. But it was impossible.

Without waiting for his response, Y/N threw your helmet on and revved her engine.

Bucky watched as she sped down the street and disappeared into the distance.

————

Y/N returned to Romania a couple of days later. She was exhausted and it sucked that she couldn’t return to a home or a bed that was actually her’s after a mission. She collapsed on the hotel bed and got lost in her mind while she stared at the white ceiling.

Tonight, she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t spend another night alone in her hotel room or go for another walk on the streets of Romania.

“Fuck it.” Y/N sighed before she jumped off the bed and grabbed her keys.

Bucky might not have realized it, but Y/N easily memorized the location of his apartment. Even though he created a confusing and complex maze to lead her there, he underestimated how well she’d navigate to it again.

As she walked through the dark streets, Y/N tried not to get her hopes up. There was a chance Bucky went against her wishes and left Bucharest. A part of her wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up to find his apartment completely vacated.

So when she knocked on his door, Y/N was relieved to hear rustling on the other side.

“It’s me.” She said quietly, knowing he probably had a gun pointed at the door.

She swore she could feel his hesitation.

Bucky barely opened the door. “You shouldn’t be here.” His eyes looked beyond her, always checking if someone else was nearby.

“Can I come in?” She whispered.

It was the first time the fire and stubbornness was missing from her eyes. Bucky immediately realized this was different for her.

“Please?” She added.

Bucky’s heart dipped at the desperation in her tone. He sighed before opening the door wider for her to walk in.

Without waiting for an invitation, Y/N sat at his table and slammed down a paper bag. She instantly pulled a bottle of tequila, salt, and limes out of it. She looked up to see Bucky watching her closely.

“You going to join me or just stand there?” She asked cheekily. Bucky narrowed his gaze. “I can’t get drunk.”

Y/N smirked. “Steve’s the same way. It’s the serum.”

He almost frowned at the mentioning of his old friend.

“Are you really going to make me drink alone?”

Bucky took in a deep breath before walking to his kitchen and getting two glasses. He sat down across from her.

Y/N finally got a good look at him. His hair was pulled away from his face and tied into a messy bun, low on the back on his neck. The color of the shadows under his eyes somehow brought out the blue in his irises. His scruff was so close to being a thin beard. Even though she knew he looked different now, Y/N could see how Bucky Barnes was a lady killer back in the day.

Bucky waited until after she poured herself a shot and threw it back before he decided to speak.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Everything okay?”

“Nothing has to be wrong for me to want to drink myself into oblivion, Bucky.” Y/N almost snapped back.

His jaw clenched, not really knowing how to handle her when she was like this.

“Are we friends, Bucky?” Y/n asked after.

Bucky took in a deep breath and finally sat down across from her. He poured himself a shot too and tossed it back.

“No,” he slammed down the glass. “We’re not friends.”

Y/N smirked mischievously at his response.

As the night goes on, Y/N throws back shot after shot. Bucky keeps up, but it barely gives him even a buzz. But he could tell that Y/N was quite drunk after a few hours.

The only light in the studio apartment was the few candles that Bucky managed to steal from a market not too long ago. He tried to ignore the way the candlelight makes Y/N look even more beautiful.

“When are you going to give up?” He finally asked her after she giggled her way through a story about a mission where she lost her clothes and had to fight an agent while only wearing her underwear and bra.

Despite her drunkenness, Y/N’s face dropped at his question.

“Never.” She slurred. “I never give up.”

Bucky scoffed at that. “No wonder Steve likes you.”

Y/N glared at his comment. “When are you going to trust me? When are going to let me fucking help you?”

Bucky ground his teeth together. He doesn’t want to talk about this with her. He never thought he would. But something about her sitting across from him, drunk and fully trusting that he won’t do anything to her, brought something out in him.

“The things they did to me… they’re still there. I killed all of those people. I don’t have control of my own body or mind.” Bucky said it low and reluctantly. “The person that Steve’s looking for, the person he sent you after to find… he doesn’t exist anymore. Your pity and the help you keep offering? I don’t deserve it.”

He finally lifted his eyes to look at her. “It would be better for everyone if I stayed missing forever.”

Bucky expected Y/N to look angry for what he said. He expected her to yell and tell him how he was wrong, that James Buchanan Barnes was still in there and he was stronger than the Winter Soldier.

But that’s not what she was doing.

Instead, Y/N looked heartbroken. Bucky felt sick when he saw her eyes glaze over with unshed tears.

Without saying anything, Y/N got up from her seat and stalked over to his chair. It was shockingly smooth for how drunk she was.

Bucky swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest as Y/N slowly lowered herself over him so she was straddling his waist. He didn’t mean to, but he suddenly found that his hands were gripping her waist gently.

Y/N played with a chunk of hair that had escaped his bun and brushed it behind his ear. Then she gripped his face.

Bucky knew what was about to happen. He saw the way her eyes flickered to his lips before she leaned down. He knew what was happening, yet he didn’t do anything to stop it.

Instead, he met her lips halfway. He could taste the tequila on her tongue, and the leftover salt and lime on her lips. His grip naturally tightened on her waist and brought her closer to him. His gut dropped when she moaned into the kiss.

Bucky had been so touch starved, only feeling something physical when it was pain. Feeling Y/N’s warmth, joining their bodies like this… he hadn’t felt this human since before he went to war.

He doesn’t even bother to stop her when she broke the kiss to take off her t-shirt.

But when she starts fumbling with the hem of is own shirt... reality finally reached Bucky.

He couldn’t do this, especially to her.

Bucky pulled away and gripped her wrist to stop her from lifting his shirt.

“Y/N…Y/N, stop,” he begged.

When she didn’t listen, he got more aggressive. “Y/N, stop!”

She gasped at the harshness of his voice and leaned back.

Her cheeks blushed from both the embarrassment and the alcohol.

“We can’t … I can’t…” Bucky stuttered in a whisper.

“You’re not going to hurt me.” She mumbled.

“Yes, I will.” Bucky argued. But his eyes glanced down at how she was still straddling him in only her jeans and red lace bra.

His broken, twisted mind couldn’t ignore the observation that lingerie was so different from back in the day. It was a brutal reminder of how long it had been since he’d touched a woman.

She was so beautiful, practically glowing. Bucky wished he could. He wished he could be his old self and show her how beautiful and strong he thought she was with only his physical touch. Because he couldn’t trust his words since his mind had been broken.

But Bucky knew it was wrong.

Y/N, oblivious to his inner turmoil, was now embarrassed by her bold move.

“Fucking christ,” Y/N mumbled and tried to lift herself off Bucky’s lap. She now lost her confidence (or liquid courage). Therefore she stumbled a little. It just made her embarrassment worse.

“Y/N, don’t - I’m sorry.” Bucky failed to form a sentence.

“I’m such an idiot.” Y/N slurred, more to herself than him. She was searching his apartment for her leather jacket, ignoring the fact that her t-shirt was right at her feet.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Bucky clarified.

“Fuck you, Bucky.” She barked.

But Bucky wasn’t letting her leave. Y/N couldn’t even walk straight. And Bucky couldn’t guide her back to the hotel. The receptionist would see him. He knew every single camera that was in that lobby. It would already be suspicious seeing a man escorting a blatantly drunk woman back to her hotel room.

“You’re staying here tonight.” Bucky said in the most authoritative voice. “You can take the bed.”

The bed he spoke of was really just a mattress on top of wood pallets.

Suddenly, Y/N got the spins. She just nodded pathetically and stumbled to sit on the edge of the mattress. She leaned back and covered her eyes with her forearm. Within minutes, Y/N was passed out, still only wearing her jeans and bra.

Bucky sighed and rubbed his face roughly. He stared at her for a second, listening to her deep and even breaths.

Finally, he stepped forward and removed her combat boots from her feet. Then he shifted her further up the bed and pulled the covers over her. She sighed in content, but showed no signs of waking up from the slight jostling.

Bucky hated her.

He hated how beautiful she was, even when she was drunk and couldn’t walk. He hated how strong she was, unfazed by his attempts to make her leave him alone. He hated how smart she was, hunting him down everywhere he went as if he wasn’t the damn Winter Soldier. He knew he didn’t try hard to hide from her. But somehow he knew she’d always find him, even when he stopped leaving breadcrumbs behind.

But if he truly hated her, would he be staring at her like she had become the one thing that could actually make him try to keep living?

Bucky didn’t know who he was anymore. He didn’t know if he was the Winter Soldier or Steve’s Bucky or Sergeant Barnes. Yet his heart was convinced that he was falling in love with this woman. Nothing made sense to him… except her.

Without thinking, Bucky brushed some hair away from her face. She hummed and leaned into his touch.

He hated her.

——————-

Bucky sat on the couch, trying to think of a plan. He had to get away from Y/N. There was no ending to this life where she didn’t get hurt. If it wasn’t Hydra, it was another government regime that wanted his head.

He hadn’t slept a wink. How could he when Y/N was sleeping right there? It was oddly relaxing, knowing she was there... safe. But Bucky couldn’t slow his mind down enough to even consider going to bed.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N’s cellphone started ringing.

He swore under his breath when he saw that it was rousing Y/N.

Bucky quickly tried to find the phone before it fully woke her up. But it was a lost cause. He managed to find it though, still sitting in the pocket of her leather jacket.

Y/N sat up, knowing it was an emergency by the fact that the phone was ringing. Only a handful of people had the number.

Bucky glanced at the name before looking at her.

“It’s Steve.” He muttered before handing it to her.

A look of guilt washed over her half-asleep face.

She quickly grabbed the phone, jumped out of bed and to the balcony, sliding the door behind her.

Bucky felt a pang in his gut. He was still human enough to realize it was jealousy.

Bucky was jealous.

Even if he was a whole man and he lived in a world where he wasn’t the most wanted killer, he still couldn’t have Y/N. Because she was already Steve’s.

Yes, she kissed him and tried to sleep with him last night. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love his best friend.

Best friend… could he even call Steve that anymore? Maybe Steve just searched for him out of guilt. Not out of love. Not because they were long long friends, both out of place in time.

Bucky stood up when Y/N returned.

He didn’t even realize she was still only wearing her jeans and bra. Because he was too preoccupied by the fact that she had tears silently sliding down. She had been crying on the balcony. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were red.

“Ugh…” She sniffled, not meeting his gaze. “I - I have to go.”

“What’s happened?” His voice was so desperate. He cursed himself for letting it show how much he cared about her.

“My grandma died.”

-----------

Part 7

Guys, I posted 2 times in one weekend! That has to be worth something... right? lol. Write me a book report and make me happy ;)

#heritage fic #steve rogers x platonic!reader #grandpa!steve rogers #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky angst #y/n ainsley #peggy carter's granddaughter #steve rogers' granddaughter #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes reader insert

1K notes · View notes

supersoldier-of-asgard · 6 years

Text

Nodus Tollens (10/10)

•The realisation that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore•

Pairing : Bucky x HYDRA!reader (gender neutral) + Avengers

Summary : you’ve been practically raised by HYDRA and The Wintersoldier has been your idol, someone you looked up to. What happens when you’re send to kill him and get captured by the avengers? SLOWBURN

Warnings whole fic : language, detailed discription of fighting and blood, a whole load of torture, trauma and a lot of angst ( if you want me to add something then please message me!)

Warnings this part : detailed blood and torture, dead bodys description and revenge.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

masterlist

Somewhere between the clouds

“How long do we still have?”

“Like an hour at most,” Clint answered from his place in the control seat, flying the helicarrier through the darkning clouds of the sky.

“Alright. Once we’re there, remember to stick to the plan and go in and out as quickly as possible,” Steve ordered,” no heroic antics, no lone walkers and no sacrifices.”

Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes,” says you.”

“Okay, don’t. We know this is probably a trap, so please don’t fight,” Natasha chimed in,” Barnes needs us.”

The place of realisation

Dawn slowly crept into the sky, the rain that had clattered with the rapid beating of your heart now quiet and serene.

Your eyes drifted over the exposed chest of the dreaming man that had calmed the rain both inside you and outside, the peaceful air that hung around preventing you from fully standing up.

His prosthetic stirred and whispered through the quiet night air, the neutrally calm expression on his face a stark contrast to the usual stern look that pulled at his features.

As you traced the curve of his eyelashes, your mind flashed to the first night you had seen him, writhing in bed with those eyes tightly pulled together to drown out the demons they had sowed in through the nerves when they had connected his metal arm.

A fire ignited within you, pain and fury tugging at your feet to make contact with the cold tile floor as you stood up and covered yourself once more in the suit.

You were going to end it. Once and for all.

Somewhere once called home

At times like this you wish you had your music with you, the soft beating of the drum a faint background soundtrack to the movie-like crime you were about to commit.

Low humming took its place instead, a familiar melodie swirling around your mind and flowing between your lips to immerse in the howling wind.

The knives between your fingers scraped against eachother as you watched like an owl how the guards surrounded the place you once belonged.

Not anymore. Not since you found a new home, a home where blue and silver were the colors of the walls and black curtains hung around the windows you hadn’t had in your old home.

You emerged from the shadows and flung your knifes with precision, the pointy ends meeting eyes and heads as they dropped dead with a whiny groan of pain.

More of them came alert, but you swiftly took them down without a sweat, a gun in each of your hands as they charged at you.

One pair of brown eyes flashed with realisation as he took in your face, a single moment of hesitation giving you space to take him down and snatch his keys before he could comprehend who you truly were.

Clearing the entrance, you face the gates that you had walked through so many times, your determined legs stepping over the bodys littering the floor.

The screech of the metal bars sliding across the floor fueled the fire behind your eyes, blinding reason and the future as you flipped more knives in your hands with every intention to shed as much blood as possible.

You stood still infront of one of the big metal doors, a quick whiff enough to know there were armed soldiers standing on the other side. You smile devilishly as you continue humming, the empty space resonating the flowing sound loudly and spreading an eerie air behind the doors.

You slowly open the doors, your eyes meeting with at least twenty other pairs, looking all too familiar and... freightened.

This was your home after all. They knew what you were capable of. They had seen you do this before.

Somewhere Bucky regrets to be

The distinction of closed eyelids and the ever consuming night is small, Bucky’s heightened vision clearing up slowly as his mind tries to fling out every possible memory he could muster into the air.

The first thing he realises is that he’s not home, this is not his bed, and he certainly doesn’t remember ever sleeping this well.

He gasped and shot up straight, his eyes tracing every inch of the room for your face but comming empty. He glanced at the beside and felt disappointment swirl through him once again as he’s left in the dust for the hundredth time. How he kept falling into this is beyond him.

He didn’t waste time as he flung his naked body out of bed, yanked on his clothes and shook the locked door off its hinges to leave. He ignored the strange looks he was given and asked for a phone, dialing the only number he had space for in his contorted mind to memorize.

“Steve? It’s me- Buck-“

“Bucky?! Where the hell are you?!”, Steve’s voice screamed, both in relief and frantic panic.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Some weird place outside the city-“

“We’ll- we’ll get you once we’re done, okay? We’re heading to one of HYDRA’s secret bases. Thank god you’re okay. I thought they had kidnapped you.”

“Well someone actually did,” he mumbled, trying to figure out where you could’ve went for godssake.” I want to come. I think my imprisoner is there, too.”

A sigh and some mumbling was heard through the line, the person which he lended the phone from awkwardly smiling at him as they made eyecontact.

“We’re apparently almost over the city, if you can come to the tower I think we can pick you up.”

He sighed exasperatedly, giving the person a pleading smile as he asked his next question.” Can I borrow some money, too?”

The eerie halls of HYDRA

The aching feeling shooting up your arms and legs went completely ignored as you flung yourself from wall to wall, bullets raining on the men before you as blood spews on your face.

The low humming whispering through the air fought with the last breath of the last man standing, fighting for their place to live. The hollow pair of eyes remained staring into nothingness, seemingly peering right through you.

You wiped your sleeve over your face, staining the black leather red as you continued down many more halls with determination. With every drop of blood, your vision stained more crimison. With every grunt and every body dropping to the ground, your movements became more out of control.

The calculated swiftness was gone, a vicious bruteness taking its place as every sense of pain and victory vanished with every slicing of a throat. You lusted for blood, the adrenaline pumping through your veins so ethereal that all else was a blur. You didn’t have to think, to pay attention to what you were doing to bring down every man on your way.

Panting with a murderous smile on your face, you stood in front of the door at the end of your red rainbow. This was the end, the moment you had waited for and the only thing standing between you and happiness.

You timidly raised your bullet induced leg, kicking the door off its hinges with not even all your force. It crashed against the opposite wall as bullets immediately flew your direction. You hid behind a wall as a stern voice barked orders, the doorway too small for two men to enter thus giving you advantage as you took them down one by one like a videogame.

When silence had stretched the whole facility, the monster of your dreams hiding inside as you lingered out, you whistled the tune you had learned when you were still a kid.

A slow step inside, and then another, and another as you continued whistling the song that had been imbedded in your brain for what felt like centuries. The frantic beating of his heart filled your ears like music, the shudder that flowed through him like a wave boosting your adrenaline as you lifted your eyes to lock onto his.

He was holding a gun in one hand, a device with a bright red button on the other. He was trying to compose himself, although his heart already told its tale. Your blood smudged face broke into a smirk as he cocked the gun, a serious look on his rimpled features.

“If you take another step, I swear to god, I will blow us both up.”

The hellicarier

Wet grass made sucking sounds under his boots as Bucky nervously glanced at the facility they just landed a few good feet away from.

It was quiet, the darkness redering them from seeing too far.

“I’m flying closer. Move slowly and wait for my word,” Tony spoke, slowly flying away as Steve led the rest foreward.

His heart was booming in his chest, Tony’s voice crackling through the comms and right through his train of thoughts.

“The guards are down, and so seem to be the rest of the first line of defense,” he hummed, intrigued but still puzzled,” I’m going in.”

“Wait, Tony-“

It all seemed so surreal. None of it made any sense to him, no matter how much Bucky thought about it. As the facility started to clear, a shudder raked through him like a wildfire, memories of torture and imprisonment washing over him with a shaky sigh.

Steve was too busy rushing after Tony to notice, and Bucky was glad he didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to explain why he didn’t want to go inside, scared of the scene they were just about to encounter.

“Shit.”

An understatement, Bucky thought. A see of bodys littered the ground, knives plunged in painfully ruthless areas and surging vomit from within him. They had to step on them to pass, wincing and keeping eyes straight to not witness the blood seeping out eyes and mouths.

It seemed never ending. Every door they opened lead to another horrifying scene, each group murdered in a different and more ruthless way than the other. It was clear that whoever did this lost complete control.

They all could guess who it was, the knives sticking out of throats similar to the ones they had obtained from you a week ago. Motives were still unclear, although Bucky might have an idea.

He hoped and prayed you changed. That you murdering your fellow agents was a sign of your rebellion against them, and that you were on your way to kill the head of it all. Bucky didn´t know who the man was, and it hadn’t struck him before now that this must be the place that you grew up in. The same space he had been kept in for a short time considering his long life and many movings.

How had you not encountered eachother? If they knew how much you admired him, why not give you the opportunity to meet him or even see him?

“It’s here,” Natasha announced, causing all to stand still and look around the crimison walls.

“Uh.. can you be more specific?”, Clint piped up, scrunching his face as he heard crunching from under his feet. He stepped way, only to step on another body and earning him another echoing crushing sound.” fucking disgusting!”

“Shut up, Clint-“

“Found it,” Bucky sighed, eyes landing on the small musicdevice poking out of one of the pockets of the men that offered their lives to HYDRA. It was splattered with blood, but still in one piece.” What now?”

“..walk further,” Steve ordered, not flinching as the body beneath his feet moved from the pressure of his weight, the cracking sound awefully defined by the hollow walls of the filled room.

A couple hallways away

“Do it. I dare you.”

His wrinkled thumb lowerd slightly, but as it almost touched the button, he retreated it with a yell.

“I give you one last chance to leave, soldat! I swear on my grave that I will blow us to pieces!”

You chuckled, taking a step foreward. He pressed the trigger of the gun in shock of your movement, but it easily past by you by both his lack of aim and your swift step to the side.

“You care too much about your life to do this,” you coo’d,” oh, I know it all too well.”

“Get back!”, he screamed,” I fucking raised you! You have no right to-“

You cut him off by slamming your hands on the wooden desk, breaking it slightly as you leaned on it and got closer to his face.” I have every right to do what I’m doing. You ruined my life and his.”

He pressed the button, scrunching his face to a ball of prune, but snapped his eyes open as he heared your devilish laughter. “ You would never dare harm yourself. You would harm anyone— a little kid without a thought— but not yourself.”

You swatted both the gun and button out of his hands, gripping his collor and yanking him close to your face.” I was a kid. At most 10 years old, when I learned what it felt like to be burned alive. You don’t do that to a kid.”

“You had extraordinary talents for such a young age.”

“Brave for you to still talk this way when your life is in my blooded hands,” you whispered, releasing one hand to gently stroke his cheek, trailing a stripe of blood down his scruffy beard,” and when I’m so tempted to make you.. extraordinary, too.”

“Why now?” He hissed, seemingly swallowing his high squeek,” all those years of torture and not once did you fight back. Why now?”

Your eyebrows relaxed, millions of thoughts flooding your brain as you gave him a pat on the cheek.” I guess someone finally managed to break me the way you never could,” you whispered.

His eyes followed your every move as you pried in one of your pockets, revealing a small object and bringing it up to his face. A screw, small but long gleaming in the yellow light as his brows furrowed in anticipation.

“I found this in my suit yesterday. It was in my pocket, bloody and slightly crooked,” you continued whispering, eyes not leaving the screw as you twisted it in the light.” You know what this is?”

Before he could answer, you yanked him to the ground with all the force you had left. His head slammed next to his desk, a strangled gasp caught in his throat as he pushed out a groan.

You sat over him, the screw hovering between his eyes.” The forgotton screw. I found it in my back after my session. You wanna know how?”

He rapidly but barely shook his head in response, not being able to keep his eyes off the metal object between your fingers.” I tried to sleep after they had pulled out all fifteen they had hammered in my back to make me extraordinary, but in my moments of pain I must have not counted clearly. The moment my back hit the matress, it sunk so deep in my back that I couldn’t take it out.”

The pointy end lightly scraped over his head, a white line trailing up his nose.” I spend the whole night trying to pluck it out with my bare hands,” you whispered, putting a little pressure and elicting a yelp,” and I kept it. As a souvenir. I didn’t know why, back then, but now I’m glad I did.´´

With one quick motion, you lifted the screw into the air and plunged it in his eye, a gut wrenching scream heard through the whole facility, the dead even flinching in horror.

All heads seemed to turn simultaneously, Steve the first to react as he sprinted over de bodys to the source of the scream. Bucky followed soon after, his hair whipping in his face as he tried to control his breathing.

He didn´t know if he was relieved that the scream didn´t belong to you, or that he was terrified of what you were doing that elicted such a yell. He knew they probably deserved this, but at what emotinal cost?

They didn´t have to kick the door open, as it was already shook off its hinges and thrown across the room. His eyes landed on the body first, once eyes now mere black holes as scarlett seeped from them like a waterfall, mouth ripped by the edges as it strechted like a grin. The most horrifying thing above all, was the ragged breathing pushing past the blood, eyesockets pleadingly staring at them from their hollow space and sending a chill through Bucky´s spine.

Then, when he could tear his eyes away from the sickning sight, he was met with eyes filled to the brim with plain craze. He impulsively leaped from his space, brushing past the rest as he pulled you up from over the man and fell to the ground in frantic sloppiness. He cradled your motionless figure as his eyes found the dying body again, memories flooding his mind of the identification of the eyeless puppet. He was one of the men that had tried to find Bucky´s weaknesses by torturing him, convinced it would make him stronger. It never did.

After a long-stretched silence, your arms twitched at your side and lifted to embrace his chest. He held on tighter, trying to compose himself as a sob begged to escape his lips and fill the awkward air.

You pressed yourself against the warmth, a smile starting to form your lips as you focused on the heartbeat of your home. The blinding rage was slowly dripping from the edge and fading away into the blood on the ground, the adrenaline that had drummed in your veins washing away to leave you exhausted and drained.

´´Bucky,´´ Steve softly whispered, crouching down next to them as his brain wrecked havoc to make sense of the situation and the next. He didn´t answer, burrying your face into his shirt as the blood stained his fingers. He payed no attention, closing his eyes to hear the steady breathing that left your lungs to calm him down.

It was silent again, deafning and consuming, till you breathed out a melody, humming one of the only songs that brought happiness. Happiness, the only feeling you alowed yourself to feel at this moment. Happiness and longing, longing for the future. Longing for the man that rested his chin on your crown, shielding you with his arms as you took in the scent that lingered upon him.

The plot of your life finally made sense again.

THE END

A/N : wow. This was it, guys. the last chapter of my first series. It has been so much fun writing this and changing course every other chapter to the point I forgot to lead to the plot. If you have questions, please ask!

What do you think about the ending? Is it a happy one?

did you notice I put Bucky´s trigger words in every chapter, but in reverse? It´s supposed to be symbolic for the readers journey where instead of turning bad like Bucky does when he hears them in the good order, she turns (arguably) good with the reverse of it, reversing the damage of the triggerwords :)

tags

@mariana-cb @unicornsxfandoms @marydragneell @alilblogger @alt-er-love-er-alt

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #x Hydra!reader #x villain!reader #Nodus Tollens #marvel au #marvel fic #avengers

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darkelfshadow · 7 years

Text

Session Summary - 29

AKA “Ethel The Aardvark Goes Quantity Surveying”

Adventures in Taggeriell

Session 29 (Date: 26th August 2017)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Oloma”) Human Female.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor”) Dwarf Male.

- Phil (Known as “Nac”) Half-elf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

Absent Players

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male. <Played by Paul>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by DM>

- (Known as “Valder”) Elf Male. <Controlled by DM>

Summary

- Starday, 6th of Kuthona in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.

- The party begin this session, having just walked into Lington via the west main gate, which is closed for the night. The dark streets of Lington are empty, the buildings around them are all closed, with only some having their windows open to show people inside lit by fire places and lanterns.

- Two Red Guard soldiers approach the party and offer to escort them through the streets, so they do not keep getting stopped by City Watch and Red Guard patrols enforcing the night time curfew in Lington.

- The party ask the soldiers to take them to The Crouching Bear Inn. They walk through the empty city streets, passing numerous patrols who do not stop the party when they see the two Red Guard soldiers escorting them.

- Naillae sees Nac looking around suspiciously and she leans in to whisper to him, “You sense it too? We’re being followed. Not by the Thief Guild agents up in roof tops above,” she nods her head towards one building and Nac looks up to see that two dark shapes on the roof line which he had assumed were chimneys were in fact a pair of figures in dark clothes.

- Naillae continues, “No, it’s something else. There’s something trailing us, just out of sight, but every time I try to catch sight of what it is, I just get a glimpse of something dark, like a shadow, moving unnaturally fast. I’ll pay a visit to the Guild tomorrow and see what the situation in Lington is.”

- The party walk around the Guild & Imperial Quarter, over a large stone bridge that traverses one of the water canals, and into the Upper Market District where they come to The Crouching Bear Inn, one of the nicer inns in the district.

- The door is closed and initially the inn keep, Syrah, refuses to allow anyone in as it is in breach of the curfew but once she learns that the party are Wardens in company of the Red Guard soldiers she opens the door and lets the party in.

- Inside the inn it is quiet, with only two tables occupied, one with a single male figure drinking heavily and one table with a pair of males talking quietly. All the occupants are nicely dressed.

- The party organise rooms and meals for the night and morning. During the meal, Sir Krondor listens in to the conversation between the two males and over hears them talking about the recent battle here in Lington and the role that the two wizards Manzoor and Yonochen played. They talk about how unfair it was that the Baroness officially thanked both Yonochen and Manzoor for their efforts in stopping the Dragon when everyone knows that it was Yonochen that did most of the work, being the more powerful wizard.

- Oloma uses her telepathy to get some thoughts from the pair of males and hears some thoughts about concern for when the roads will be safe again for them to leave Lington to continue their business. She also uses her telepathy on the lone male and overhears him mumbling to himself about not being appreciated and not being man enough like the adventurers who helped the injured people of Lington after the attack, and paying to much attention to his women customers!

- Trenchant moves over to the lone male figure drinking and attempts to talk to him but he gets no where with the not quite drunk figure.

- However, when Oloma buys a drink for the lone male and then goes and sits down with him, he appears more willing to talk to the female Mystic. She learns his name is Orlin and he is a tailor to the Baroness and nobles here in Lington. It appears he has had a fight with his wife and has had to find alternative accomodation for the night. The intoxicated merchant takes one of Oloma’s Alchemist business cards (for Felyur in Anwich) and invites Oloma to his shop, “Orlin’s Fine Silks & Tailoring”, which is just down the road in this district.

- With the curfew in place, the party decide to head to their individual rooms and get some sleep.

- Sunday, 7th of Kuthona in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.

- The party arise and leave their rooms. As Nac comes out of his room and sees a small amount of dust or grit on the floor in front of his door. Naillae crouches down and examines his lock, “Looks like someone tried to pick this door. Did a bad job too, really rough job of it, though this is a pretty good lock.”

- Nac’s eyes narrow, “Our shadow trailing us last night?”

- “Maybe,” replies Naillae.

- The party go downstairs and eat breakfast, after which the party discuss what to do: Sir Krondor and Valder want to go to the Royal Library to look for their book; Naillae wants to visit the Thief’s Guild and find out what is happening; Gim wants to head to the Royal Armourer to collect the master work great axe he had commissioned; Oloma, Trenchant and Labarett want to check out the Sunday market in “The Fallen Sons Square”.

- Naillae heads out alone to go to the Thief’s Guild, as no one else can go with her, but the rest of the party head out together as they will stay in one group and only split up as they get closer to their individual tasks. As it is Sunday most of the shops and business are closed, only taverns, inns, brothels, temples and limited fresh food stalls in the market square being open for business.

- The party head east through the Upper Market District, over another of the many stone bridges that span the many water canals of the town, and head over to the Academic District, where the Royal Armourer is located.

- This shop, like most of the shops they have passed, is also closed but the party can hear someone hammering inside.

- Gim goes up to the closed door and knocks.

- A deep rough voice calls out irritability, “You blind? We’re closed, be off with you!”

- Gim hammers on the door, “Open up, I’ve come for my great axe! It’s Gim The Hero, from the Dwarven Smith Guild.”

- The door is opened up by a very tall and muscular man, Wolgest the Royal Black Smith, who says, “Morning Master Dwarf, it is good to see you again. Normally I wouldn’t open up on a Sunday but for a fellow Smithy I’ll extend the curtesy of doing so.”

- The party enter the shop and Wolgest retrieves the master work great axe. It has been decorated with twin cobras and green gems, the symbol and colour of Lington; and a small shield bearing the symbol of Lington is visible. Gim takes the weapon and hands over all his gold coins and one large gem to pay the rest of the outstanding commission (600 gp). Gim is very happy with his new weapon and is looking forward to testing it out in battle.

- Now the party split up, with Sir Krondor and Valder continuing to head to the Royal Palace which is further down the road, and with Nac, Oloma, Gim, Trenchant and Labarett leaving to make their way over to the Lower Market District and to the market square.

- Sir Krondor and Valder reach the main gate of the Royal Palace which is set on one side of a large public square with a central water fountain. An imposing stone wall surrounds the large Palace compound. It would appear that there is one large palace building and many smaller buildings within the compound. The pair walk up to a large ornate gate, which is open, but has two Palace Guards standing in front of it, blocking entry.

- Sir Krondor walks up and says, “Out of my way. I am Sir Krondor, Knight Of The Anvil and Warden. I need to use the Royal Library.”

- The two Palace guards move to block the Dwarf’s path and one says with a smirk, “You don’t look like a Warden. You ever hear of a Dwarf Warden?”

- The other Palace guard replies, “No, I didn’t think they would make the height requirement!” and then both guards burst out laughing.

- Sir Krondor places his hand onto his silver war hammer but Valder places a calming hand onto the Dwarf’s shoulder, “Easy Sir Krondor. Just show them the offical writ that we are Wardens.”

- “Yes, alright,” replies Sir Krondor.

- The two guards lean forward looking expectantly as the Dwarf Knight begins to go through his backpack, before looking up, “Dam it! Trenchant has the bloody writ!”

- Sir Krondor moves to the two Palace guards, “Look, I am a Warden, I just can’t prove it right now. Surely you can let me in to the Royal Library, this is important. Is it not open to the public?”

- The two guards laugh, “Oh yeah sure, what do you think that any one can just stroll on in to the Palace grounds, go to the library, use the Royal swimming pool too, jump on the Royal horses and do what ever you like! Perhaps you’d like to take a dump in the Royal shit house!”

- Valder places his hand on the fuming Dwarf and speaks in a calming tone, “Thank you Guardsman. We shall leave and return with proof of our rank.”

- Sir Krondor reluctantly lets the Elf Wizard turn him away and the pair start to walk off, as one of the Palace Guards says in a loud voice, “The balls of that common scum! Trying to get in here and lie about being a Knight and a Warden! He’s probably one of those Clanless Dwarves.”

- Sir Krondor spins on his heel, grabbing his war hammer and holding it out in a combat stance, “How dare you! I am a Knight Of The Anvil, the Royal Envoy of Fanur, Warden of Tyriba and proud kinsman of Clan Dwgyth. You have insulted my honour! Prepare to defend yourself!”

- Both the Palace guards, with a look of fear on their faces start to back away (Successful Intimidation check by Sir Krondor). One of the Palace guards yells out, “Help! Intruders! Guard the gate!”

- Sir Krondor starts to walk slowly towards the gate, his silver war hammer glinting in the morning sun, a look of pure anger on the Dwarf’s face.

- Six “Black Hand” Knights appear with long swords drawn. One of the lead Knights sees Sir Krondor and approaches, “Hold your ground! These grounds are the property of the Baroness!”

- Sir Krondor looks at the “Black Hand” Knight, “I am Sir Krondor of The Anvil. Those men there insulted my Knighthood, my Kingdom, my Clan and my rank as a Warden!”

- The “Black Hand” Knight sheaths his sword, “I see, you must be with the group that is coming from Anwich with news of the Cult. Commander Iorn mentioned a group of Honorary Wardens was coming and one was a Knight Of The Anvil.”

- The “Black Hand” Knight moves over to the two Palace guards, “You idiots! Can’t you see he’s a Knight! He is a Warden! I’ll see you’re both assigned on night guard duty for next six months!”

- After the Palace Guards apologise and back away, not looking to happy about hearing of their coming long service of night guard duty, Sir Krondor and Valder enter the Palace grounds. The “Black Hand” Knight is called Sir Drogo and walks them over to the Royal Library, which is off to the side of the main palace. The “Black Hand” Knight escorts them up a set of wide stone steps to a pair of large metal doors that lead into the ground level of the tall six story library.

- As the three enter the library, they can see the the central part of the building, is open with a circular opening and a railing on all the floors, so they can look up to all six levels. Every part of the building has free standing book cases filled with books, tables and chairs are positioned here and there, and torches with a greenish flame light every corner of the building.

- A male Elf, with a stern face, dressed in blue robes approaches the party. He is Simimar, a Wizard and Librarian, and after introductions asks, “What book do you seek, Sir Krondor?”

- Sir Krondor replies, “Argh, the book, we’re after, umm …. hang on, the name is on the tip of my tongue.”

- Valder tries to speak, “I think the book is …”

- “No, no,” interrupts Sir Krondor, “It’s called, Creatures Of Legend And Great Moments Of History.”

- Simimar The Librarian removes a small metal bird from a fold of his robe and speaks the name of the book and instantly the metal wings of bird spring out and with a whirling noise the bird flies up to the third level. Simimar begins to walk towards a set of stairs and indicates for Sir Krondor and Valder to follow.

- Valder tries to speak to the Dwarf, “I don’t think that’s …”

- But Sir Krondor interrupts him again, “Don’t worry Valder, I’ve got this.”

- Valder smiles, “Ok.”

- They follow Simimar up to the third floor and through a maze of shelves until they arrive at one where the bird is sitting next to a book. The Elven Librarian removes the book, “Here it is, the book you requested.”

- The Librarian hands the book to Sir Krondor and the Dwarf starts to flick through it, “Hang on, this is really familiar. I think we’ve seen this book before.”

- Valder sighs, “We have. That’s the same book we read in Anwich in Sir Castellan’s library. We need the other book, the one it talks about in there, we need …”

- Again the Dwarf Knight interrupts Valder, “Yes yes, of course, we need ….”

- After a long pause Simimar asks “Yes, you need?”

- “I’m getting there, hang on,” replies Sir Krondor.

- “We do have lots of books here,“ begins Simimar, “Perhaps Thirty Days In The Samarkind Desert With The Duchess Of Kent? That is an interesting book.”

- “No no, not that one,” answers back Sir Krondor trying to think of the book title whilst Valder who has taken a seat nearby, smiles and twiddles his thumbs.

- “A Hundred Ways To Start A Fight perhaps?” enquire Simimar.

- “No that wasn’t it,” replies Sir Krondor.

- Simimar begins again, “Well, what about Ethel The Aardvark Goes Quantity Surveying? A stimulating book, if perhaps somewhat niche.”

- Sir Krondor replies, “No, no, it was Dragons something something.”

- “Dragons something something? Not a book I’ve heard of I’m afraid,” replies the Librarian.

- Valder speaks up, “It’s called Dragons Of The Council!”

- Sir Krondor hushes Valder, “Hang on Valder, just wait, you can tell me later, I’m trying to remember the name of that book.”

- Flabbergasted Valder speaks each word out aloud and separately, “Dragons. Of. The. Council.”

- Sir Krondor, seemingly unaware of anything Valder has said, looks up and says, “Dragons Of The Council, that’s what’s it called!”

- Simimar takes out his metal bird and speaks the books title, at which point the bird’s wings flap excitedly and it does not take off, the Librarian speaks, “I see. That book is in the restricted section.”

- Sir Krondor speaks, “Yes I know, we were told that.”

- Simimar looks at the Dwarf dourly, “Well, if you had told me that before we could have saved some time. No one is allowed in the restricted section without written permission from the Baroness.”

- Sir Krondor spends the next few minutes getting more and more frustrated with the Librarian who will not budge on his position, and in the end Sir Krondor has to leave empty handed, except for a map of the Palace grounds that he obtains from Simimar. Sir Krondor and Valder decide to head over to the Knight barracks in the Palace compound to seek further aid.

***

- Meanwhile, Nac, Oloma, Gim, Trenchant and Labarett have proceeded to the “Fallen Sons” Square in the Lower Market Square. There are just over a dozen roughly made and temporary stalls that are selling an assortment of fresh foods: breads, flour, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, jugs of milk, meats and fish. There does not appear to be a large selection and when questioned by Oloma it turns out that food is in limited supply as half the food has been seized to feed the Red Guard Army by order of the King, and as such the prices are also going up. Oloma also finds out that many of the locals have been arrested by the “Black Hand” Knights due to being accused of being a Cultists spy; there is much suspicion and unease in Lington.

- The group makes their way over to the near by Blue Toad Inn, passing by the Job Board in the Square that Oloma stops to take some jobs off.

- Walking into the busy inn, the group is welcomed by the friendly Dwarf Inn Keeper, “Welcome to the Blue Toad Inn! I’m Falgar, the Inn Keeper, what can I …”

- But when Nac steps into view and then all hell brakes loose. The Dwarf Inn Keep points at Nac and screams, “Get the fuck out of my Inn! Now! Thief! Murderer!”

- Oloma, Gim, Trenchant and Labarett turn towards Nac. Trenchant speaks, “This. This is why we can’t have nice things.”

- In turn, Nac just smiles warmly and says to the Dwarf, “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken my good man. Now get us a good table, we’re Wardens.”

- “Wardens! WARDENS!” bellows the Dwarf, “Like fuck ya are! Get out now! Call the City Watch! Call the WATCH!”

- Just then a group of 6 Red Guard Soldiers walking by have heard the shouting and commotion and enter.

- Falgar sees the guards and points immediately at Nac, “Arrest these men, they’re murderers that killed a dozen of the City Watch!”

- All six guards immediately draw their swords and approach the party, the lead soldier speaks in a loud voice, “No one move or draw weapons!”

- Trenchant lifts up his hands in a peaceful gesture and speaks in a soothing and calming voice, “My good soldier, this is a case of mistaken identity. We are Wardens, I have a writ on my person I can show you. We are here in Lington on important Warden business. We know nothing of what this Inn Keep speaks.” (Successful Persuasion check)

- Trenchant takes out the official and signed writ of title and after the lead soldier checks it, informs Falgar that they are indeed Wardens and he must be mistaken. As the six soldiers sheath their weapons and leave, Falgar storms off out the back of the Inn, and the remainder of the time the party are there he refuses to come out and serve or speak to them, instead leaving it to his serving staff to do so.

- The party spend some time in The Blue Toad Inn, drinking some wine which Nac has bought for everyone. Nac seems to be in a good mood, and appears to be enjoying taunting Falgar the entire time.

- During the time there Nac has to excuse himself to use the rear wash rooms. On the way to the loo Nac gives Falgar a long, sweet smile, which sends the Dwarf Inn Keep into a rage.

- Eventually Nac tires of tormenting Falgar and the group leaves the Inn.

- They then continue their “pub crawl” of Lington and head over to The Black Blades Tavern, which is almost empty, with only about 6 patrons in there of varying degrees of intoxication. Business has been bad for the seedy tavern since the introduction of the night curfew, when The Black Blades tavern would normally get most of their customers.

- Behind the bar is Gront, the large Half-Orc bar keeper that some of the party have meet before. Gront, standing over 7’ tall, is the “smaller” brother of Grong, the Half-Orc black smith in Anwich.

- The party go up to Gront and speak to him for a short time, which mostly involves the party reassuring the big Half-Orc that he is indeed as big and strong as his brother in Anwich.

- The party order a round of drinks and Gront takes out five dirty glass mugs and pours a brownish liquid with floating bits in it that is allegedly ale.

- All five of the party down the drink but can barely keep the drink down. Gim calls the drink “smooth” whilst Labarett and Trenchant barely avoid vomiting it up again (Constitution checks all successful).

- Looking at the board on one of the walls, they can see that the current Dwarf Throwing Champion is still Gim “The Depth Charge” Moosa and next to that is the current Knife Throwing Champion, Naillae “Black Eyes”. Gim stands next to the board smiling.

- Nac challenges the party to a game of knife throwing on the throwing board that is set up and Oloma and Trenchant take up the challenge.

- The first round starts, with Trenchant scoring a bullseye, then Oloma hitting the second circle mark, and Nac getting a bullseye that knocks out Trenchant’s dagger (and removes his score as per the rules of the game). First round: Oloma 2 points and Nac 4 points.

- One of the intoxicated patrons moves over to Labarett and offers to place a bet on Oloma to win for 4 gold pieces, and the Elf barbarian accepts the offer.

- The next round sees all three of competitors getting a bulls eye. Second round: Trenchant 4 points, Oloma 4 points and Nac 4 points.

- The intoxicated patron then offers to change the bet, double or nothing (8 gold pieces), that Oloma wins and Labarett accepts the challenge after checking his money pouch that he can cover the amount.

- The last round comes and Oloma throws another bullseye, which gets a cheer from the intoxicated patron betting on her. Nac then throws and only hits the second circle mark. Trenchant throws his dagger last and hits the dagger of Oloma, knocking it off the board and braking the pommel off Oloma’s dagger (Critical Hit); which causes the intoxicated patron to stop cheering and Labarett to smile broadly. Third round: Trenchant 4 points and Nac 2 points.

- Nac wins the competition with 10 points, Trenchant comes second with 8 points and last comes Oloma with 6 points.

- The intoxicated patron is not very happy about the situation and claims he was set up by the party as a con but he does reluctantly pays the 8 gold pieces to Labarett, which the Elf Barbarian then throws 2 gold coins to Oloma to cover for cost of repairing her broken dagger.

- Gront pours another mug of his “ale” to the party as a celebration of the knife throwing and pushes it towards the party but no one in the party wants to risk drinking the foul drink again. Oloma pushes the mug towards the intoxicated patron who is still mumbling about being conned and the patron downs the drink in one gulp. With a loud burp the patron then falls over backwards unconscious. Oloma then drags his body over to a corner to keep hin out of harms way and takes the money pouch off the drunken male’s belt, helping her self to 12 gold pieces and 15 silver pieces.

- After some time the group decides to leave the tavern. They then split up with Nac, Trenchant, Labarett and Gim deciding to walk over to the far side of town and to the Theater District to attend the meeting in The Pair Of Black Antlers Tavern. Oloma decides to avoid the meeting and to wander around the town for a bit by herself.

***

- Meanwhile, back with Sir Krondor and Valder, they have walked over to the barracks of the Knights of Retribution, otherwise known as the “Black Hands”, in the Palace compound and find Sir Drogo again. They ask the Knight if there is any way he can get them into the Library secured section and he informs the pair that only the Baroness can do that. Sir Krondor then enquires about seeing the Baroness but Sir Drogo tells him the Baroness is out of the Palace today on secret business.

- Sir Krondor then realises that she must be at The Pair Of Black Antlers Tavern for the secret meeting so the pair ask Sir Drogo to take them to the tavern. The “Black Hand” Knight escorts them through the Palace compound and through the east gate that opens onto a road along the rear of the Palace compound in the Theater District. Directly across the road stands an imposing three storey building with a stone brick ground layer and polished wood plank upper storeys. A large pair of black antlers is hanging above a set of double wooden doors that lead into the tavern from the road. A sign in gold writing next to the door has “Pair Of Black Antlers Tavern”.

- Sir Drogo takes the pair into the tavern and introduces them to the inn keeper, Teressa, a very attractive red haired woman. After she learns from Sir Drogo that these are the Wardens she takes them out the back to a private hallway. At the end of the hallway is a grand wide staircase that goes up to the next level. Six “Black Hand” Knights stand around the staircase and but what draws the eye of Sir Krondor and Valder are two other figures that stand near the “Black Hand” Knights.

- These two figures are dressed in impressive and detailed armour, adorned with gold and engraved with fine pattern work. White and blue accents over the armour, the Royal colours of Lington, along with the visible crest of Tyriba and a symbol of a white sword with angelic wings protected on either side by two Knights with shields; the symbol of the Wardens Of Tyriba.

- Teressa the Inn Keep leads Sir Krondor and Valder and introduces them to the gathered Knights at the stair case.

- Only one of the Wardens speaks, Sir Riffan, who welcomes the pair warmly, shaking each of their hands.

- Sir Krondor informs the Warden that they wish to see the Baroness to discuss gaining access to the library. The Dwarf Knight is informed he will need to wait for a short time as she is in a meeting. Sir Krondor and Valder move off to the side and wait for about half an hour. During this time they watch the assembled Knights. The “Black Hand” Knights appear bored and annoyed with having to wait here. They lean on walls with arms crossed or occasionally sit down on the lower steps of the stair case. The two Wardens however never waver in their duty, they stand erect and proud near the bottom of the staircase and give a friendly smile whenever they catch the eye of Sir Krondor or Valder. Now that Sir Krondor has seen a real Warden, these high ranking Paladins of untouchable honour and devotion, these bastions of virtue, he feels slightly humble in holding the title of Honorary Field Warden.

- After waiting, Sir Krondor and Valder proceed up the staircase, up to the third level, where another pair of Wardens guard a large set of double wooden doors. Proceeding inside they enter a large waiting room with plush chairs, carpets, framed painting on the wall, and tables of food and drink along one wall. Staff and servants stand around the outside perimeter of the room whilst three figure stand in the middle talking to each other and drinking from gold goblets.

- Sir Krondor and Valder recognise one as Umlar, the Harper they meet in Anwich. The other two figures are unknown to them, one is a male dressed in fine blue noble clothes with a richly decorated rapier hanging at his side and metal bracers and shoulder pads. The other is a male elf dressed in well used travelling clothes and leather armour, with a bow strapped to his back and a grey falcon sitting on his left shoulder.

- Umlar sees Sir Krondor and Valder and greets the Wardens warmly. Shortly one of the servants informs Sir Krondor and Valder that the Baroness is ready to see them and the pair are lead out of the waiting room, down another corridor, past several doors and finally stop at a closed door; which a servant knocks on.

- A soft female voice calls out, “Enter.”

- Sir Krondor opens the door but stops moving forward as he sees the most beautiful female he has ever laid eyes on. Seated behind a large wooden desk, with two “Black Hand” Knights on either side of her, is the Baroness Laleh Shemov of Lington. Long well groomed blond hair frames a young smooth face. She looks at the Dwarf Knight with eyes the colour of burnt sienna with flecks of gold. Long black eyelashes flutter as she blinks. Her lips, painted a pale pink, open, “You wished to speak to me?”

- Sir Krondor, realising he has just been standing and staring at her, coughs and moves into the room, after Valder hits him on the back. The pair move in and sit down in two chairs opposite the Baroness. The Dwarf’s eyes linger a moment on the pale, soft skin of the top of the Baroness’s breasts, that sit atop a purple gown that seems to emphasise rather than cover the curves of her body.

- Sir Krondor, licks his lips and then starts, “My lady, thank you for seeing me, it is my honour to meet you. I am Sir Krondor, Knight Of The Order Of The Anvil, Royal Envoy Of Fanur, Warden Of Tyriba, as you know Tyriba is at war with the Dragon Cult, and my companions and I are assisting with tracking down any information that can stop the Dragon Cult in its plans of conquering the lands. We need your permission my lady to enter your secured section of the library to obtain a book that has …”

- Sir Krondor stops as Valder taps his shoulder pointing at the Baroness. The Knight sees that the Baroness is not looking at him but twirling a strand of her hair. In the pause, she looks up and says, “Are you from the capital? I long to see Edamor again. The fashions there, oh and the perfumes, oh how I miss the perfumes, and the parties. Such grand parties with so many men of high standing. I can’t get any of my perfumes here now that the roads are closed due to the problems outside. You wanted something? A book?” and she says the word book as if it is a dirty word.

- Sir Krondor quickly changes tack, “Yes my lady a book. It is a very important book. And if I were to get the book it would help us a lot. We could fix the problems outside and then you could get your perfumes again. I just need you to give me written permission to enter the secured section of your library.”

- At this the Baroness smiles, “Oh really! I would dearly love to have my perfumes again. Fine, I shall have one of my servants write you a letter of permission. She nods to one of the “Black Hand” Knights, who replies in a deep voice, “My lady I will see to it that the letter is drawn up now.”

- Sir Krondor and Valder are lead back to the waiting area where Umlar and the other two men are. After a few minutes a servant arrives to hand a written letter of permission to enter the secured section of the Royal Library. Sir Krondor and Valder take the letter and leave the tavern, where they see the Nac, Trenchant, Labarett and Gim walking towards them.

- They stop and both sides inform the other what has happened and discuss what to do now. Nac, Trenchant, Labarett and Gim wish to go inside to the meeting now, whilst Sir Krondor and Valder wish to proceed to the library straight away. So once again the party split up going their seperate ways.

***

- Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Oloma has been wandering around. Most places are closed, as it is Sunday, and there is not much to do, she is starting to get bored. She sees a small street urchin and offers him a silver piece if he get information back to Naillae of the Thief’s Guild that Oloma is waiting for her; most of the street urchins are employed by the Guild as their eyes and ears.

- After fifteen minutes, Naillae appears near Oloma, as if out of thin air. After a brief conversation regarding various things to do, the pair agree that it is probably time to head back to the other side of the town and re-join the party at the Tavern.

***

- Back on the eastern side of town, Sir Krondor and Valder walk back into the Palace grounds and return to the Library. They show Simimar the written letter of permission to enter the secured section and the Elven Librarian takes them to the rear of the ground floor where a large circular black metal door, with gold and silver line work that forms strange arcane symbols stands.

- Simimar warns the pair that the books inside this secured vault are ancient and protected against the ravishes of time from powerful wards put in place. The librarian warns that any book that were to be taken out would instantly perish into dust.

- Simimar speaks some wards of eldritch power and the arcane symbols on the door glow, the circular door, starts to open and the pair can see the black metal door is about two feet thick. Looking past the open door they can see an incredibly long room, longer than they can even see the back of, which is filled with shelves and shelves of books.

- Simimar warns them that no magic items of an extra-planar nature can be brought into this room or else very bad and dire things would occur. The Librarian takes out a small wand and waves it over the pair to check for such devices but once he is sure they do not have any all three walk into the secured section.

- Once again Simimar speaks the title of the book, “Dragons Of The Council” and the metal bird takes to flight. The three figures wander past the seemingly endless shelves for about fifteen minutes, before they come to one shelf where the metal bird sits. Simimar places a pair of white gloves on and then takes the book out and shows it Valder, “Is this the one?”

- The book is 4 inches thick with a leather bound cover that has been detailed with an intricate pattern around the border and adorned with coloured gems. The title is embossed in gold, “Dragons Of The Council, by Bowgentle.”

- The three walk back to the start of the secured section and to a small lit table near the entrance of the secured section. Simimar gives a pair of the white gloves to Valder and then the Wizard sits down at the desk and carefully opens the book. On the first page, is written golden text so small that Valder has to borrow an eye seeing glass from the Librarian to read it.

- Valder reads out the front page: “Dedicated to my wife Gail, without her love and patience for an absent minded and neglectful husband that does not deserve her, this book would never be. This tome is a treatise on the role and importance of the Dragons before, during and at the conclusion of the Dragon Wars, and how the creation and intervention of the Council Of Dragons, representing the metallic Dragons, stood up to and fought against the Chromatic Dragons and the vows and oaths taken between the Council Of Dragons and duly appointed Kings & Queens of Men, here by recognised as The Dominion Of Chayton, The Territory Of The Riverforest Clans, The Land Of Dakotah, The Domain Of Akecheta, The Realm Of Awan and The Lands Of Edek. May this record inspire the future generations to never forget the deeds of brave men and women and the oaths of the Council Of Dragons. By Bowgentle, Wizard Of The Great Circle, Great Divinator, Speaker Of The Prophecies, Scribe Of The Histories.”

- Valder looks up with an expression like a child in a candy store, “This book is written before the formation of the Empire Of Aerestow.”

- Sir Krondor speaks, “The Empire of what? Never heard of it.”

- Valder replies, “Prior to the Empire, there existed six Kingdoms of Men, whose names have been forgotten, till now thanks to this book. Those six Kingdoms formed one Empire and that is when they started the dating and calendar system that we still use today. This book is 2000 years old. This book has priceless lost knowledge in it!”

- Sir Krondor asks, “What happened to the Empire?”

- Valder answers, “It eventually split into the two Kingdoms of Tyriba and Asalea that we have today. I have never heard of this Council Of Dragons before. Simimar have you ever heard of such a thing?”

- The Elf Librarian shakes his head, “No that is unknown to me.”

- Valder quickly flicks through the book but he tells Sir Krondor that due to the size of it, it will take someone many, many weeks to sit and read it full time to learn all the secrets. Simimar reminds them that the book can not leave here. Sir Krondor and Valder spend spend some time trying to decide what to do and in the end decide the best course of action would be to leave the book here and go back to the rest of the party to make a decision. Simimar informs them he will leave the book on this table near the front of the secured section to await them. The pair leave to make their way back to the Tavern and the rest of the party.

***

- Meanwhile, in the Tavern, the others have been allowed up into the third level after introducing themselves as the rest of the Wardens. Nac, Trenchant, Labarett and Gim enter into the large room, past the two Wardens who guard the door, where Umlar and the other two men, the noble and the elf, wait.

- Umlar sees the four members of the party enter and welcomes the Wardens warmly, having meet them all in Anwich. Umlar wishes to speak to Trenchant in private about Harper business and takes him off to the side to speak.

- The male elf dressed in travelling clothes and leather armour, bow and with a falcon perched upon his shoulder looks at the newly arrived party and speaks, “Labarett!”

- The elf and Labarett walk towards each other and embrace in a warm manly embrace. The party learn that this Elf is a Ranger called Erdithas and is a good friend with Labarett’s father, Cailu. The pair speak and catch up on old times, as Erdithas visits the Tribe Of Kelhana once a year to hunt with Cailu. Erdithas is sadden to learn of the recent death of Cailu, as he was not aware of his passing.

- Gim is busy helping himself to food and wine from the long table.

- At this time, a set of double doors opens and out walks three figures, the Baroness, and two males that walk behind her and on either side. One of the males is dressed in elaborate plate mail armour with the crest of Tyriba and the other, a large male with a long beard is dressed in plate mail armour with the symbol of a blue gauntlet on his chest.

- The party are invited to follow into a near by dinning room where the meeting shall start. The first three members enter the dinning room and a servant calls out each of their names and titles as they do so.

- The Baroness enters first and the caller shouts, “The Baroness Laleh Shemov, beloved ruler and light of Lington!”

- Next the male in plate mail with the crest of Tyriba enters. The caller shouts, “Lord Armand Stratford, The Justicar, Holder Of The Titles Of Tyriba, Member Of The Kings Council!”

- Next comes the male in plate mail with the blue gauntlet. The caller shouts, “Sir Ontharr Frume, The Defender, Whitehawk Of The Order Of The Gauntlet!”

- The male in blue noble clothes and fine looking rapier enters next. The caller shouts, “Lord Buiron, The Hero, Stingblade Of The Lord’s Alliance!”

- Umalr the Harper walks into the room next. The caller shouts, “Umlar, The Spell Guard, Watcher Of The Harpers!”

- Erdithas the Ranger walks in now. The caller shouts, “Erdithas, The Protector Of Beasts, Autumreaver Of The Emerald Enclave!”

- The caller looks at the party and Nac moves to enter. The caller stops him, and holds up a parchment with a list of names on it, and whispers to Nac, “Your name good sir?”

- Nac replies, “Nac”

- The caller looks at the list and then nods, letting Nac inside and then shouts, “Nacrophyte, Adept Of Takhisis, Wolf Of The Zhentarim, Honorary Warden Of Tyriba!”

- The rest of the party each enter, after being checked by the servant. Next to enter is Trenchant and as he does so, the caller shouts, “Trenchant Kincaid, The Bearer of Winfley, Friend Of The Crown, Harpshadow Of The Harpers!”

- Next to enter is Labarett. The caller shouts out, “Labarett Boturan, Of The Elk Totem, Of The Royal and Sacred Blood Of Tribe Kelhana, Friend Of The Crown, Honorary Warden Of Tyriba!”

- Last to enter is Gim, still holding a chicken leg in one hand. The caller shouts, “Gim Moosa, The Hero, Of Clan Darzak, Honorary Warden Of Tyriba!”

- Once everyone is seated the meeting is started. Lord Armand, chairs the meeting. He asks for each of the representatives of the factions to update the meeting on their current status and information. He asks Trenchant first what news the Harpers have, then asks Sir Ontharr what the Order Of The Gauntlet knows, then Nac for the Zhentarim, then Eridthas for the Emerald Enclave, then Lord Burion for the Lord’s Alliance and lastly, Lord Armand, representing the King and Crown, details what news the Crown has.

- The party learn that the Red Guard Army has been resupplied much needed armour, weapons and supplies by the Zhentarim but the King can not send more troops from the south as Tar-Fri war ships have been sighted off shore and the threat to the south is too high. The Zhentarim are conducting assassinations on the Cult Officers. They also hear the plight of the refugees from the attacked settlements from the east of Tyriba and that most will likely starve or die of their injuries unless help is sent. Information has been uncovered that the Cult already has two Dragon Masks and is about to secure a third one. An important bit of information brought up is the Cult has been using the north trade route to smuggle the stolen treasure out of Tyriba and an informant has given information about the next wagon train to leave the city of Earthcloak in the Halfling Kingdom of Singbury, on the 13th of Kuthona. This wagon train will have disguised Cultists joining it to ship out some of the stolen treasure; that is only a week away. Apparently the end location for the stolen goods via the trade route is somewhere called Naerytar but no one has heard of this place or knows where it is. Also discussed is how the Baron Armonde in Castle Thunder, who has the largest number of troops and Knights in the north, has refused to supply any men to the fight, stating he has an internal matter to deal with.

- When the matter of the Dragon Eggs is brought up Nac lies and informs the council that there were no Dragon Eggs located in the hatchery.

- Once all the news and information has been shared between the members of the meeting, Lord Armand puts forward the three main areas of concern that must be seen to and addressed by the Alliance: someone needs to attend to the aid of the refugees to the east, someone needs to attend Castle Thunder and get Baron Armonde to supply his troops, and lastly someone needs to go to Earthcloak to try to join the wagon train and identify and follow the cultists to where ever Naerytar is.

- Nac immediately volunteers the party to go to Earthcloak but Sir Ontharr takes out a map of the north trade route and shows that it would take two weeks to go there from Lington, it would be impossible to join the wagon train before it leaves in a weeks time.

- Erdithas then informs the meeting that he came here with a group of Elanion Elves, which are camped fifteen minutes to the east of Lington. The party could ride on Elanion steads to the Ethon River and take an Elven fast boat, all the way to Earthcloak. It would take four to ten days depending on the winds.

- The party decide to risk this option, even though there is a 50 / 50 chance of not getting there in time.

- Sir Ontharr then states he will attend Castle Thunder and deal with the Baron. Likewise Erdithas will arrange for Elves from the river village of Raerquis to send aid to the refugees to the east.

- Lord Armand speaks up, “Then with the business sorted I call this meeting to a close.”

- At this point Erdithas asks Labarett if he would care to join the Emerald Enclave as his representative on this mission, which the Elf Barbarian gladly accepts. Erdithas passes a small green Leaf Clasp to Labarett to signify his joining.

- Erdithas speaks warmly, “Welcome to the Emerald Enclave, Labarett. I grant you the title of Summerstrider. Your father would be proud.”

- Just then a servant opens the double doors, “My Lord, two late arrivals, two more of the Wardens.”

- In through the open door walks Oloma and Naillae. They look around then both sit down on chairs. Oloma leans in towards Gim and asks him what has been discussed. Gim tells her a brief summary, with the main point being that the party are now on their way to the city of Earthcloak but it will be a close call as they will need to get there within one week.

- Oloma’s eyes glazed over, as if she is listening to another voice, an unheard voice that only she can hear. After a moment, she focuses on the group, who are talking about the logistics of getting the party to Earthcloak, when she speaks, “Excuse me, does anyone here know a wizard called Yonochen?”

- Most of the assembled people shake their heads in the negative except for Nac who speaks, “Yes, some of us meet the dam arrogant son of a bitch before. He has a small tower here in Lington. He’s pretty eccentric and easy to piss off. Why?”

- Oloma replies, “Because he has the Mirror Of Ailmer and with it he can send us directly to Earthcloak.”

- Sir Ontharr speaks, “That’s fantastic. That way you won’t risk missing the wagon train. How do you know that?”

- Oloma smiles, “I just do.”

- The mood of the group has become more vibrant as there is now a real chance of getting to Earthcloak in time. Discussions are made about minor details of when to leave and what to take, including the need for more gear like cold weather gear.

- Gim then speaks up, “What about money? Some of us are pretty low on finances. We’ve got expenses to care of, weapon and armour repairs, supplies, gear, rations, have to replace worn equipment, and the like. We getting some payment upfront for this?”

- Lord Armand looks a bit disappointed in the vulgar question of money by the Dwarf but answers it promptly, “Yes, of course. We shall arrange for bags of 500 gold pieces for each of you immediately. How many bags do I need to arrange?”

- Nac looks around the room and counts the number of party members present, that being six, one for Nac, Trenchant, Labarett, Gim, Olomar and Naillae. Nac replies, “We need six.”

- The Lord Armand requests the party go to the waiting room down the corridor, where one of the Baroness’s servant will soon bring the six bags. The party take their leave and go back to the long waiting room to discuss when to leave and what supplies they will need.

- About ten minutes later a servant arrives with six small bags, each containing 500 gold coins, the assembled party each take one bag. Following behind the servant is Umlar who comes out to speak to Trenchant.

- Shortly the double doors into this room, from the stair case, opens and in walks Sir Krondor and Valder. The party are now all gathered together again.

- Sir Krondor fills the party in about gaining access to the secured section and finding the book. The party now start to work out who will stay behind to study the book.

- Umlar speaks, “My friends, I am a Wizard and a Harper. The Harpers have been searching all the libraries for ancient books to gain knowledge for the coming fight. This is something that I can help with. Leave me to stay here and read the book for you.”

- Trenchant, Nac, Oloma and Sir Krondor all look at each other knowingly and then lean in together to whisper low, so that Umlar can not hear. Gim stands off to the side, a turkey leg in one hand and a glass of fine wine in the other, oblivious to the conversation.

- Oloma whispers, “We can’t let him read the book, there might be important things in there we might want to keep to ourselves.”

- Sir Krondor whispers, “Yeah, perhaps we should get one of us to do it.”

- Nac whispers back, “Yeah, and I just told them we don’t have the eggs. We can’t explain to Umlar why we want the book deciphered and what to look for without admitting we lied.”

- Trenchant whispers, “Yes, that would be somewhat awkward. Valder then?”

- Nac, Oloma and Sir Krondor all nod.

- Trenchant speaks loudly to Umlar, “Thank you for the offer Umlar but there are reasons that we wish our own Wizard, Valder, to stay and research the book.”

- Umlar nods and bows, “As you say Harpshadow. I will follow your wise words. May the chords of the Harp guide us.”

- Valder hearing the news, smiles like a baby with a piece of candy.

- Just then Sir Ontharr comes out too and the party ask him to arrange security and guards for Valder whilst he his here without the party. Sir Ontharr agrees to arrange this and then speaks to Sir Krondor, “Sir Krondor, you missed the meeting. I am glad I did not miss you. If you have time, would you come with me for a private chat and a drink?”

- Sir Krondor accepts and the pair walk down the corridor and into a side room that is obviously the private chamber of Sir Ontharr, as armour, shields, weapons, and banners of the Order Of The Gauntlet hang from the wall.

- After both are seated and drinking a fine brandy, Sir Ontharr begins, “Sir Krondor, I read the letter from Sir Castellan. He spoke very fondly of you, he was most impressed with your skill, bravery and valour. You did yourself proud in defending the people of Anwich and placing yourself at risk to duel Langdedrosa one on one to save the lives of those prisoners.”

- Sir Krondor nods, “Yes but I lost the duel.”

- Sir Ontharr replies with a knowing smile, “Sir Krondor, it is not the easy battles that define us. Nor is it the easy victories or easy choices that test our fortitude and resolve as Knights. It is the hard battles, accepting the hard choices, to place one’s life on the line in order to protect those who can not protect themselves.”

- Sir Krondor replies meekly, “It is simply what would be expected of any Knight Of The Anvil, nothing more.”

- Sir Ontharr smiles, “Spoken like a true Knight. Sir Krondor, this mission to Earthcloak is vital for the on going campaign versus the Dragon Cult. I would like someone I can trust, someone who has proven his worth and his courage. Sir Krondor, I would like someone to represent The Order Of The Gauntlet on this mission, I would like that person to be you. Would you accept the title of and position of Marcheon within the Gauntlet, and wear this pendant of The Gauntlet, proudly along side the symbols of your Order Of The Anvil?”

- Sir Krondor replies, “Yes my lord, it would be my honour to accept.”

- Sir Krondor kneels before Sir Ontharr and he appoints the Dwarf a Knight within the Gauntlet, as he gently torches a long sword to Sir Krondor’s bowed head and shoulders.

- Sir Krondor stands and after shaking Sir Ontharr’s hand prepares to leave. As the Dwarf Knight reaches the door, Sir Ontharr speaks out, “Now you’re within the Order Of The Gauntlet, let me give you some advice and keep this to yourself. The Gauntlet does not trust the Zhentarim. We do not know their true motivations. Keep an eye on your friend, Nac. Watch him well and watch your back.”

- Sir Krondor nods his head and leaves the room to rejoin the others, looking over at Nac as he does so.

- The party are given free accomodation and meals within the Tavern and each is given a single room on the second floor. After heading to a dining room on the second level and enjoying a hearty dinner, the party all retire to their individual rooms to get some sleep for the night. Nac places his shield on the inside of his door, cautious from the previous nights attempt of someone trying to pick his lock.

- The party sleep and all is quiet and well, until just after midnight, Nac’s eyes pop open as he hears noise at his window. Someone is trying to open the shutter. The Half-elf Cleric quietly gets up and grabs his shield and Talon longsword. He readies himself just near the window. After five minutes, it appears the intruder can’t open the shutter and the sound stops.

- Nac quietly unlatches the shutter and lifts the wooden bar and then opens the shutter. He sees the dark sky and the Palace compound directly opposite. He catches a glimpse of something dark, like a shadow, off to the side, leaping from roof top to roof top. Before the dark shape can disappear the Cleric casts a Chill Touch spell at it but due to the range and speed, he is not sure he even hit it, before it vanished. After waiting a few minutes to see if anything else shows itself, Nac reshutters the window and once again goes to sleep.

- The rest of the night goes uneventfully.

- Moonday, 8th of Kuthona in the year 814 (Second Era). Winter.

- The party arise and are given a superb meal in the second level dining room. The party head out early and do some shopping, now that the businesses are open, except for Valder who heeds over to the Palace library to begin the research into the book.

- Oloma is disappointed to see that Orlin’s Silks & Tailoring shop is shut with a Closed sign on the door. Instead Oloma goes over to The Fine Brooch Jewellery & Antiques store where the female elf owner, Petrilla, exchanges some of the party’s gems into gold coins (500 gp in total).

- Oloma also hands out some of her Gnome Alchemy business cards to some of the shops.

- Heading over to Tully’s Shop, the party then buy some much needed gear and supplies. Tully Thornhill, the male Halfling owner of the shop, recognises Gim and extends the same previous discount he offered the party before. Some cold weather gear and a tent are purchased.

- The party heed over to Yonochen’s small building, marked with a sign “The Eldritch Arch”, and knocked on the door. A small wooden window, at waist height opens up and the slanted eyes of a small Halfling appear. A voice, with a very strong accent of someone from the far eastern lands of Tikoran speaks, “Yes what you want? I’m busy!”

- Nac speaks, “Open the door Yonochen we need to go …”

- But the Halfling Wizard interrupts him, “YOU! You wasted my time last time! Walk around my shop for half an hour and then buy nothing! Fuck off or I’ll turn you into a newt!” and then the small window slams shut.

- Trenchant asks, “Can he do that? Turn us into newts?”

- Nac replies, “Yeah probably, Oloma you want to try?”

- Oloma knocks on the door and calls out, “Hey, open up, we want to use your Mirror Of Ailmer.”

- The small window slides open with a bang, “Who told you about my mirror round eye! No none know about my mirror. Who? That is a secret!” and the small arm of the Wizard goes out to grab the pants legs of Oloma.

- Oloma in turn grabs the Wizard’s arm and says in a loud voice, “Are you going to let us inside or do you want me to shout about the Mirror Of Ailmer outside here all day?”

- Yonochen lets go of Oloma, and in turn Oloma after a slight pause, lets go of the Wizard’s arm. The wooden door of the shop opens up and standing before them is the small frame of the Halfling Wizard, “Fine! Get in and stop shouting about my mirror!”

- The party enter the shop and Yonochen shuts the door behind them. A heated and colourful conversation entails that sees the party and Yonochen at an impasse. The party want to use the Mirror to get to Earthcloak and Yonochen will only let them use it if they agree to head east out of Lington about 12 miles into the Changrove Forest to enter into the Ruins Of Gweyer to retrieve something called the Vessel Of Gweyer.

- Sir Krondor enquires, “Why don’t you go get this vessel yourself, you’re a Wizard?”

- “Because,” begins Yonochen, “I”m not stupid. You think you’re the first group I’ve sent there. The last four groups never came back. But you are Wardens! So strong! So brave! I’m sure you will survive where the others did not.” The Halfling Wizard bursts out into laughter at this point.

- The party discuss whether to accept the task.

- Oloma appears to be listening to someone in her head.

- Nac looks over to her, “Hey! Oloma! Attention here! What do you think? Should we go?”

- Oloma nods, “Yeah, sounds like fun. Should be a breeze.”

- The party accept the task and Sir Krondor manages to intimidate a Potion of Heroism out of Yonochen, after threatening to run off with the Vessel, and Oloma is also given a Potion of Stone To Flesh by Yonochen when she gives him some of the business cards from the Gnome alchemist. As Yonochen hands the potion to Oloma he says, “Here. You take this! You need this where you going.”

- Nac sighs, “Oh great! This deal is getting worse by the minute. You got any more of those Vials then?”

- The Halfling Wizard laughs, “No, only one!”

- The party leave The Eldritch Arch.

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- Gaining Entry Into Secured Section of Library (“Dragons Of The Council”) = 500 XP (Krondor and Valder only)

- Sitting On The Alliance Council (Lington) = 500 XP (Nac, Labarett, Trenchant, Gim only)

- Accepting The Burden (Order Of The Gauntlet) = 150 XP (Krondor only)

- Accepting The Burden (Emerald Enclave) = 150 XP (Labarett only)

Creatures Overcome

- Unknown Figure (Shadow in The Night) = 100 XP (Nac only)

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)

Phil : 22462 + 225 = 22687

Rob : 27437 + (0) = 27437

Arthur : 19295 + 94 = 19389

Bob : 16149 + 500 = 16649

Travis : 17109 + 94 = 17203

Paul : 13716 + 344 = 14060 (Level up to Level 6)

NPC (Valder) : ??? + 125 = ???

NPC (Naillae) : ??? + (0) = ???

#D&D #DnD #RPG #5th #HOTDQ

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blackholeofprocrastination · 7 years

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We’d Up And Fly If We Had Wings For Flying 1/?

Originally written for the @jonxsansaremix Summary: Another bastard finds a home within the halls of Winterfell. Canon Divergent. A Robin Hood AU.

So @sansapotter reminded me that I started this little nugget for last year’s Remix. In true Emmy form, it is incomplete...but dagnabbit I will finish it one of these days! In the meantime, here’s the first chapter.

Before they set out from the Gates of the Moon, father gifts her with a fine new cloak.

It is a pretty thing, lined thick with sable, and fastened together with a silver broach inlaid with moonstones. She thinks it too fine for a bastard girl, no matter how beloved, but Alayne accepts it with a smile and an obedient kiss to father’s whiskered cheek.

She dons it over her riding clothes the morning they are to leave, desperately trying to quiet the secret part of her heart that calls for another cloak, the one that was promised to her.

“They will love their Young Falcon…and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back” father had said. “Why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.”

But in the end, father has no need of Harold Hardyng or the sword of any Vale knight. All he needs do is wait.

Wait for the Boltons and Stannis Baratheon to destroy each other on some lonely field outside Winterfell. Wait for the Tyrells and Martells to put aside past grievances and rally behind the Stormland’s Mummer Dragon. Wait for the Iron Fleet to fill Blackwater Bay. Wait for Queen Cersei to be desperate enough for Littlefinger’s aid that she would reward him with his heart’s desire.

Winterfell.

Father placates her with talk of setting things right in time, of restoring her to her birthright, but it is Littlefinger who says the words, not father or Lord Petyr, and Littlefinger is not to be trusted.

“Harrenhal and Winterfell both,” she overhears Ser Albar scoff over his ale one night. “The queen has honored our lord Littlefinger with two ruins.” Those around him laugh at the jape. There are few in the Vale who will mourn the loss of their Lord Protector.

Still, there are some that will be sorry to see Alayne go.

Myranda Royce with her teasing and bawdy jests. Dear Mya Stone, dressed in leathers with straw in her hair. Alayne’s lord, her Harry. Though he is not hers, she reminds herself. Not anymore.

And Sweetrobin. Sweetrobin, she knows, will miss her most of all.

Alayne is alarmed when she first learns father intends to leave the boy with Lord Royce. She did not think he would be willing to part with Sweetrobin after fighting to remain his guardian. Father only smiles at her protests, gently insisting that Lord Arryn’s rightful place is in the Vale.

The Lords Declarent are pleased by this turn in their favor, but as Alayne watches Sweetrobin fiercely embrace his stepfather in farewell, tears running down his pallid little face, she wonders if they truly have reason to be happy. Sweetrobin holds a great affection for Alayne and her father both. Lord Royce may have succeeded in separating his liege lord from Lord Baelish’s control, but the boy he takes to Runestone now will be harder to sway than the one he sought to foster after Lady Arryn’s death.

Love is poison, she remembers. And the loyalties that spring forth from love are more poisonous still.

Alayne wants to weep when they first ride through Winterfell’s gates.

From the Kingsroad the outer walls stand solidly against the snows, but the keep within is nothing more than a burned shell. Broken stone and charred wood lay everywhere blanketed by thick drifts of snow and ice tinged grey with ash.

Alayne recalls another Winterfell, one crafted from snow and memory in a garden above the clouds. It too was a ruin now, crushed beneath Sweetrobin’s heel in a fit of temper.

Few of the rooms in the Great Keep are truly habitable, but father offers her the pick of them. She chooses a small cell tucked off of the spiral stair that leads to the long corridor of family rooms. It is a humble place that can boast a hearth and a narrow bed, but little else. Father balks at her choice but she insists the room will suit. After all, it has housed a bastard of Winterfell once before.

The Boltons had started on improvements to the keep. A new roof was raised over the Great Hall, and rows of barracks were erected near the armory. Most else remains in ill repair, the Boltons’ efforts halted from lack of coin and men. Father has plenty of both.

He wastes no time, setting immediately to finishing what the Boltons had begun. Each day great sledges bearing timber felled in the Wolfswood are pulled through the Hunter’s Gate to be fashioned into beams and rails and shingles. The fires in the forge burn warm against the chill as the smith father brought all the way from Gulltown hammers together hinges and supports.

A fire is kept blazing in the Great Hall at all hours. The serving women of father’s household gather there, weaving fresh rushes and bundling straw for thatching. Alayne sits with them most days with a basket of mending at her feet.

She misses Mya and Myranda and her life at the Gates desperately, but she is not so alone here, surrounded by the women’s gossip and laughter. The serving girls are much too timid to make a friend of her but they let her sit amongst them easily enough.

“...fifty or more they found,” says Pale Meg, as they gather close to the fire one afternoon. She is the boldest of the kitchen girls, a girl of seven-and-ten with hair the color of straw. “Some were missing eyes, others fingers, but all had the skin flayed clean from their back.” She pauses a moment, and the others press closer to hang on her words with morbid fascination. Alayne listens too, her needle stilled in her hand. “They weren’t nothing pretty to look upon and the Lady Bolton was the worst of the lot. The dogs had been at her.”

“Stop tellin’ tales!” one of the other girls scolds her face gone sickly white.

“It’s the truth!” Meg insists. “Tom told me hisself! He were there when they found ‘em. His lordship had the bodies burned. But you can still see the blood,” she confides, her voice dropping to a salacious whisper. “It’s stained the flagstones, thick and dark as pitch. No amount of scrubbing’ll lift it. There’s a dark curse upon it.”

A titter of anxious whispers break among the group, their work momentarily forgotten. Alayne is quiet. She grips the pair of hose she mends so tightly she tears the seam.

That night she dreams of blood.

It pours in thick rivets down the spiral stair of the Great Keep. It drips from arrow slits and merlons onto the yard below. It fills the Great Hall and trickles under the thick oak doors. It floods her humble cell, rising and rising until it covers her in her bed. It stains her bed linens and her nightrail, creeping closer like crimson fingers set to choke the breath from her throat.

She leaves the keep just as first light crests over the outer walls. Her dream hangs about her, heavier than the bearskin mantle she pulled over her shoulders when she fled from her bed. She makes for the godswood on silent feet.

Alayne is a stranger to these gods. She was raised in a Motherhouse. Born into the light of the Seven. Still, she does not fear this place. She is content as she weaves through the ash and hawthorn and soldier pines, the path familiar. She reaches the hearttree and her heart sings to find the carved face unchanged.

The Boltons did not destroy this at least.

She seats herself at the base of the weirwood in the same place Eddard Stark had often sat in prayer. Above her the bone white branches sag heavily under the weight of a hundred dark shadows.

Maester Luwin’s ravens.

Alayne had overheard Maester Medrick despair of it to father. The rookery is naught but ash and the birds will not be coaxed from their perch.

They can sense the evil that lingers here, Alayne thinks, remembering Pale Meg’s talk of curses.

She draws a hand to the face of the hearttree. Her fingers touch the red sap, so similar to the blood that haunted her sleep.

“Sansa!”

She snatches her hand back, her heart seizing in her chest. For a moment it sounded as if…

Bran.

But it cannot be. Brandon Stark is dead. Killed by the turncloak Theon Greyjoy. Another ghost to walk the halls of Winterfell.

She places a tentative hand upon the bark, willing to hear the voice again but the only sound is the creak of branches and the restless flutter of wings overhead.

On their journey North, their ship had made port in White Harbor.

Lord Manderly feasted the new Warden of the North and his company upon their arrival.

Alayne was seated well below the salt, as was proper, but even from her vantage point she could see Lord Wyman had looked worn and sickly. He’d suffered injury when he was last called to Winterfell. Freys, it was said, were at fault. An anger that did not belong to her welled in Alayne’s breast and she scowled when she heard one of her father’s men make jests about ‘Lord Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse’.

Father had hoped to find a kinship with the Manderlys. They were the most Southron of the Northern houses, with their knights and septons. The most likely to welcome a Southroner as their leal lord.

Father was to be disappointed.

Lord Wyman was not so great a fool to openly challenge father’s claim to the North, but when the time came for toast-making the effusive mentions to the memory of House Stark quickly dampened any overtures of friendship father made. Still, for all their pretty speeches, the Manderlys were not so loyal to the Starks as to refuse father’s coin when offered.

A deal was struck. Father would be allowed to freely make use of their port, in exchange he would grant them a portion of the Bolton holdings. Lord Manderly even provided an escort of knights to accompany their party to Winterfell as a show of good faith.

Alayne knows that father does not trust the Manderlys after all that had passed at the Merman’s Court.

“But they are too weakened by that folly with Stannis to be a danger,” he assures her, reaching across the wheelhouse to squeeze her hand. “So long as I dangle the Dreadfort within his grasp and my ship’s tariffs line his pocket, Lord Wyman will play my game.”

Alayne is not so certain.

They have been at Winterfell nearly two moons when the first of the wagons arrive.

Alayne watches eagerly as crates of apples, sacks of barley and oats, casks of wine, and all manner of things are unloaded into the main courtyard. After a poor harvest and two sieges, the keep is poorly provisioned. Father sent his fastest ship South for this bounty.

It is not enough, Alayne thinks grimly, watching as the barrels and crates are added to their meager stores. Father is a kinder castellan than the Ironborn or the Boltons but they are not prepared for the hardships ahead.

Winter is coming.

Already smallfolk flock to the Winter Town. Hastily cobbled hovels of sod and straw and sticks sprout around the outskirts of the village daily as more souls seek the protection of the keep.

Alayne does what she can, finding places for kitchen boys and scullery maids in her father’s service. There are many who are orphaned and alone from the wars. She hires as many as she dares, but there are not positions enough at Winterfell to take in every hungry mouth that comes to their gates.

Once, over a private supper in his solar, she suggests father rebuild the glass gardens.

“I think not, sweetling.” He frowns, wiping his hands clean on a cloth. “Good quality glass is worth more than gold, and the men who craft it even more so. There are far better uses for my coin at present, hmm?”

He chucks her under the chin affectionately, the matter closed.

Stone by stone the castle is restored to its former glory. Soon it is nearly identical to the Winterfell of her memories...save for the mockingbird banners that fill the keep.

They fly over the parapets and against the outer walls. They line the corridors and the head of the Great Hall. A flock of fifty or more, each stitched by a hand other than her own.

Alayne tries to avoid looking at them, tries to stifle the treacherous voice within her that cries out “They do not belong here!”

She holds her tongue. She is a good daughter. The prettiest bird in her father’s keeping.

Father likes to keep her pretty. Along with the wagons of grain and stores come bolts of silk and lace, baubles and trinkets of every kind. She keeps theses fine things ferreted away in her room, out of sight. None in the North have yet to see past the layers of Alayne. She’d rather not draw any undue notice if she can help it.

One night, Father bids her to wear some of her gifted finery. He chooses the gown and jewels himself, selecting a dress cut of dark blue velvet and chain studded with onyx and pearl.

Alayne soon finds the reason. There are guests in the keep. Lord Robett Glover and his ward, the newly named Lord Hornwood.

A modest feast is held in the Great Hall. Alayne sits below the high table, but close enough that she can observe their visitors easily.

She absently sips from her cup of mulled wine and watches Lord Robett speak with her father. He is a hard looking man, his hair streaked generously with grey and his eyes sharp as flint chips. He is courteous enough with father, but he never smiles.

His ward is less guarded in his displeasure. A reedy lad nearing four-and-ten, Larence Hornwood pokes sullenly at his pease and venison, speaking little and ignoring the pointed glares from his guardian every time he asks for his wine cup to be refilled.

Alayne had the truth of it from the serving girl who was sent to help her with her hair before the feast. The boy was Halys Hornwood’s bastard get, raised up by King Tommen as his heir. It was her father’s doing, though from the way the young lordling looks at Lord Baelish, she wonders if he is at all grateful for the act.

At her father’s suggestion, Lord Hornwood sulkily rises to ask for her hand when the dancing starts. Alayne accepts with her most winning smile. She has played this game before.

It is not until they take their places on the floor that she sees the apprehension that lies behind the lordling’s scowls.

“I’ve never been very good at this,” he confesses when he steps on her toes a second time.

“Fear not, my lord,” Alayne says cheerily, a teasing twist to her lips. “I’ll see to it we both finish the dance upright and untrodden.”

He stares at her a moment, startled out of his sulk. Alayne begins to fear she’s caused insult when the lad chuckles.

“See that you do, lady.”

Lord Hornwood appears as sullen as ever when he returns to his seat, but Alayne does not miss the shy glances he casts her way from time to time.

Nearly a sennight after the Glover party departs for Hornwood, Alayne is roused from her bed by the sound of mail and boots on the spiral stair outside her door. Donning a robe, she quietly follows the direction of the footsteps to the door of her father’s solar. She hesitates, uncertain whether to knock or return to her chamber. She’s decided to tread back to the warmth of her own bed when the sound of raised voices from within stops her in her tracks.

“And Manderly’s men?” her father demands. Alayne has seldom heard him sound so cross.

“The Manderly escort only went as far as the fork in the White Knife.” Alayne recognizes the answering voice Ser Lothor Brune, father’s captain of the guard. “My lord, you don’t suppose…”

Father laughs sharply.

“I suspect our Lord Wyman is capable of a great deal, but I do not think even he would stoop to highway robbery. Besides, what purpose would it serve? If he wanted steal from me, why not seize the goods the moment they came into the harbor? Why go to the mummery of providing an escort only set upon them on the Kingsroad?”

“As you say, my lord.” Ser Lothor pauses a moment. “And what of the other matter? The bastard?”

Alayne strains to hear, her pulse quickening. Surely they did not think Lord Hornwood involved in such a scheme?

“The North has been improperly governed for too long,” Father says, his voice more measured than before. “I dare say we shall see more of these outlaws and their ilk. They will be dealt with accordingly.”

“And Jon Snow?”

The name sends Alayne’s heart hammering in her ears so loudly she nearly misses father’s terse reply.

“As I said, he will be dealt with accordingly.”

To be continued…

#jon x sansa #eventually #robin hood au #my edits #emmy writes #i'd forgotten about this #i will finish it someday #i love writing sansa as alayne #plus i promised mere some jxs treehouse smut...and i mean to deliver on it #maid marian-ish sansa + outlaw jon...it's a thing ok...bear with me

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