#little too dearly for that. ive loved people here ive lost people here the first person who showed me this place fucking DIED and i still

[florenceisfalling]

like idk. i miss seeing content from s.igne (though i respect gab wholeheartedly). i miss fanart from my favorite artists. i miss older eras of j.se at times (and yes, there were older eras, the way people pretended he Never Changed is just weird). i miss old anti designs. i miss the old fic trends. i miss having a very active fandom (though i am so happy to see the new arrivals) and i miss seeing him interact with fans the way he did on tumblr back in the day. i miss the way i used to interact with some of the blogs here before i decided to fuckin,,, wage holy war and make enemies out of them (joking, but i have seen sides to some of these people that i wish i could tear out of my memory). i miss feeling confident that i could trust the good intentions of people here and even the big man himself (not god. that makes sean sound like god. you know what i mean). i miss when some of you weren't so fucking bitter which is funny because i'm the bitterest bitch alive. idk. i don't think it's bad to miss any of these things because i'm not going to be an ass and act like it's anybody's fault. i'm not going to be bothered by gab for being happy because i'm glad she is happy, and i'm not going to get bothered by sean taking a reasonable step back from this hellsite when people were cruel to him, and i'm not going to get mad at trends for changing because that is how time works. but i do miss things and i know its cringe and parasocial and perhaps even problematic but i hate having to pretend like i never have Any feelings about the past lest i break a hypothetical rule of what is the Normal level of attachment to an online community. okay. i think i'm done now.

#one of my favorite writers left because they couldn't deal anymore and one of my favorite writers turned out to have shit views and one of #my favorite writers left because of something that was partly my fault and one of my favorite writers stopped writing because of two of the #others and one of my favorite writers hurt someone i love over and over and over and one of my favorite writers left because they were the #someone i love. two of the big names hate queer folk that don't align with their ideals and half the artists left for twitter or for dead. #the man himself left because criticism always becomes cruelty and people lie to make themselves feel good. #the editors all turned their accounts private and my favorite told me on livestream that i was good and starting somewhere but then forgot #my name. and i thought maybe i was the bitter one but then i look at some of the other people who have been here so long and wonder why #they even bother anymore because they care more about complaining with everything j.ack does than anyone who actually enjoys his stuff. #and you know i poked fun at *** for a lot of things. some deserved some not. and one of them was the fact that she compared fandom #to warfare. and yes that's still silly i don't think it's a fair comparison but i do know that she wasn't fully wrong. #when you've been here for a long time and ive Been here for a long time you start to get really used to names and faces #and the change can be like waking up to a new wallpaper in your room. not a bad one just a new one. #i don't want to pretend that this fandom is just a silly little hobby for me when lets be honest i know some of yalls personal lives a #little too dearly for that. ive loved people here ive lost people here the first person who showed me this place fucking DIED and i still #lose it sometimes over the fact that he would have loved jameson so much and we couldve been closer friends had he stayed alive a few more #years. so yeah. sorry for being fucking cringy or whatever but there have been times where i've felt like im on a sinking ship watching #everybody else row away and i refuse to go. so like. cool. cool. im glad things are good again but i never really got to process the bad #things.

[valleynix]

Oh God, i completely forgot to mention in my last review about my feelings towards Miranda! I was so caught up with theories and my love for Cass and all the other things, so it slipped my mind, but here i am! Again. Sorry if im being too invested and write too much, id probably get bored of myself already(:

So. I know Miranda is like the main villain and all, but since last month ive been reading a lot about her, watching, investigating and im not embarrassed to say i love this character almost as much as i love the Dimitrescus. It pains me to see so little fics written about her as the main character, truly. Yes, she's the villain, yes, she's hurt a lot of people, killed a lot, but so did the sisters? The Lady D? So if we can redeem them, even if their motives are just hunger, sure as hell we can forgive Miri her urge to bring her daughter back. Her daughter! And now im embarrassed to say that id probably do the same thing if a had a chance to bring my loved ones back, even if i dont have kids rn. Sad, but true. I think most of us would try to.

So what im trying to say, is that when i first started to read LPA i was like yes, Miranda can go to hell, but now, when i got the whole picture and i really know the character the game gave us i have to say i love her a lot and that now i have to shove my feelings for her out out the window when i read such works where she's supposed to be hated. But its okay really, im used to it by now:D

And so im really disappointed to see how little fics are out there about Miranda and mcs being together, bringing Eva back, loving each other dearly (because i certainly would!), caring about each other. Where mc makes her feel better, wiser, truly happier. Ive see like one fic about that and thats just it, no more. Thats so sad and makes me kinda want to write something myself but im too busy with finals right now.

But anyways, even if Mother Miranda is a bitch sometimes i love Miri dearly. And i get why she receives hate so much (not literally but you get the idea) but i just love her as a character. I even started drawing her portrait on my wall right next to Dani's and let me tell you - her wings are a missive pain in the ass even tho i adore them. All those little feathers and lights they reflect, jeez, so hard to pain! Still worth it tho.

And she's so divine and so godly and strong and beautiful and powerful. And she's so smart! God, she's so smart. And when she grins evilly just like that-

Again, sorry for rambling, just wanted to get this out of my chest.

As always, sending my love for you and for LPA. Stay safe❤️

i could literally never grow bored of you; your reviews/asks/messages are the highlights of my day <33

as much as i've said i don't like her and call her a feathery bitch in my writing, miranda is still a very intriguing character. like, have you read her lore? homegirl was deadass about to kill herself because she lost her daughter and couldn't save her. also, i imagine a lot of the extent she goes to in order to revive eva is because of the mold, since I'm assuming it definitely alters peoples' minds and makes them cruel (like the bakers in RE7)

a lot of people in fics, i've noticed, tend to make her out to be a 2D antagonist who does horrible stuff just because she can. in LPA (and later in TPtM), I've tried to give her very good reasons for what she does. losing her loved ones over and over, being unable to revive them, no matter what you do... that takes a toll on people, and miri's been alive for over a century, if I'm not mistaken. she's just traumatized and wants her family back

but, you're completely right. we forgive lady d and her daughters for being cruel and write off their horrible actions, but many can't do the same for miri? she has motives behind her actions, even in canon, and she's a very good villain. she deserved more screen time than what she got

we need more fics of miranda and the mc being together and being *happy*. she deserves it after everything she's gone through. she deserves to hold her daughter again

i'd definitely love to see your paintings one day! I'm sure they look lovely and you probably capture them so well <3 i can only imagine how difficult the details of her feathers are, but you've got this! and, maybe when you have some free time, you could be the one to write that happy fic with miri and her love?

you never have to apologize for speaking your thoughts, i love hearing them. come to my ask box or DMs anytime you like, and stay safe and healthy during your finals. you got this <33

#asks #long post #i talk mad shit about her on tiktok #but honestly she intrigues me #i read her lore not too long ago when i started writing tptm to get a better feel for her #and it pains me to read #like yes shes a horrible person #but honestly #if i was in her position #if i'd lost my daughter and couldn't save her no matter what i did #and if i was infected by the mold for over a century while i did what i could to bring back my daughter #id be a little crazy too #a good villain/antagonist is one we can relate to #even if they go to extreme measures #and while i dont have kids #i can understand why she'd want to go through all this trouble #and why she'd be a little crazy and cruel #you see how happy she looks when she thinks she FINALLY brought eva back in rose? #and how quickly that was crushed? #that actually hurt me #like it physically pained me #give miri a break 2022

[berryblissbby]

Fiercest; devoted;

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

Word Count: 9,500

Warnings: Use of blades and knives

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

 -

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

 -

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

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

 “I don’t understand”

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

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

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

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

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

 He scowls up at you, stopping your horse. 

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

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

 ¨Hajime!¨

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

You said his name gently, he grunted in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

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

 You woke up alone.

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Nothing, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 You knew Hajime was behind you.

 -

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

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

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

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

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

 He scoffed at you, leaving it on the ground. 

 “Pick it up,” You growled.

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

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

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

 “You are b-”

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

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

 “You are being a brat.”

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

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

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

 He thought that would end your little fight.

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

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

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

 You grunt and pull back. Circling each other, you watch as the moonlight brightens his face. The circling continues, and no words are exchanged, giving you time to think about what had been said, only making you more upset.

 You had faults, in moments like these, you couldn't hide your next move, anger making you just want to act. You swing at him, and he blocks. While your sword is up, he takes the chance to roll, and shove you backwards away from him. A dirty trick.

 “Stop what?” He says to you, looking at you from where you had stumbled a few steps away, face blank.

 You looked at him, with his back to the windows, face shrouded in darkness, and you hated him.

 Before you could think about it, before you could flinch and regret your actions, your arms were arching up, throwing your sword across the room. Watching as Hajime involuntarily followed its arch through the air, sinning blade spinning over handle, until it landed in a clatter. You watched him all the while, and saw his shocked expression before he could hide it.

 “I am your princess,” You growl, his head snapping back to you.

 “I am your princess!” You yell, taking a step towards him, chest pressed to his.

 “I am your Princess!” You scream, shoving him backwards toward the large windows.

 You pressed against him, leaning him back against the window sill. You stretch to your tiptoes, your hands clutching his shirt as you stare into his eyes. With all the venom you can manage, panting, you say, “I am your princess! I am your princess and you will do as I say!”

 “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. You barely hear his words, or his sword clatter to the ground, your breathing too ragged, your heart beat too loud. You could feel it, in every part of your body, it echoed through you.

 And in that moment you can almost see him. That flash in his eyes, that tone of voice, his breath fanning over your face. He was your Hajime, only for a second.

 “Stop it,” you say, losing momentum with each word, “stop it.”

 He finally tugs himself free, ripping your hands from him. He doesn't let go as he presses you a few steps back and leans down to look into your eyes. 

 His eyes were dark, and you lost him again, the Hajime you want. You yearned to bang on his chest and beg for him back, but you don't dare break the delicate dance you two were in.

 “I see them,”  you hiss, trying to get in his face, “I see how they look at you.”

 “Who?” He spits.

 “Your courtiers.” You say the words as if it's a curse.

 He throws your hands down, taking steps to the door, still facing you.

 “Nothing?” You ask. “You never have anything to say anymore.”

 “Why does it matter?” Squaring his shoulders he looks at you straight on. 

 “Wh-”

 “Why does it matter if they look at me?”

 “It- I-”

 “Tell me why it matters, Princess, and maybe we can talk. I don't want part in your tantrums.”

 You watch him walk away, listening to every fading step, until you only have your breathing to fill the silence.

 -

 You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, it made you sick, haunting you with the memories of what you had said to each other.

 Maybe you had been wrong. Wrong to order him to follow you, wrong to act so brash, wrong to scream at him, and to accuse him of those things.

 You scolded yourself for acting that way, to let your temper control you. It had felt good, until you had crashed. 

 The option-less future spread in front of you. What would you do? Exhaustion was seeping into you, a new type of tired, one that you would do anything to amend. 

 If your temper wouldn’t fix your problems, you would have to try something else, even if it burned you from the inside out.

 -

 You called him to your rooms, something you had never done before. There was no need to call upon each other, you always knew where the other was

 Hajime found you in the chair in the corner, the one he used to stay in; you rarely used it.

 The last rays of evening sunlight were shining in your windows, cascading over your body.

 Your face was illuminated by the sun, every beautiful line and imperfection was open in the light. It made you glow, like you should have been kept in a painting so you could be adored forevermore. You were golden, hair caught fire, glowing like a beacon of truth. The heir of an empire, the hope of thousands. 

 “Majesty,” he bowed, something he had only done a handful of times, for special occasions. It felt forgien and stiff doing it there.

 “Iwaizumi” you said, it sounded like a song, a sigh and a prayer and a plea. But it wasn’t right.

 When was the last time you had called him that? Never, a furious voice in the back of his mind told him.

 “It’s almost time for me to choose.”

 He stood up straighter, meeting your eyes for the first time. There wasn’t that look in them like before, of hurt and hardness. Determination that you would power through. It was just a fact.

 It was almost time for you to choose the person of your court to swear a never ending bond with. To protect each other, in body and soul, to in turn protect your kingdom.

 You looked down at your hands, and he was compelled to take a step forward to make sure he heard you, but not too close. He had a feeling that if he took another step he would see your  red rung eyes, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 “I want it to be you… I'm sorry for that night, for yelling, and trying to cut you into pieces. But…” You take a deep breath and look out the window. “ I don’t know what’s changed, and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted, and whatever I’ve done, but I want it to be you” 

 With those last words you looked him in the eyes. The anger was gone, and all he saw was a tired princess. His tired princess. You didn’t break his gaze, not saying anything more .

 He almost wanted to question you, the maturity in your words shocking. But he stayed quiet; that wasn’t his place anymore.

 You had said your peace, he knew, as he looked into your eyes, with your face passive. It was his turn now, to come to you and bear his teeth, to gouge the hurt out of his chest in to lay it bare for both of you.

 -

 Hajime had a memory he kept close to him, right on his hip. He might have kept it on his ribs, the ones that protected his heart, if that was where you kept daggers. 

 It was the winter solstice celebration from years before. Hajime and you were in your parents' private rooms, giving gifts.The two of you sat on the floor next to the fire, with your parents on the couch in front of you. 

 “Now this one is for both of you.” Your mother explained, handing you both identical boxes. “Open them at the same time.”

 You gave Hajime one look before tearing into yours. He didn’t get to see your reaction as he worked on delicately undoing the ribbons, but he heard your gasp.

 Resting in your hands was an exquisite, shining dagger. You gently held it up, and both your heads turned in to stare at it. 

 “Oh my…” You gawked.

 Hajime went back to his gift and opened it to an identical dagger. Twins. 

 He held his up, and you two compared.

They had blades of shimmering silver, with curved tips that looked sharp enough to split hairs. The handles were of matching silver formed into delicate patterns, inland with jewels that matched your kingdom's colors. The metal reflected the light of the fire behind you, flickering gold and orange, like the blades held the sun.

 Looking up to your parents your father explained. “I had those made for the two of you.” 

 You waited, but that was all he offered. Hajime watched you balance the dagger in your hand, turning it over and examining it. 

 “They’re beautiful.” You say.

 “I would hope that you don’t use them on each other, and only wear them for celebrations, but I doubt that is something that will happen.” 

 Hajime chuckled, looking down at his own dagger. The king might not have said it, but he had a feeling he knew what the daggers were for. 

 They were the two of you. Cut from the same stone, at each other with blades as sharp as diamonds, all while in your shining castle. 

 They were to remind you where you came from, that you two were one in the same, and that you were to work together. Much better to mar an enemy with the same blade than have the one that matches your in your gut. 

 “Thank you,” he said.

 Hajime looked at you, and you were smiling. Leaning over, your grin was feral, and he couldn’t help the electricity that went down his spine.

 “Do you know what this means?” You ask. “I need to get my dresses tailored.” 

 Hajime ruffled your hair, but your smile was burned into his memory. One in the same. Maybe his future queen really would be as strong as him. 

 Hajime could learn to like that.

 -

 Hajime was trained by your father and his men to be a warrior. Your warrior. While you were trained in how to fight men across oceans and continents, he was taught how to fight men with steel and teeth. You did give him a run for his money when you brawled, but he knew that he would never want to be facing you in a killing field, with an army at your disposal.

 Your cleverness was beyond him, not that you would ever give yourself credit for it. But you were still young, and when he caught something that you had missed in meetings or conversations, the sparkle in your eye, the way he knew you were in awe of him, was addictive.

 In all honesty, Hajime wasn’t your only lover, or admirer, you had many. Your parents were kind to you, your father could often be found making you giggle, especially when you were seated next to him at meetings. Your mother and you discussed books and music. You would often receive compliments from your father’s advisors and friends, which always made you blush in thanks. And your mothers lady’s loved to give you advice about clothes and any romantic endeavors you might go one. Not that there were many. The boys liked winking at you, and making you blush. Hajime tried his best to keep that to a minimum. Your court did love you, they loved the princess that was bashful and kind, but had the cleverest ideas at council meetings. You were the beautiful shining light, in your beautiful shining castle, and you would keep your court strong.

 Those were all things that Hajime knew well. Painfully well. Because he was always the first to notice. He had seen how they all cared and vowed to make sure that you would stay that way, that you were protected and cared for. So your light never went out, so your kingdom was always strong. He would do what he must, he would not let your court fall.

 So when he had looked at you and the light in your eyes had changed, he felt responsible.

 It wasn’t a bad change, just different. It only took him a short amount of time to pinpoint what it was.

 He couldn’t love you, not like that. He couldn’t let himself break you, because he knew he’d manage somehow, he was always a little heavy handed.

 What protector would he be if he broke your heart? If he was the first one to weaken you? To welcome you into the cruel world you would be entering, of choosing the best of horrible options, of lying and deceiving? He would not be the one to welcome you to that.

 -

 Maybe he was wrong, maybe you could take it. He wouldn’t be the one introducing you to the hurt, he could be the one to guide you through it.

 -

 He was surprised when he found you, always too afraid to wander the place at night. You were in a sitting room, long forgotten by the court, locked away and covered in sheets. 

 It was one of the rooms you would play in as children, with the furniture pushed to one corner; each and every one of the walls between the tall windows was covered in paintings.

 By now both of you had them memorized, whether that be by sunlight, candle light or moon light, both of you knew each of them well.

 You were only looking at one, standing right in front of it, your favorite painting of them all. 

 Hajime watched you, in the light of the moon, stare at the picture. Your profile was perfectly outlined by the stark light.

 “Tell me about her again,” he asked, voice carrying across the room.

 You spare him a glance before turning back to the painting.

 You take a step closer and take a breath. “Her name was Kiyoko.”

 You bring your hand up, and with only a finger you delicately trace the frame. 

“She was the most beautiful woman in the land, and the man who painted her was in love with her, but there were few who weren’t.”

 Hajime didn’t have to see the picture to know what it looked like, he had spent plenty of time looking at it with you. The girl was beautiful, with silky black hair, pale skin, and eyes that felt like they knew all, like they were windows into the fiercest storm.

 He knew the curve of her lips and the mole on her chin, and the pastel color of her dress. She was framed in a sea of greenery; plants, grass and trees all around her. Despite her pale dress and cool eyes she was surrounded by orange flowers, and in the corner of the painting, were perched crows.

 He wasn’t sure what made you stare at that painting like you did. Like you could see details that weren’t there. You had always said that when you looked at it, you longed for the frame to expand, for the picture to grow wider, to see what she saw.

 You also had a thousand questions for her, you wanted to know her as intimately as you knew her face. But she never answered, staring back with those eyes, until only Hajime was left to answer your questions.

 “She was loved by everyone, it was said that you would be blessed if she acknowledged you, and if she spoke to you, you were destined for the most devine heaven.” You move your finger from the frame to the painting, looking like you would touch it, but you don’t, only coming infinitely close.

 “She married the man she loved, and had a laugh that sounded like bells.” You bring your hand down and step back from the painting. 

 “You would be her most devoted admirer.” Hajime said.

 “I already am,” you smile looking down at your hands, “but I think she would have deserved a beautiful friendship.” 

 -

 It wasn’t a real story, her name was Kiyoko, that was the name of the painting, but each time you told it, it was different.

 Looking up to reply to Hajime, you met his eyes. On his face was a smile that delicately curved, turning his mouth up.

 That smile… the curve of his mouth, the sharp teeth behind it. It made your knees week, the relief of seeing it again.

 He took steps towards you, until you were standing shoulder to shoulder looking at her again. 

 “What do the crows mean,” he asked, encouraging you to keep going.

 You take a moment before answering. “They’re her other admirers, only to ever love her from afar.” 

 He hummed, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. 

 You turn to look at him, right in the eyes.

 “It matters… it mattered because you weren’t looking at me.”

 He tried to speak, but you stopped him. “No, listen to me.”

 He wouldn’t look away from your eyes, face cool.

 “I couldn’t- can’t- you just… you weren’t looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do. It’s unbearable.” Your words were so quiet, always so quiet in moments like these

 It seemed like he couldn’t bear to break the silence as he said with narrowed eyes. “You think I don’t know, that I didn’t see?”

 “You won’t break me Hajime,” you say with a scoff. He almost flinced, coming close but stopping. Like you had seen right through him when he wasn’t expecting.

 “You don’t know that,” he hissed, “I know, saw it, everything, and I made that decision. I won’t be the one to introduce you to that, to be the first one to hurt you.” 

 He spoke with his hands, and you watched them as they moved. They were so wide, well taken care of, you remember them being softer than expected.

 “You’re supposed to protect me,” you grit through your teeth. You don’t know if he can tell how flushed you are, but you know he can see the silver lining your eyes.

 “H-how am I supposed to protect this kingdom, t-this court without you! I can’t do it without you.”

 “You’ll do just fine,” he said, standing up straighter.

 “Don’t say that! Why would you- why would you say something like that.” 

It was getting hard to get the words out, every time he spoke you ached more and more.

 He was panting, like those words had winded him. His face was hard, unyielding. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and covered your wobbling mouth. A sick imitation of a comforting embrace

-

 He didn’t know what to do. His princess was shattering right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 

 There was no one to point a blade at, no where to keep you safe. Looking at the tears in your eyes, he knew that this had been happening for a while. You were begging him to take his words back, any of them, but he wouldn’t let himself.

 Hajime resisted the urge to look down at his hands. He’d always been heavy handed, that's what he had said to himself. He was trying to shield you, gods-dammit, but those hands had done more harm than good when it really mattered.

 All he could do was watch you crumble in on yourself, while he stood feet away.

 -

 He was clueless. He always knew what to do. Your faithful, balanced Hajime was at a loss.

 You could see it, you blinked and you were there. No longer in that moon-bathed room, but outside, children again.

 How old were you? Nine? Eleven? How old was he? Thirteen? Fifteen? You were just children; the same as always. Had you even grown up, were you always clutching each other like this? So dependent yet so unaware of each other?

 You had never seen him like this, he lived with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. His upper lip stiff, his will unmoving.

 But the man standing in front of you was desperate, with his hands splayed in front of him, like they would burn you if he got too close.

 Why couldn’’t you just say it, why were you two always dancing around it? Your own choreography, your own sacred, unique steps. 

 “I’m tired,” you say, shoulders dropping, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

 “I am too,” Hajime admitted.

 You closed your eyes tight, feeling more tears fall from your lashes. And when you opened them again, you were met with steel. Not like the steel of blades, but unforged steel, ready to be shaped, reborn.

 Looking into those eyes, the irises that framed hurricanes, it felt like those roaring winds blew right through you. Breathing life into you, fanning your flames. Maybe she could answer just one question for you.

 This is the last time, you vowed to yourself, no matter how it ends.

 -

 Hajime didn’t ask questions as you dragged him through the palace, his presence giving you a little more confidence than before.

 Up and up you went, just when he thought you were done taking him up stairs you found another set, and headed right to the top. You only felt him hesitate once, but you didn’t look back, and he followed. You made it to the top. A tower that was once a sentries station. 

 “How did you… isn’t there someone working here?” Hajime asked.

 You didn’t have to look at him to see the crease in his brow. “No, there’s no need to have anyone up here.”

 Your kingdom had been peaceful for years, if any attacks were to come, they would not be so often as to need guards on the lookout every day. Hajime knew that, so you followed. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’ve just been walking around at night… and I wound up here.” 

 He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. You never walked alone, the fact that you had been in that sitting room tonight was shocking. But you? Wondering up here?

 On one hand, you hoped that he was feeling guilty. On the other, you felt horrible for tearing him up like that. But you knew that was how he was feeling, he wouldn’t push it to the side this time. Not with it spelled out in front of him.

 Crossing his arms and leaning back, he gave you a look of disapproval, but you were no stranger to those cunning eyes. You tried not to dwell on the picture before you, slowly focusing into something- someone you recognized.

 You walked up to the window, leaning against it, staring at the slowly brightening horizon. 

 “Just tell me why.” Was all you said.

 -

 Hajime stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with you, hand on the cool window sill. The warmth that encompassed Hajime's side almost made him purr, you were so close.

 He took a moment to look at the view, the mountains in the distance, silhouetted by the rising sun. The dark sky was slowly becoming a splash of deep colors.

 “I don’t just protect you, your life isn't your own. What I do affects you, what I see keeps you safe. What I let you do… it could change so much. If I stumble, if I overlook something- so much is at steak. And I know what you were thinking when you looked at me.”  He paused as you nodded, and watched your eyes move from the horizon to the city nestled below the palace. “So I stopped, and you were pissed.”

 “I’ll be disappointed if you say you didn’t see that coming.”

 “Well, it worked to my advantage… until you woke me up that night…” 

 Your smile melted, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was bracing for something, that crackling irritation he was used to. But it didn’t come.

 Hajime stiled. Maybe this wasn’t him talking to his princess anymore, as you listened, as he spoke, he realized it was his queen in front of him. 

 “You hurt me. You were mine and then suddenly you weren’t.” He sat there and listened as your voice cracked

 “I’m sorry”

 You turned to look at him. “You can’t break me that easy Hajime, we’re one and the same, in sword and devotion. I want you at my back, I want you protecting me. I need you to want the same. I thought- I thought we agreed on that. So please… let me choose you.”

 “Please let me be your princess, please let me choose you, I want you to protect me, the right way.”

 With you next to him he could see the sunlight reflected in your eyes, how it made them sparkle, how the roofs of your city seemed to wink up at you with the last slivers of moon light. Telling him how much hope they had for you, how they knew that their princess would keep them safe.

 “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 With that admission, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him as hard as you could. You took a few breaths before pulling back, still keeping your arms around him, looking into his eyes.

 “Let me be your princess Haji, please.” It was like you were looking for something in his eyes, not breaking the connection.

 “Always,” he whispered, leaning closer, not looking away.

 “But you aren’t my princess.” He watched your eyes flutter and he drew closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you right against him. “You're my queen.”

 He met your lips, and you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he made you feel like you had again. 

 And as the sun created the mountains, and it's morning rays illuminated you and Hajime, he knew that his hands might have broken you, but they had also put you back together. 

 -

 Pulling away from Hajime, you try not to look as out of breath as you felt. You stared into his slate eyes and felt like he had never left, that the time between you that had hurt you  was just a memory, a distant past.

 They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe its to give you the courage to forgive, to be able to try again.

 You watched his mouth as he said, “I'm a fool.”

 “Then that would make me a fool too,” you muse, tone playful.

 “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, furrow in his brow. “We can’t have a queen who's a fool.”

 “Then what am I?”

 “An idiot,” you watched his mouth as he said it. His smile was crooked, like he was trying to hide it.

 “Like the lovers,” You breathe, your own smile spreading across your face.

 “Like the lovers,” he repeated.

 The word lovers echoed in your head when you decided you wanted to kiss him again.

 -

 With each breath, you felt the embers inside of you cool to ashes, blowing in the wind like ash. 

 You might have lied, that night wouldn't be your last fight, but it would never be like that ever again.

 Hajime and you were once again in the practice hall, but this time things were different. You were both giddy, as the early morning sun glinted in your eyes. You tumbled and swung your swords at each other, but this time it was laughter shared between you, not savage words.

 You felt like you two were dancing again. With your dress whispering around your legs, and the dagger that matched Hajimes visible around your hip, you felt like you had that night as children, when Hajime first taught you to laugh. 

 You weren’t upset, or nervous this time, as you gave each other bruises and sore shoulders. Because later that morning at the ceremony you knew who would be standing next to you, with his back straight and his shoulders down. Your fiercest warrior and most devoted lover.

#hajime iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi x reader #hajime iwaizumi x you #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #hajime imagines #hajime x reader #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi x y/n #iwazumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi fanfic #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi haijime x reader #iwazumi hajime #iwazumi x you #my stuff #my wriring

[osleyakomwonkru]

Octavia as The 100′s Jesus Figure, Part 4: Bardo, The Crucifixion and Second Coming of Octavia Blake

So we’re back for a fourth part of this series, which I started after season 6, because wouldn’t you know it - there’s more to be said.

In Part 1, Origin Story and the Meeting of Two Saviours, I discussed Octavia’s origin story as the Dark Saviour and her relationship with the show’s other Saviour Lincoln, and how with his death he invested her with the mission to save all of their people.

In Part 2, Saving Humanity and the First Passion of Octavia Blake, I talked about Octavia finally accepting and understanding her mission as the Saviour, redeeming the sins of humanity, and her first Passion narrative, which was left incomplete, and thus she lived.

In Part 3, Planet Alpha and the Second Passion of Octavia Blake, I wrote about Octavia’s second Passion narrative on Planet Alpha, which led to her road to Golgotha at the Anomaly, from which she is resurrected (the Crucifixion narrative still remaining a mystery) and then meets those she knew once again, before her ascension as the Anomaly reclaimed her in the last seconds of the S6 finale.

So now, Part 4 - Here we will get into that missing Crucifixion narrative, as well as the events that come to pass with Octavia’s Second Coming, the Judgment of Humanity, and how things may have played out differently had it been Octavia who walked into the glowy ball of light instead of Cadogan, Clarke and Raven.

From Dark to Light

Before we return to that missing Crucifixion narrative, which takes place on Bardo, Octavia, along with Diyoza and Hope, land on a different planet for ten years. This planet also has its purpose in our Saviour narrative, because while the show starts on dark themes, and thus needed Octavia as a Dark Saviour, in season 7 it began to shift to a theme of light and transcendence.

Enter the appropriately named Penance.

Octavia spends ten years on Skyring/Penance/Planet Beta, healing from her pain and darkness, and thus is no longer the Dark Saviour the narrative needed her to be before to bring salvation to her people, now she can be the Light Saviour who will save all of humanity.

Her new demeanour - though I hesitate to say new because it was born of ten years of peace, plenty, family, and healing, it wasn’t new to her, merely to those who used to know her for whom time had been much shorter - is evidence of her new Light. It confuses many, because they hadn’t had the same time and healing as she had, but it is evident in every move she makes. Rather than the tornado of righteous fury that she used to be, now Octavia is the steady and calm voice of reason - to Echo, to Hope, and especially to Clarke.

But back to that crucifixion narrative.

Every Noble Crown will be a Crown of Thorns

Her peaceful world torn asunder, Octavia is taken to Bardo, and thrown into M-Cap at the first opportunity. Others have mentioned how the M-Cap headcap looks like a crown of thorns, and they’re quite right - this is where Octavia’s Crucifixion narrative comes to fruition. No one spends as much time in that crown of thorns as she does.

She fights it, at first, but when acceptance is what will provide salvation to her people (or person, in this case, being Hope), she accepts her fate and faces her past - brutal days of reliving her history as the Dark Saviour, to firmly close that chapter of her life (a symbolic death rather than just her regular baptism-rebirth cycle).

She’s freed from her crown of thorns when Hope comes. Hope, the symbol of her new Light, and the Light that she will carry with her as she returns to Sanctum to be resurrected among those she once knew, those who had believed her to be lost, but who dearly needed the Light she was to bring them.

Revelation and The Second Coming

There are a lot of different moving pieces involved in the apocalyptic scenarios of Revelation, and how these come to play in season 7 of The 100 isn’t any different. So let’s take a look at some of the other key players and how they connect to Octavia’s story.

The False Prophet, The Dragon and The Beast

Now, in my Part 3 of this series (written after the S6 finale), I predicted that Bellamy would have a large part in the revelation of Octavia’s Saviour narrative. Obviously, that part didn’t come to pass, because of Bob’s absence from the show, but you can still see hints within the narrative that suggest he would have been a part of it before Bob pulled out (most notably, the Hesperides flashback in 7x04 - this flashback is pretty pointless in the context of Hope telling Echo and Gabriel that story, but if you imagine Bellamy being there to hear about how his sister raised Hope in much the same way he raised her - then it becomes way more meaningful).

But the narrative as it played out also presents interesting Biblical allusions, by casting Bellamy in the role of false prophet, fighting on the side of the Beast (Cadogan), instead of on the side of Christ (his sister).

The false prophet is said to be the second beast to rise in Revelation 13, who has “two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon” (Revelation 13:11) who is given the authority to speak on behalf of the first Beast (Cadogan), to deceive the people so that they will worship this Beast. The false prophet having the appearance of a lamb is relevant here, because Jesus is often referred to as the Lamb of God - thus, the false prophet (Bellamy) resembles the true Saviour (Octavia), not coincidental since they are in fact siblings and thus do bear some physical resemblances.

So who is The Dragon - that is, Satan? It is easy to say that the Dragon is Sheidheda, for it is the Dragon who is imprisoned, only to be released to deceive and wage war before being finally defeated. But it goes deeper than that - The Dragon is the dark side of the Flame itself, Sheidheda’s only the last prophet of that darkness. It is the Flame that gives Cadogan, the Beast, the power he needs to rule over his people - the glimpse of the idea of Judgment Day as something for the Disciples to work towards - “The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority” (Revelation 13:2) - even when the good side of the Flame, the Humanity that Becca believed so vital, wanted to keep it from him.

The Children of the Kingdom of Heaven

Jesus says “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Octavia’s always been tied to different children throughout The 100 narrative, first as the child herself, and then others such as Gavriel, Ethan, Madi, Rose and Hope. But the important children for the purpose of this post are the three that are the “next generation” so to speak of the leading trio of the show, and their important roles in the final battle.

There’s Jordan, the Head-centered, who takes over Clarke’s role as John the Baptist, the prophet who bore witness to the Light (Jesus) so that others would believe. His testimony shows that the Final War is instead a Test, and he’s instrumental in making sure that Octavia can stop the war and pass the test to grant humanity eternal life instead.

There’s Hope, the Heart-centered, who takes over Bellamy’s role as Saint Peter, the disciple who becomes the leader of the church after Jesus’ ascension. Hope is Octavia’s grounding force, her new rock, and her love gives her strength to continue her journey.

And then there’s Madi, the Soul-centered, who is Octavia’s next generation counterpart. It’s made clear from the start of Madi’s introduction in season 5 that Octavia is her favourite, that Octavia is the one she looked up to, and even in season 7, these parallels are there, as Madi is ready to sacrifice herself to save the others, and in more peaceful ways too, like when she’s hiding in the reactor with her two new friends, reminiscent of season 1 Octavia and her friendship with Monty and Jasper. Madi, too, meets her Crucifixion in the M-Cap chair, in an even crueler and more vicious manner than Octavia did. But when Octavia saves humanity, this liberates Madi’s soul and grants her eternal life as well.

I am the Way, The Truth and the Life

Wonkru falls apart in Octavia’s absence. There’s no other way to say it. Wonkru crumbling in 7x03 is made even more conspicuous by the fact that they don’t even mention Octavia, because they’re still denying her, despite everything she brought them. They don’t realize that she’s the one to save them all, they don’t realize that, as Jesus says, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 4:16) - something that they will finally come to understand in the climax of the final episode.

But it isn’t time for that story yet. First we must turn to Revelation to see what happens to Wonkru and the others on Sanctum while they’ve chosen to deny her and follow the Dragon and the Beast instead.

Here we see the different plagues that strike the unbelievers - both in Revelation 8-9 and 16.

The first to come are “ugly, festering sores [that] broke out on the people who had the mark of the beast” (Revelation 16:2) - the radiation sickness that is a marker of the broken nuclear reactor in 7x03, which claims as James as one of its first victims. If you don’t remember who he was while watching that episode, look back to 6x02, where he’s one of the people attacking Octavia in the Eligius IV mess hall. He breaks faith with her, and here suffers the consequences of that.

The second and third plagues speak of both the seas and the rivers turning to blood - references to the rivers of blood created by Sheidheda’s massacres, first of the Faithful and then of the Children of Gabriel.

The fourth plague, the sun scorching people with fire, takes us to the eclipse in 7x13, where the sky is red with the eclipse. This leads to the fifth and sixth plagues - the kingdom being plunged into darkness as Emori kills power to the reactor to bring down the shield, which makes it possible for “locusts [to come] down on the earth” (Revelation 9:3) and devour those “who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads” (Revelation 9:5).

It is only the final plague - “rumblings… and a severe earthquake… [where] the great city split into three parts” (Revelation 16:18-19) - that strikes where Octavia is, with “a loud voice from the throne, saying ‘It is done!’” (Revelation 16:17). This line from Revelation calls back to what Octavia says to Hope in 6x13 before her Ascension - “Be brave, tell him it is done” - a sign that Octavia is needed elsewhere again. And soon enough she does depart to Bardo, alongside Clarke. Meanwhile, the survivors remaining on Earth have to reunite the three groups split in the bunker - those in the rotunda (Hope, Jordan, Gaia, Indra, Miller), those in the rec room (Raven, Murphy, Emori, Jackson) and those in the bunkrooms (Echo, Niylah) - to prepare for the final war and judgment.

The Fall of Babylon

Before Octavia can bring light to the world and grant humanity transcendence, there is still one more key part of Revelation that must come to pass, and that is the fall of Babylon: That is, in this ‘verse, Clarke.

Throughout Biblical narrative, Babylon stands in opposition to Jerusalem and its righteousness, just how in The 100 narrative Clarke and Octavia have always been set as foils to each other. Now, Clarke isn’t evil per se, but she’s always been set in her ways and doubles down when questioned about her past deeds - as we see both in how she faces the Primes in 6x03 and the Judge in 7x16. She doesn’t learn, and so she fails. Clarke, like Babylon, is locked out of heaven for not learning the patience and humility that Octavia did: “For her sins are piled up to Heaven, and God has remembered her sins. Give back to her as she has given, pay her back double for what she has done.” (Revelation 18:5-6).

With Clarke fallen, it is now time to begin the Final Judgment.

Final Test and Judgment

After Clarke’s fall, someone must step in to advocate for humanity, to guide the Judge’s gaze to the righteous, to the Saviour - Raven steps through the glowing orb to do so. So which figure in Revelation is most suited here? None other than the writer of Revelation themselves, historically considered to be John of Patmos, who is given these visions by the angels as a warning for humanity.

Raven bore witness to a number of the plagues, and while not always a believer in Octavia - in fact, out of all characters around for all seven seasons, they’ve shared the least screentime with each other - but they’ve still fought on the same side. Also of relevance here is that Raven’s been granted visions in the narrative of the show, like John of Patmos has in Revelation - though hers came as a result of ALIE.

While the Judge takes Raven to the battlefield in Bardo to prove humanity to be unworthy, this battlefield is instead where Octavia proves humanity to be worthy. Indra and Wonkru follow Octavia’s lead, finally recognizing that their only way to salvation was through her (see John 4:16 above), and after the Disciples too laid down their weapons, humanity is deemed worthy and the Judge grants them eternal life in the form of transcendence - rising to the heavens in the manner of the Rapture, “We who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air” (1 Thessalonians 4:17).

Where is the Judgment of the Dead?

Now, one thing missing in season 7 compared to the Book of Revelation and Jesus’ Second Coming is the Judgment of the Dead and welcoming those worthy into the domain of Heaven.

A longstanding phrase in The 100 has been “May We Meet Again”. This is part of the Traveler’s Blessing of Skaikru, and one that they use frequently with one another even in non-death contexts. So with that phrase, a lot of people expected that the dead would also be able to be part of transcendence somehow, and that beloved characters would then also be present on the beach in the final scene as they rejected transcendence to live mortal lives.

I believe, given everything in the past posts about Octavia, that had she been the one to go into the ball of light to face the Judge personally, rather than saving humanity on the battlefield, that this would have happened.

While logically I believe the best form for the Judge to take for Octavia would have been Diyoza, since Diyoza was her greatest teacher, her mind would be more likely to choose her greatest love, Lincoln - who, if we go back to Part 1 of this series, we remember is the other Saviour of this show’s narrative.

That would have been a reunion even more epic than the Clarke and Lexa reunion that the show gave us, for Lincoln and Octavia were far closer and together for far longer. And if the Transcendents possessed the powers that they do - instant genocide by crystallization at the wave of an arm, transcendence through the blink of an eye, restoration of healthy and whole bodies if those souls reject transcendence - then surely raising the dead would’ve been a simple task.

The only reason that couldn’t happen was extratextual - there was no way Ricky would work with JRoth again, and so this extra dimension, this aspect of the narrative that could have made things so much sweeter and less bitter, had to be put aside.

Now, that doesn’t diminish Octavia’s Saviour narrative in the least - she did still save humanity. She did still bear the sins of the human race, she was still mocked, cast out and sent to her crucifixion by those who denied her. She did still return from that symbolic death, resurrected, then ascended. When she faced Wonkru again - remember, that battlefield in 7x16 is the first time the bulk of Wonkru has seen her since 5x13 - it was in her Second Coming to bring the Final Judgment to them. The trials they’d faced in Sanctum in her absence showed them the truth - that they had to believe in her again to achieve their salvation.

She was the Way, the Truth and the Life of The 100 universe, and no one would have reached transcendence except through her.

#the 100 #the 100 meta #octavia blake #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #raven reyes #biblical parallels #saving humanity #saviour narrative #bill cadogan #sheidheda #jordan jasper green #hope diyoza #madi griffin

[paralumanleadmehome]

It’s been quite some time since I’ve last joined a contest and I honestly missed this feeling of trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, and how to deliver it exactly as you need to to impress the judges. It’s been so so long and welp. I’ve grown rusty and this is definitely not proof-read but all the same, thank you to @queenangst and everyone who had made this possible.

You brought me back a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.

This is my entry to queenangst’s BNHA gen contest: Finding Home 

(please see under the cut as this has 3.5k words and could be very long)

Finding Home

o.

It started out as a legend – two souls separated at creation, two souls that make up one whole, two halves of one soul completed upon connection.

Two becoming one.

But legends are legends for a reason – mythical, mysterious, only with a hint of a truth.

Soulmarks began appearing even before the dawn of quirks –little symbols that litter the body, one that you could only call your own. One that only you could share to whom you so ever desire. It varies in shapes and colors, some being a butterfly tinged in red and orange, others an ocean wave the shade of green, and to some more, it covers a palm, a thigh, a foot. Unlike its legendary counterpart, however, a soulmark does not lead you to a soulmate. Instead, it leads you to one where you can feel whole.

A soulmark is a symbol of love and friendship given in trust and good faith – one that cannot be taken, one that only be passed on.

A soulmark is a symbol of warmth and everlasting connection – one that is stronger than flesh and blood.

A soulmark is a symbol of home – one that you choose for yourself.

One person can have as many as the stars in the sky and as few as the petals of a clover.

And Izuku? Izuku only has his own, his mother’s, and the black mark of one Bakugo Katsuki.

After all, no one wants to share the mark of a useless, quirkless, little Deku.

And so, however sacred, Kacchan had cut his own connection with Izuku, both of them bearing the ashen remnants of a once golden sun and a viridian shooting star – the pain of which Izuku found more unbearable than the explosions that kissed his skin.

And Izuku no longer believed in soulmates.

Not when the world was so intent on pushing him down and pushing him away, not when no one would stand up for him and with him, not when the only love and care he had ever known came from the woman who had loved him the most.

So Izuku never shared the mark on his wrist with anyone, never the light of the shooting star that brightens up the dark sky, never the stardust that falls on the earth, never the ray of hope he had held even in the darkest of times, keeping it hidden in long sleeves, wristwatches, and bandages. And at all times he keeps covered the blackened sun that rests on his heart, refusing to see the ashes of a friendship no longer alive, refusing to acknowledge the searing pain that would accompany the sight. Instead, as always, he keeps close the mint green lotus that rests on the base of his right ear, his eyes never not seeing it each morning, afternoon, and night – the one and only reminder that he is loved.

He is loved.

He is loved.

And he lets himself be content with that.

i.

The first of many soulmarks that Izuku will treasure came from the man that he had idolized his whole life.

Yagi Toshinori, for all his time as the Symbol of Peace (and more the time he had spent alive), only carries with him four marks, not counting his own. Izuku doesn’t ask when he sees. He doesn’t think it is polite to, especially when most people aren’t interested in bonding with a quirkless child (and although All Might already knew he was quirkless and didn’t deny him this chance to train, the man’s initial denial of his dream still stings). He doesn’t ask about the faded crescent moon that rests on his collarbone (it isn’t nice to ask about the dead, after all), nor about the black spaded horse on his left ankle (he was shocked at first, upon seeing this lost connection, and his heart ached at the thought that even All Might had to bear the pain of losing someone he had once loved so dearly). He doesn’t ask about the violet sigil of a fish on his shoulder blade nor the diamond glasses near his scar. He doesn’t ask about any of these things.

Instead he asks about experiences – what was it like to be a hero of his caliber? Was he ever afraid of anything? Was there ever a time that he was unable to save someone? What was he like as a student? Did Dagobah Beach mean something special to him? Things that the world weren’t privy to – things that he didn’t know were personal.

Things that would’ve only been known if All Might had chosen him as his soulmate.

And All Might did.

One day, at Dagobah Beach, after the world had finally met the man behind All Might, Toshinori Yagi had offered his ocean blue sunflower tucked on the opposite side of where the faded moon resided and had asked Izuku if he had wanted to carry his soulmark.

And Izuku… flinched.

Because to hold another’s soulmark would mean to be aware of them at all times – to feel their warmth despite the distance, to know with one brush of a hand the feelings that lay in their hearts, to give them comfort even in the presence of an absence.

To bear a soulmark is to be eternally connected.

And Izuku had been burned by the loss of it.

And he is scared, afraid, terrified – because to be All Might’s successor is one thing. To be given his quirk and his legacy is a dream come true but to be his soulmate? To be near him? To know him and be known by him in return? It’s terrifying.

And yet… and yet… Izuku takes this fear and lets it be known.

In quiet whispers, jumbled words, and a steady stream of tears.

Because deep down, Izuku longs to be connected.

And it is in the act of letting someone close does he remember what it feels like to be loved.

ii.

The second one, surprisingly, came in the form of a little girl.

A quiet, frightened, injured little girl who had ran away from a monster of a man.

Eri bumped into him during his first patrol with Lemillion and this mess of child with a stature so small and eyes too scared clung to him for dear life – and Izuku’s soul ached.

Izuku took one look at the man with the bird mask, one look at Lemillion, one look at this little girl, and made up his mind.

“Eri,” he whispered, “do you trust me?”

It was a stupid question, he knew, but a soulmark is something to be given in trust – a treasure to be received in good faith.

“You’re good,” Eri answered just as softly, little hands clinging to his costume. “You’re warm.”

Izuku doesn’t know if Eri feels the same pull, the same fierce protectiveness that forces its way into his heart, and he knows that this is more his own desire to keep her safe than any other force telling him that she was a part of his own soul.

Because Eri mattered regardless.

And Eri was worth keeping safe.

So for the first time in a long time, Izuku removes the bandage that hides his own soulmark and he shows it to Eri.

“This will keep you safe for me,” he tells her, “this will let you know I’m here.”

In the background he hears the tense conversation coming to a halt, sees the way the man’s eyes turn to look at Eri, and he knows he doesn’t have time.

“This is a promise.”

And Eri stares at it for little while, hands reaching to the shooting star. “A promise,” she repeats, and with a little nod and hopeful eyes, Izuku places a finger on her arm, just beneath her sleeves, and let their foreheads touch.

The words come to him unbidden, the way words do when you give someone a piece of your soul – a promise to be fulfilled, a wish to be granted, a part of you that will forever be a part of them.

“I will always come for you.”

And he did.

iii.

Not counting his own nor Kacchan’s, Izuku has two soulmarks on his body.

One from his mother, another from All Might.

He didn’t ask for Eri’s and she hadn’t offered in return.

Eri was as afraid of her soulmark as much as she is afraid of her quirk.

Cursed, she calls the silver dove wreathed in yellow petals on her ankle. Cold, she thinks of it. It will still be a long way to go, Izuku assumes, but as long as Eri can feel his warmth, his presence, that would be enough.

The third one, interestingly enough, was in the image of an aquamarine heart, with its curves jagged and cornered, just as a gem so precious and true.

Kouta gave it to him as gift, as a thank you, as something for Izuku to remember him by.

Kouta didn’t ask for Izuku’s own soulmark, didn’t even breathe a word about it. Instead the little boy ran up to him, little arms wrapping him in a hug, and said,

“I’ll always be cheering you on.”

And when Izuku sees the way Kouta’s soulmark shine, he accepted it without a second thought.

And when Kouta pulled away afterwards, face pulled in a frown, Izuku tried to ignore the fear that stabbed his own heart. He wondered if he would make a world record, an ashen mark as soon as he had received it, but Kouta dispelled his fears just as easily.

“That felt weird,” Kouta said. Izuku blinked at him, his mind taking a minute to process, until he caught up. Then he laughed and laughed because he feels exactly what Kouta feels – the disappointment, the confusion, the curiosity… and the underlying overwhelming emotion of it all.

Unbridled joy.

The elation of having someone know you – of being accepted, treasured, remembered.

He also felt the embarrassment that followed as Kouta turned as red as his shoes.

iv.

The soulmark exchange with Shinsou had been quiet.

It happened on the night of their second year when they both stumbled upon each other in the kitchen at the forsaken 2am hour did Shinsou spring up the topic.

“You don’t have that many soulmarks, do you?” the question was genuine, as far as Izuku can tell, and although the boy was rough around the edges, he knew it was due to the fact that Shinsou had so little support in life and was untrusting of all that Izuku had felt a kindred spirit in that regard.

They have observed the people around them, of course, and have noticed that everyone at least had five. A family member, a best friend from childhood, a classmate they never got lost in contact with.

Izuku stole a glance at the back of his right hand, at the blue heart settled at base of his forefinger and thumb and hummed an agreement. “No, I don’t,” he agreed, letting stiff fingers be warmed by his tea. He doesn’t return the question to Shinsou, knowing that it was a touchy subject for the other boy, but he did wonder, “Why do you ask?”

They don’t talk about it much, these colorful marks on their skin. They don’t talk about how a brush of hand over the little symbols can feel as warm as an embrace, how fear isn’t so scary when someone else sends you courage, how silence isn’t deafening when someone knows to listen.

It is in moments like these that they listen.

Izuku listens to Shinsou’s own quiet humming, the way the gears in his mind seem to move, the way he figures out how to phrase the words he wants to say next. And Izuku has been thinking about it – had been for the past few months.

Will his classmates ever want a piece of his soul?

He could tell that Uraraka does. He could tell that Iida would want one, too, but a soulmark is something that’s rarely asked for due to its sacred nature – it is freely given, after all, and never to be taken lightly. And Izuku had never offered. He had wanted to, of course, but he knows how messy his mind can get. He knows how anxious he can be. It’s why he had given his to Eri in a pace that is both hidden and seen, something she had to reach out for so she could feel. Izuku could not yet know what Eri is thinking or feeling, nor will he ever have inkling to unless she so desired, and Izuku is completely fine with that.

After all, a soulmark is a connection of souls – but it didn’t have to be an exchange. What it did mean though is that for one who bears the soul of another is to be aware of them – to be able to feel their warmth and develop an understanding of their soul. It is not to read their minds nor to know everything about them, but it is about the intimacy of knowing someone and being known.

A commitment.

A promise.

Like an artwork waiting to be completed, like a dance you can take to heart, a soulmark is connection that bridges the gap between someone you know and someone you choose forever.

“I don’t get it,” Shinsou finally said, and Izuku turned his eyes to him, the question lost in his tongue. “You have a strong and flashy quirk, you have so many people who love you and would fight the world for you, heck Uraraka and Iida would probably murder someone for you if you ask them, and yet you don’t have their marks and… they don’t have yours. I know I’m not good at this thing but at the very least, people give their marks away as easy as they’re giving candy. And you guys are pretty close, so I don’t get it.”

And the pain of burning that bridge is the same as losing a piece of your soul. Izuku absentmindedly reaches for his heart, the ashen remains of Kacchan’s soulmark embedded on his skin still, and he tries his best to forget.

Izuku looks instead at the clock in the kitchen, noting that it’s only 2:17am, and asks if Shinsou would like to listen to a story.

And they left the kitchen at 5:00am, only to crash in the couch, heart heavy yet full, mind settled and secured, souls at ease, and both boys sharing a mark they never expected to kiss their skin.

v.

The night Izuku had laid bare his soul for someone else to see, when it was him who had reached out first before someone else had offered, when he had done it so willingly and freely, it felt as if something has shifted within him – and in all the remaining years he had spent in UA, he was able to garner a couple more soulmarks for his own. He finally had the pink milky way that was Uraraka’s, the red lighting storm that was Iida’s, and Todoroki’s fiery white snowflake.

And to think that before all of this, before meeting All Might, before knowing these people and being known in return, Izuku was afraid and alone – afraid of the vulnerability that came along with letting people in.

To think that all he had ever thought about when he thought of soulmates were fireworks kissing his skin, long fingers bruising his arms, and taunts and jeers haunting his every waking moment – but now he is surrounded by love and warmth. Now when he thinks of soulmates, he thinks of mochi in the common kitchen, tea in hand; he thinks of morning jogs and healthy breakfast; he thinks of cold soba and cats; he thinks of unicorns and sprinkles and little kids and coloring books; he thinks of training sessions and laughter and peace.

Now when Izuku thinks of soulmates, he thinks of home.

And speaking of home, he can’t wait to get back to their apartment and give his mom the biggest of hugs. They had always called even when he was away and even when they would consistently send little taps through their soulmark, nothing still beats the warmth of a real embrace – and this is what Izuku fixes his mind on as he cleans out his dorm room, packing away every picture frame, books, notebooks, clothes, and figurines. Graduation is in a few days and after that, their debut to hero society. None of them would have enough time to clear out by then.

Izuku packs away the memories, just as he did each item that reminds him of it, and keeps them close in his heart. He packs away the ten million headband, the plushies from the cultural festival, the cards he had received from Eri and Kouta, and he tries his best not to feel emotional. He didn’t want to flood the dorms one last time, after all, but he did think it would be nice to have Aizawa-sensei scold him for being a problem child through and through but ultimately, it was the knock at his door that helps him succeed.

A knock, quiet and soft, and he opens the door to find Kacchan standing at the other side.  

Their relationship had improved over the years.

Kacchan is… less angry now, more settled. He’s still fiery and explosive but he doesn’t lash out anymore. Kirishima, Kaminari, the Bakusquad had been good to him and for him and Izuku had never been gladder about it. He had long stopped dreaming of the day that their relationship would be fixed – he and Kacchan had grown up, grown apart, and even when they drift back together, he is well aware that it would never be the same way again.

He doesn’t ask for it to.

He loves Kacchan, yes, with all his heart, but Izuku now knows that love does not have to be reciprocated for it to be real – but to still be loved in return is a precious treasure he keeps close.

“Hey, Kacchan, do you need something?”

And Kacchan looks at him, face pensive, mouth opening and closing, thinking and grasping and failing to think of the words he wants to say, and something in Izuku feels warm. After some time, the other boy settles with, “Are you busy?”

And if it was at any other time before, Izuku would’ve dropped everything that he had been doing and say no, he wasn’t busy, of course he had the time – but Izuku’s eyes sway to soulmarks on his arm and he steals a look at the digital clock by his table.

“I have thirty minutes,” was what Izuku told him. “I promised Todoroki we’d drop by the store to get his favorite soba since they’re not available near his house. I have time tomorrow morning thought if that works for you. I can cancel the morning jog with Iida if – “

“Thirty minutes is fine,” Kacchan answered back, cutting his rumbling off. It wasn’t harsh or angry. Just… very Kacchan-ish.

“Okay. Do you waant to step in? it’s a bit messy though, I still haven’t finished packing.”

And when Izuku heard the small tsk as he moved aside for Kacchan to pass through, he knew that the other boy won’t mind his mess. He felt a little grateful at that, to not be judged within the confines of his small room. They were silent for a few more second but it wasn’t the kind of silence that would make him uncomfortable. It was companionable, to say the least, and Izuku began picking up the pieces he had left before Kacchan had knocked and continued his packing. In another minute, Kacchan was helping him.

“Are you bringing the bookshelf home?”

“Nope, Aizawa-sensei said I could leave it here. Are you taking yours?”

“Thinking about it. Mine’s too small and I don’t want to waste money on something I can recycle. Do you have bubble wrap for the merch?”

“In the third drawer by the study table. I have newspapers too if that’s better.”

“Oh, Kacchan, that one goes in the other box.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“All my signed books are in one place.”

“Just how many posters do you fucking have?”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t have just as many.”

“I’m not a hero-worshipping nerd like you, dumbass.”

“Says the guy who zonks out at 8pm.”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“Kacchan, that’s limited edition!”

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

“For everything.”

“…”

“It was pretty messed up, the things I did, and I know sorry won’t fix this.”

“Can you pass me the tape, Kacchan?”

“…”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“Please put this box by the bed.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“…”

“You’re right, I don’t have to forgive you.”

“…”

“But I already did.”

“Deku…”

“It won’t fix what’s broken and it won’t stop the sting from the soulmark but…”

“…”

“We’re better now, aren’t we?”

“…”

“Kacchan, we’re better now.”

“You missed the night light.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“…”

“…”

“And it’s only going to get better, right?”

“…”

“…”

“Of course.”

“You’re still a sappy piece of shit.”

“Well, I’m not the one who’s crying, am I?”

“Fuck you.”

“Whatever you say, Kacchan.”

#queenangst gen contest #shanwrites #bnha #my hero #soulmate au #soulmarks #you don't need romance to call it love

[ackernuts]

WHERE.[Erwin Smith x Daughter Reader]

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝘈𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘌𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘹 𝘈𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1953 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

It was a normal pleasant day for the Survey Corps. It's had been almost a month since they've returned from rescuing Eren and the fleeing of the traitors, Reiner and Bertoldt and been a few weeks after Historia had been crowned.

The Corps had been back on operation again after defeating Historia's father's Titan.

While most are now focusing on coming up with a plan to retake Wall Maria after Eren successfully obtained the power of Titan Hardening, Commander Erwin is on Survey Corps HQ in Trost  together with his adoptive daughter, [Name] Smith.

[Name] became a fallen soldier after she lost her eyesight in the first encounter with the Female Titan back in their 57th expedition.

Being visually impaired, she's out of duty but she's to stay in the HQ with Erwin, as per his orders.

That brings us to the present with [Name] clutching at the arm of Erwin for support as they walk towards the messhall where everyone is having dinner.

Upon arriving, the room was bustling with the cheers of the newly recruits who's oblivious of the death trap they just got themselves into.

With a blank face, [Name] ignored all the judging stares of those who doesn't know what had happened to the young ex-corporal. Erwin sat her on her usual seat together with all the higher-ups.

Hanji then helped Erwin to fetch her meal so she can eat and take her medicine. With the two of them out of [Name]'s side and the absence of the other corporal, Levi, mutters of dissatisfaction and belittling from the new cadets rung up to [Name]'s ears.

“Who is she?”

“Why is a useless blind in our ranks?”

“Who does she think she is? Thinking she can survive without a damn sight.”

“She's probably whoring with the commander.”

Having enough of the mutterings of the brats, she stood up and feel her way towards the cadets using her heightened other senses.

“What did you brats just said?” her eerie deep voice with rasp in it echoed across the room, silencing the place.

Smug chuckle of a stupid cadet then break the silence.

“You want me to repeat what I said? Ha! So you're not just a useless blind but also a deaf! Well let me repeat then! You're probably just whoring with the Commander, I mean, what does a useless blind like you doing in our ranks.”

A loud bang was then heard from one corner where the new Levi's squad was sitting, there stood an outranged Jean and Eren.

“You idiot! How dare you talk to the Commander's daughter that way?!” yell Eren with palms clenched into fist and furrowed eyebrows.

“That's a corporal you're disrespecting!” added Jean.

The cadet's smug smirk dropped almost immediately and color starting to drain off of him. The room was silence once again with a pair of footsteps rang up to their ears.

Walking back to the superior's table, Erwin and Hanji placed the trays of foods then turn to the lady standing in front of the recruit's table.

“[Name]? What are you doing?” those words fell into the deaf ears of [Name] and look straight into the cadet's eyes despite not seeing a thing other than total darkness.

“You cadet. I know you're new here in the scouts but you're not new to the military. Is that how you respect a superior?” almost immediately, the boy strung up and salute to [Name].

“You do not only bad-mouthed a corporal but also disrespect the Commander with your filthy mouth. Now receive your punishment, you're to run around the HQ and you are not to stop until I say so. I don't care if you lose your leg running your laps, after all you're not a useless blind in this ranks.” and with so much fright from the (color) haired female, he run outside without a second thought.

With that, [Name] went back to go and eat her dinner with a single thought in her mind and a doubt in her heart.

After dinner, the two then went back to Erwin's office to finish his paperwork.

“Erwin, tomorrow you're going to retake Wall Maria, right?” [Name] quietly asked.

“Yes. Also, good thing you remind me. You are to stay with Commander Shadis as we do the operation.” [Name]'s ears almost burst at her adoptive father's words.

“But Erwin, I can fight too. I can help to retake the wall.” she immediately reply. Stopping abruptly at his daughter's exclaimed, Erwin look at her with wide eyes.

“No.[Name], you're staying here where it's safe. Braun and Hoover is still out there and with Hanji's report about this beast Titan who turns a whole village into Titans, we can't risk you getting injured or worst die in there.”

“But like I said I can fight. I'm still a soldier and ---”

“[Name] you're blind! You're disabled! It's too dangerous out there. I'm doing this to protect you.--”

“So that's how it really is?! It's because I'm useless now because I can't see anymore! Why?! Back when I'm still fine, you wouldn't hesitate to give me mission after mission but now that I'm visually impaired I'm just a rug doll you're going to throw! Is it because I'm not your perfect soldier now?! That without my eyesight I'm just a weak little daisy you can pluck out of the garden?!”

“No! That's not---”

“No! It is! Don't you think I don't know that?! You think I don't know that a lot of people are waiting for me to accept that I'm good-for-nothing now so they can pull the trigger and kill me?! You think I don't know the guns pointed at me every single second?!”

Anger and hurted tears streaming down [Name]'s cheeks and Erwin's eyes filled with regret. Sighing, he walk up to his daughter and put a hand in her shoulder.

“Look, just give me more time [Nickname]. I'll put you back to the battlefield.”

“Don't call me that! Put me back? How?! Are you willingly give me your eyes? You can do that? Can you just stop pretending that you can fix everything with your gamble? Your can't do anything, you're just my adopted father anyway.”

Pain strikes Erwin's heart at the words of his daughter as she feel her way out of the office and into her own room, stumbling a couple of times before entering her bedroom.

_____

After that argument, [Name] locked herself in her room and doesn't even listen to the knock on her door by her father, bidding her a short farewell. Hours had passed and [Name] decided to get off of her bed and get ready to go visit her so-called grandpa, Cadet Instructor Keith Shadis.

Almost four days that the scouts went to retake Wall Maria and now they're back. The heroes of Shiganshina. [Name], received a letter that they found a compatible eye donor and is ready for the transplant, having her missed the return of her comrades.

Two days and the operation was successful. Her then (color except blue) eyes are now bright blue. Upon hearing the news of the operation, Hanji went and fetch the (color) tressed female and had her ride a carriage.

Much to [Name]'s surprise, Hanji hadn't uttered a single word since they took off and to her bewilderment, they stopped into the cemetery especially made for the military.

Her heart dropped at the sight of the regiment, mourning over their fallen soldiers. Frankly, she use her sight to go and look for her father that she dearly missed and hoped to apologized to.

“[Name]... I'm sorry.” she heard Hanji mumbled and ushered her to a certain tombstone where she see the name that made her whole world crumble.

There, written in the tomb is Erwin Smith. The name of the only man who have the courage to raise a meek, bruised little girl who he found on the side of the street. The very man who was so proud of her achievements, the only person who ever believed in her from the very beginning. The only one she will ever be proud to call her father.

Weak legs gave out and she fall into the ground, in front of her father's grave. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks like waterfalls. Her whole body shakes in disbelief at the loss of her beloved family. And to think that she haven't had the chance to apologise for their fight, hell, she haven't said she loved and cared for him for so long since she was six and now, she doesn't have the chance anymore.

“Who?...”

“Who is it?...”

[Name] mutters, eyes widen and lips trembling in every word. The rest of the Levi's squad, Levi and Hanji, stare at her in sympathy.

“Who was it...”

Contemplating to step forward and apologise to the crying lady, Armin ashamedly about to walk up to her when he was stopped by Levi.

“Who is it?! WHO EVER IS IT THAT TOLD YOU, YOU CAN GO WHERE I CAN'T FOLLOW YOU!!” shouted [Name] in anger, sadness and regrets.

The scouts can only hang their heads low in grieve and emptiness.

____

A week after [Name]'s outburst that forced her body to shut down and fell into a short coma. [Name] woke up and she immediately asked to be discharged to stay in her father's office and room. Upon arriving there with Hanji trailing behind her, [Name] all of a sudden, felt her whole body went numb and she fell in Erwin's office floor.

“[NAME]!” Hanji ran up to her quickly and try to assist her.

“I-I...”

“What is it? Those it hurts somewhere?”

“I- Hanji...my legs...I can't feel my legs...Hanji! I can't! My legs! I can't feel my legs.”

“Come on, let's get you back to the infirmary.” She said to the weilling woman and pick her up from the floor and into the infirmary.

“You're physically stable but it seems that you had been traumatized after all the events happened for the past weeks. Especially after loosing someone who's emotionally attached to you, it affects your capabilities to do the things you usually do with that person you always lean on. In your case, it was Erwin.” Hanji explained to the girl who's laying on the bed with a blank expression and an IV bag attached to her wrist.

“So you mean... I wouldn't be able to do the things I usually do with Dad? But... everything... I did everything with Dad. So it means I won't be able to do things even if I can see...”

_____

4 years later

The Titans are all gone and the scouts can finally venture out the outside world, with Eren's father's memories, they're able to go and see the sea that he, Armin and Mikasa always hoped to see.

[Name] is back in her old self as a soldier to make her father even more proud and to not waste the eyes that Erwin had given to her.

Once there, all of them are mesmerized by the beauty the ocean holds. Different things they notice that peaked their interest but two oddly not as hyped as everyone else, Eren and [Name].

Both are just staring off to space and muttering words to themselves.

“Hey Erwin ... Are you seeing this now? I'm sure you do. It's beautiful isn't it?... We're seeing the outside world now. All thanks to you. Ha! And stupid gambles.

I missed you Erwin. Don't worry, you're safe now. You can rest all you want.

I'll... I'll see you later Dad...Soon, I'll get to where you are now.”

The End.

#erwin smith #attack on titan erwin #anime #fanfic #fiction #reader insert #aot angst

[jaskiersvalley]

Art From Ashes

So @dirtydancyart and I were talking about the world they created in which Eskel is a biker, Geralt got involved with Emhyr in some underground shady stuff. Then I came along with this in which Cahir is technically Emhyr’s enforcer but keeps getting mistaken for Ciri’s nanny. Long story short, we wanted some hurt/comfort, some Cahir getting kidnapped and hurt, some Eskel coming to the rescue like a badass. Thus, here we are.

CW: Torture, blood, injuries.

Things had been going surprisingly well after that initial meeting. Eskel had apologised profusely for mistaking Cahir for a decorator. And then for putting his foot even more in it by thinking he was Ciri’s babysitter. For not such an auspicious start, he and Cahir actually got along alarmingly well. Not that they had ever told anyone, officially Nilfgaard and the Wolves were still not openly allies so they had to toe the line. That didn’t stop them from seeing each other or from quietly falling in love. They didn’t need grand declarations or even tokens of affection. For them, it was enough that if Cahir came home late and with blood in his hair, Eskel would wash it out for him with tender touches. By the same token, if Eskel had a run to do, he often found himself with a packed lunch on the passenger seat and a little post it with a smiley face on it. It was more than enough for them, knowing without ever saying anything. After all, if they didn’t say it, they had plausible deniability.

It did however mean trying to be a little more secretive. The nights they spent together were marred by the fact they couldn’t leave at the same time so there were no goodbye kisses on the porch or standing by bikes. That had been another flustering moment in Eskel’s life, discovering that Cahir had a bike in his garage. It was sleek, black and as quiet as a bike could come. Plus terrifyingly fast. Cahir had taken him out to a track just the once and Eskel almost had a heart attack - which was rich coming from someone who would happily rev his way down any stretch of road as soon as it was clear.

Another morning meant Eskel had to leave before the rest of the neighbourhood was up. The sun was already shining through the window and he’d kissed Cahir goodbye. Stepping out into the hallway, Eskel sighed and turned to get going. However, he couldn’t resist one final peek through the half open door. A smile twitched his lips as he watched Cahir rummaging for a t-shirt, bare skin on display. It was quite the sight and Eskel sighed, eyes tracing over the phoenix that spread over Cahir’s back, tail and flames dipping down below the waistband of his slacks. Eskel’s breath hitched when, rather than the shirt being pulled on, Cahir’s hands dropped to his flies and his trousers were slowly pushed down to reveal the rest of the tattoo that Eskel did so dearly love to trace with fingers and lips. Confused, eyes flitted up and Eskel’s gaze met Cahir’s in a mirror. A knowing smirk had him blushing which only deepened as Cahir’s finger traced the tattoo along his collarbone before stopping at the flame that licked at his throat, dipping to run over the Nilfgaardian sun that usually lay just about hidden under the top button of his shirts. A wink and a kiss blown at him had Eskel leaving with a smile and a spring in his step.

They weren’t due to see each other for a couple of days. However, the messages Eskel sent Cahir remained unanswered even though they were sporadically marked as read. Worry began to creep into Eskel’s days as the silence stretched on. It was only through Geralt that he learned something was amiss. Emhyr’s daughter had been attacked. While she had been whisked away to safety, someone else had been snatched.

[Who are you and what have you done with him?]

The message he sent to Cahir’s phone was read and, magically, three dots appeared as a reply was typed out.

[Seems the wolf is involved after all. Lies cannot go unpunished.]

Rage flushed through Eskel. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check but his rash actions had caused Cahir problems. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of punishment his captors would deliver. Throat tight, Eskel’s phone went sailing through the air and bounced off the wall. Searching the news brought nothing up. Of course Nilfgaard wouldn’t go public if one of theirs went missing. Those lower on the totem pole weren’t worth the effort while those higher didn’t want the authorities searching for them. Eskel’s own contacts didn’t bring in much information over the course of the next day. Time was of the essence and he was no closer to finding Cahir. So he did the unimaginable.

“Geralt. We have to talk.”

Thankfully, there wasn’t much need for words. Geralt sighed and shook his head.

“Should have known.” That was all the acknowledgement that there was. “Filavandrel’s men have him.”

That was serious. Worse than expected. Eskel had heard of what those who ran with Filavandrel could do so he began packing heavily for his rescue attempt. What he didn’t expect was for Lambert to silently step into the room and begin arming up. When Geralt did the same too, Eskel gave them incredulous looks.

“You’re not going in alone. We hunt in packs, remember?”

Armed to the teeth, they were on their way. For a change they took Roach, Geralt’s trusty SUV that had seen more blood than most cars. However, they didn’t know what condition Cahir would be in, probably not well enough to hold on for a bike ride. He’d been in Filavandrel’s not so tender care for three days, they were going to be lucky if he survived.

Storming the house Cahir had been kept in was oddly anticlimactic. It was in a quiet suburb and the house naturally had a basement. Well, it wasn’t so quiet as they walked in through the broken down door and shot anyone on sight. Eskel gave thanks for the invention of silencers as he indiscriminately disposed of another scumbag.

Going down the stairs was difficult. It was undoubtedly where Cahir was but Eskel dreaded that they would find. The smell of burned flesh hit them before they saw anything and Lambert swore. There were a few more people in the basement but the wolves were quick to dispatch them. Well, Lambert and Geralt did, Eskel was rooted to the spot as he caught sight of Cahir.

Strung up by his wrists and hoisted so his toes barely touched the ground, his shoulders were strained each time his legs gave out or slipped in the blood on the floor. There was no way to relax in the position and if Cahir’s head fell forward, his breathing turned to a strained rasp. He had his back to the entrance and Eskel could have cried at the sight, the beautiful phoenix tattoo was all but shredded as a whip had torn the skin to strips. Seeing Cahir struggle to get back on his toes, Eskel jerked into motion. Rounding Cahir, he wrapped an arm around his narrow waist and lifted as gently as he could. That earned him a soft, hoarse cry and apologies dripped from Eskel’s lips.

With Cahir in his arms, it was easier to assess the damage. Geralt was next to Eskel while Lambert guarded the door. Their first look didn’t paint a pretty picture. Aside from the oozing lashes on his back, most of Cahir’s tattoos had been destroyed. Deep cuts ran along his collarbones, slicing up the patterns in a mockery of symmetry. There were strips of skin peeled from his ribs where Eskel had liked to trace his fingers over patterns and dates. Worst was probably the Nilfgaardian star. It had been doused in something and probably set on fire judging by the deep, openly weeping patch and the blisters along Cahir’s neck and chin.

“Nenneke. Now.” Geralt barked and wasted no time in helping Eskel pick Cahir up. As Lambert led the way out, Geralt brought up the rear. They’d run extractions all too often so had this kind of thing down to a tee. In the car, Eskel was in the back, holding Cahir and trying to keep pressure off his multiple injuries. With nothing else to do, he could catalogue all the injuries they had missed before - the dark bruising around Cahir’s throat, scrapes to his knuckles from where he undoubtedly fought back, a puncture mark to the crook of his elbow. Who knew what his captors had shot him up with.

Arriving at Nenneke’s, Cahir was taken from Eskel’s arms and whisked away. He wasn’t allowed to see him for almost a whole day but at least he wasn’t chased from the building. Geralt disappeared, probably to talk to Emhyr but Lambert stayed, made sure they ate and drank while they waited. At long last Eskel was allowed to sit with Cahir in his room. For now, he was sedated to help keep him pain free, There were pillows either side of him to stop him from rolling onto his front or his back and an IV dripped steady from a stand.

It was another day before Cahir stirred, eyes opening and struggling to focus. His first words almost broke Eskel’s heart.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was so strained, no doubt the hand shaped bruises on his throat did some damage deeper than the skin. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Cahir slipped back to sleep shortly after that, Eskel’s apologies and promises that he was safe lost as the world span into darkness.

When Geralt returned, it was only to beckon Eskel with him. They had business to sort and Emhyr had a proposition. With backing from Nilfgaard, the wolves went after Filavandrel. They weren’t stupid enough to outright kill him. But they certainly weakened his stance. Viciously indiscriminate, the wolves burned through his network, scorching the earth. Once done, there was just one thing left to do.

By the time Cahir was coherent and out of the danger zone, Eskel was back by his side. His hand was covered in clingfilm and it was something Cahir noted almost immediately.

“Let me show you,” Eskel murmured, all too aware of how quiet the room was. He already felt he filled more than his fair share of it with his bulk, it didn’t need his voice booming through it too. Carefully, he unwrapped his hand to reveal a Nilfgaardian sun. “For the one you lost. It’s a fealty exchange.”

From his pocket, he pulled a wolf medallion and offered it to Cahir. The wolves and Nilfgaard were united now and they were the guarantee of their continued cooperation. Somehow, Eskel didn’t think that was a bad thing by any means. Especially not when it meant he could freely love Cahir exactly as he deserved.

#eskhir #cahir/eskel #eskel #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #mob au #cw: torture #cw: blood #cw: injury #hurt/comfort #cahir is my fandom pinata #long post #tldr: don't take what a wolf claims as his

[dawnhardn]

INTRODUCING... DAWN HARDIN

stitch by stitch, i tear apart if brokenness is a form of art i must be a poster child prodigy

Name: Dawn Hardin

Gender: cis woman

Age: forty-four

Sexuality: bisexual

Height: 5'4

Home District: capitol

Status: stylist

TW FOR FULL BIO: infertility, loss of body autonomy, hospital mention, mention of bugs.

i. of growing up

The mystery that has plagued her entire life is this: Dawn doesn't know her beginning. She knows all about the day she was adopted, oh, that's the part her parents boast about; her entire childhood, all she heard about was how she was saved. Only a toddler when she was plucked from District Nine, with nothing but scraps for clothes and a small pendant on a necklace with Nine's symbol, she doesn't remember much. She doesn't know where her story begins, nothing before that fateful day when she stumbled into her new parents' arms, kicking and crying, a child begging to be loved. Sometimes, when it's really quiet at night, she thinks she can still hear the wheat rustling with the gentle wind.

They were fine folk, her parents, but they had a hard time differentiating between love and possession. She grew up having everything she could ever want when it came to money; the prettiest dresses, the accessories, the hairs, the coolest toys and all the books her arms could carry. And they gave her attention, too. They gave her tenderness, sometimes. They loved her, but in their own way. She always needed to prove herself to them, she was always scrambling for their acceptance. She was their shiny trophy, the poor girl who had to be grateful to be living such a luxurious life, the lucky one, out of so many other less fortunate orphans. They never let her forget that, and despite loving them, too, she was always aching for something more.

When she's young and they push her to work in the Games, she obliges, like she always does. The yearly horror show often makes her avert her eyes from the television, sure, but she can pull her lips back and offer a smile and lie her way through this. Styling was the easiest option to stay far enough away from the carnage, and although it protected her from having to consider some of the more dreadful aspects of the Game, it didn't keep her from mourning every single loss. Every kid that wore her creations was held so dearly to her heart, even when she was just starting. The motherly instinct she felt towards them was something she couldn't hold it in if she tried. The pain of loss never gets easier to face, no matter how much the pile of bodies under her grows.

ii. of loving

She grew up thinking love was a fighting game, one step out of line and you lost it. She thought love meant buying shiny things, and parading around parties, and choking back tears. She had partners in her teenage years, silly flings here and there that never went anywhere, and she thought that was it. Love wasn't unconditional, love wasn't for everyone. 

Like a moth who couldn't find a flame, by her young adult years Dawn had accepted that she was destined to flap her wings around the darkness aimlessly until she tired herself out. And despite all this emptiness, she still carried her heart in her sleeve, a safety hazard as much as it was her biggest strength. Her hands always ready to help someone in need, she was always scrambling to give out the kind of unconditional love she never got from her parents, an empty cup pouring itself to fill others.

Then, she met Aeron. He was kind, and gentle, and he might as well be the Sun itself for the way he warmed up every room he walked into. The connection between them felt immediate, something sharp and undeniable, like the stars had always known their names. Dawn feels as if she can breathe for the first time in years.

She was born to be a mother, she knows this now. She'd grown up mothering every living thing that passed her way, and for a while there, she thought that would be enough; taking care of tributes, taking care of friends, taking care of fleeting lovers. But once she meets Aeron, she realizes the itch runs much deeper. It's a consuming desire, electric all through her body, how badly she wants to have children running around their house. Little ones to climb up the tree in their backyard, and draw on walls, and fill up the house with laughter. Aeron wants to be a father, too. Everything works out perfectly in her life, until it doesn't.

iii. of fighting

She can't dedicate herself to a family while she's still overworked by the Capitol, so when she puts in the request to retire, it's only because it feels fitting. She has an excuse to be let go, and they have an excuse to find a better stylist to put in her place. Someone more passionate, someone with more drive. She's already twenty-eight, she's sure there are handfuls of much younger, much more talented people out there they can choose from.

They don't let her retire. While at first, she thought she was offering them a perfectly balanced way out, now she realizes she was begging. And they hadn't obliged. She'll never forget the way Aeron's face fell when she told him the news, and the way he'd marched out of their house the very next morning, to fight for their future. To fight for her.

The next day, when she comes back home, exhausted and longing for her partner, she notices his coat isn't hanging by the door. There aren't any pots on the stovetop with dinner ready, waiting for her. There aren't extra shoes by the door, no notes on the fridge. She rushes to their bedroom to find none of his clothes in their closet, his toothbrush, his medicine, everything he ever touched, gone. Wiped from existence. She would've thought herself completely insane if it wasn't for the ring still on her finger, his initials written into it.

That's the message they send, to warn her never to stand up again. They send silence. No matter how many times she asks, they never tell her what they did to him. She can be on her knees, she can be pulling her hair out; she has barged into offices screaming until she had to be dragged away by security, and they still never give her anything. Nothing except a few more threats to remind her of the leash they have around her neck. They tug, and she follows.

iv. of giving up

There's no way around it, she knows, and once she understands that, something in her dies. She settles for the reality of never having her loved one back, and it kills her, too. If before she was a searching moth, now she has been caught by the capitol, her delicate wings pinned to an exhibitional board and drying out.

She continues working for them, and with every passing year, she's less and less inspired. The critics drive into her, looking to sink their teeth into easy prey, reminding her she's doing a terrible job any chance that they can. These jabs never work their way under her skin, because there's a state of numbness after she accepts the loss of Aeron in her life. Her dreams, her love, her everything, gone so quickly, ripped from her arms without notice. She has no hopes of him even being alive.

There's numbness, and it's almost uneventful because of it. She feels like she's barely living anymore, simply surviving to get by, pushing one foot after the other to keep moving. There's a spark of wrath somewhere, a flicker of red in the darkness of her chest that leaps around every once in a while, but her own dullness doesn't let it thrive. Another year passes, another Games she works on. That year, when she's sending her kids off to battle, her vision fails her.

She can't remember collapsing, but it must've been what happened. One minute she's within the Game headquarters feeling dizzy, the next minute she's waking up in a doctor's office. Her body shakes with shivers, her hands are as pale as the gown they have her wearing. The staff looks at her with pity, their eyes avoiding hers like they're hiding something. They speak in terms she's never heard of, and they're not direct when she demands to know what happened, but the gist of it is this -- there's more pain for her to carry in her life. She's been poisoned -- they don't tell her how --, and the substance has rotten her insides. She's pushed out of the hospital with the diagnosis of a lifetime of migraines, occasional shaky hands, and the inability to ever have children. That's when she understands the message they're sending.

And she feeds the spark in her chest until it turns into a forest fire.

v. of loving ii

When she loves these kids, now, it's almost out of spite. That's the one thing the Capitol can't take from her, the one thing they've tried beating out of her when they killed her spirits. They almost succeeded, too. They made her feel weak, hopeless, nothing more than an undead carcass dragging herself around without a goal. She won't let them do it, ever again.

So she loves the kids. She doesn't turn away from the screens anymore, she feels every splatter of blood, she cries for every death. She loves them endlessly, and without reservation, and without fear. She offers warm arms they can run into, and a shoulder to cry on, and a caring hand to push their hairs back. If the Capitol wants to kill her for this, then so be it. 

She'll accept death knowing she went down with a goddamn fight.

#intro ;; #could not resist the urge to pick this dumb gif #tl;dr she's the local mom with a sad backstory!!! #still working on sliding into everyones dms pls hold!!

[aboveallarescuer]

What we know that Dany knows of her ancestors, dragonlore and history

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

 *Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

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

I'm sparing people from inaccurate (or plain wrong) opinions about Daenerys. I made this list simply because I wanted to know all that we find onpage that Daenerys knows when it comes to her ancestors, dragonlore and history. 

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns.

~

She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he’d built it himself.

Viserys told her tales of knights so poor that they had to sleep beneath the ancient hedges that grew along the byways of the Seven Kingdoms. Dany would have given much and more for a nice thick hedge. Preferably one without an anthill.

~

In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“Sunspear has never been a sea power, Your Grace.”

“No.” Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne’s sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever.

~

The bones on the floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only earth and stone. Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of old Valyria? She hoped not.

~

“You ... you mean to ride them?”

“One of them. All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died ... but no rider ever flew two dragons.”

~

“I ... I have the blood of the dragon in me as well, Your Grace. I can trace my lineage back to the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to the Prince of Dorne. He built the Water Gardens for her.”

“The Water Gardens?” She knew little and less of Dorne or its history, if truth be told.

“My father’s favorite palace. It would please me to show them to you one day. They are all of pink marble, with pools and fountains, overlooking the sea.”

“They sound lovely.”

~

“Tell me of this other Daenerys. I know less than I should of the history of my father’s kingdom. I never had a maester growing up.” Only a brother.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” said Quentyn.

ADWD Daenerys VII

When Dany told him how Serwyn of the Mirror Shield was haunted by the ghosts of all the knights he’d killed, Daario only laughed.

~

“Tell me,” Dany said, as the procession turned toward the Temple of the Graces, “if my father and my mother had been free to follow their own hearts, whom would they have wed?”

“It was long ago. Your Grace would not know them.”

“You know, though. Tell me.”

The old knight inclined his head. “The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty.” He was handsome in his gold-and-silver armor, his white cloak streaming from his shoulders, but he sounded like a man in pain, as if every word were a stone he had to pass. “As a girl, though … she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favor at a tourney and named her queen of love and beauty. A brief thing.”

“What happened to this knight?”

“He put away his lance the day your lady mother wed your father. Afterward he became most pious, and was heard to say that only the Maiden could replace Queen Rhaella in his heart. His passion was impossible, of course. A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of royal blood.”

And Daario Naharis is only a sellsword, not fit to buckle on the golden spurs of even a landed knight. “And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.” The white knight chose his words with care. “Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord’s right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding.” His face reddened. “I have said too much, Your Grace. I—”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?”

The old knight hesitated. “Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps.

Ser Barristan went on. “I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

“A woods witch?” Dany was astonished.

“She came to court with Jenny of Oldstones. A stunted thing, grotesque to look upon. A dwarf, most people said, though dear to Lady Jenny, who always claimed that she was one of the children of the forest.”

“What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

ADWD Daenerys III

The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds. “It was these calamities that transformed my people into slavers,” Galazza Galare had told her, at the Temple of the Graces. And I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself.

ADWD Daenerys II

“A true knight is worth ten guardsmen. The men at the gate were taken by surprise. I rode one down, wrenched away his spear, and drove it through the throat of my closest pursuer. The other broke off once I was through the gate, so I spurred my horse to a gallop and rode hellbent along the river until the city was lost to sight behind me. That night I traded my horse for a handful of pennies and some rags, and the next morning I joined the stream of smallfolk making their way to King’s Landing. I’d gone out the Mud Gate, so I returned through the Gate of the Gods, with dirt on my face, stubble on my cheeks, and no weapon but a wooden staff. In roughspun clothes and mud-caked boots, I was just one more old man fleeing the war. The gold cloaks took a stag from me and waved me through. King’s Landing was crowded with smallfolk who’d come seeking refuge from the fighting. I lost myself amongst them. I had a little silver, but I needed that to pay my passage across the narrow sea, so I slept in septs and alleys and took my meals in pot shops. I let my beard grow out and cloaked myself in age. The day Lord Stark lost his head, I was there, watching. Afterward I went into the Great Sept and thanked the seven gods that Joffrey had stripped me of my cloak.”

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty.

~

“They are larger.” Dany’s voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. A drop of sweat trickled down her brow and fell onto her breast. “Is it true that dragons never stop growing?”

“If they have food enough, and space to grow. Chained up in here, though …”

~

Viserys had told her all the tales when she was little. He loved to talk of dragons. She knew how Harrenhal had fallen. She knew about the Field of Fire and the Dance of the Dragons. One of her forebears, the third Aegon, had seen his own mother devoured by his uncle’s dragon. And there were songs beyond count of villages and kingdoms that lived in dread of dragons till some brave dragonslayer rescued them. At Astapor the slaver’s eyes had melted. On the road to Yunkai, when Daario tossed the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn at her feet, her children made a feast of them. Dragons had no fear of men. And a dragon large enough to gorge on sheep could take a child just as easily.

ADWD Daenerys I

Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.

~

A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered. Their father, her brother Rhaegar, perished even earlier, slain by the Usurper on the Trident. Her brother Viserys had died screaming in Vaes Dothrak with a crown of molten gold upon his head.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“I am no maester to quote history at you, Your Grace. Swords have been my life, not books. But every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Jaehaerys. This old man knew my grandfather. The thought gave her pause. Most of what she knew of Westeros had come from her brother, and the rest from Ser Jorah. Ser Barristan would have forgotten more than the two of them had ever known. This man can tell me what I came from.

~

“Bring me the book I was reading last night.” She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children’s stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful.

ASOS Daenerys V

Her captains bowed and left her with her handmaids and her dragons. But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. One of the wings buffeted the sellsword in his face. The white dragon landed awkwardly with one foot on the man’s head and one on his shoulder, shrieked, and flew off again. “He likes you, Ben “ said Dany.

“And well he might.” Brown Ben laughed. “I have me a drop of the dragon blood myself, you know.”

“You?” Dany was startled. Plumm was a creature of the free companies, an amiable mongrel. He had a broad brown face with a broken nose and a head of nappy grey hair, and his Dothraki mother had bequeathed him large, dark, almond-shaped eyes. He claimed to be part Braavosi, part Summer Islander, part Ibbenese, part Qohorik, part Dothraki, part Dornish, and part Westerosi, but this was the first she had heard of Targaryen blood. She gave him a searching look and said, “How could that be?”

“Well,” said Brown Ben, “there was some old Plumm in the Sunset Kingdoms who wed a dragon princess. My grandmama told me the tale. He lived in King Aegon’s day.”

“Which King Aegon?” Dany asked. “Five Aegons have ruled in Westeros.” Her brother’s son would have been the sixth, but the Usurper’s men had dashed his head against a wall.

“Five, were there? Well, that’s a confusion. I could not give you a number, my queen. This old Plumm was a lord, though, must have been a famous fellow in his day, the talk of all the land. The thing was, begging your royal pardon, he had himself a cock six foot long.”

The three bells in Dany’s braid tinkled when she laughed. “You mean inches, I think.”

“Feet,” Brown Ben said firmly. “If it was inches, who’d want to talk about it, now? Your Grace.”

Dany giggled like a little girl. “Did your grandmother claim she’d actually seen this prodigy?”

“That the old crone never did. She was half-Ibbenese and half-Qohorik, never been to Westeros, my grandfather must have told her. Some Dothraki killed him before I was born.”

“And where did your grandfather’s knowledge come from?”

“One of them tales told at the teat, I’d guess.” Brown Ben shrugged. “That’s all I know about Aegon the Unnumbered or old Lord Plumm’s mighty manhood, I fear. I best see to my Sons.”

“Go do that,” Dany told him.

~

She could see her ships standing out to sea. Balerion floated nearest; the great cog once known as Saduleon, her sails furled. Further out were the galleys Meraxes and Vhagar, formerly Joso’s Prank and Summer Sun. They were Magister Illyrio’s ships, in truth, not hers at all, and yet she had given them new names with hardly a thought. Dragon names, and more; in old Valyria before the Doom, Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar had been gods.

ASOS Daenerys IV

“You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

When the old man came, she was curled up inside her hrakkar pelt, whose musty smell still reminded her of Drogo. “I cannot sleep when men are dying for me, Whitebeard,” she said. “Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“Your Grace is kind to say so.”


“Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys.”

Arstan bowed his white head respectfully. “It is not meet for me to deny His Grace’s words ...”

“But?” said Dany sharply. “Tell me. I command it.”

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

“When he was young, His Grace rode brilliantly in a tourney at Storm’s End, defeating Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, the Red Viper of Dorne, and a mystery knight who proved to be the infamous Simon Toyne, chief of the kingswood outlaws. He broke twelve lances against Ser Arthur Dayne that day.”

“Was he the champion, then?”

“No, Your Grace. That honor went to another knight of the Kingsguard, who unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final tilt.”

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“Your Grace.” The old man hesitated. “He won the greatest tourney of them all.”

“Which was that?” Dany demanded.

“The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring. A notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open handed as he was rich. The lavish purses he proclaimed drew hundreds of challengers. Even your royal father came to Harrenhal, when he had not left the Red Keep for long years. The greatest lords and mightiest champions of the Seven Kingdoms rode in that tourney, and the Prince of Dragonstone bested them all.”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother’s heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.”

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. “Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late.” She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. “If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl.”

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but ... there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense ...” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense ...?”

“... of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar’s birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”

“Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.”

“What of the Usurper? Did he play sad songs as well?”

Arstan chuckled. “Robert? Robert liked songs that made him laugh, the bawdier the better. He only sang when he was drunk, and then it was like to be ‘A Cask of Ale’ or ‘Fifty-Four Tuns’ or ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’ Robert was much—”

ASOS Daenerys II

The harpy of Ghis, Dany thought. Old Ghis had fallen five thousand years ago, if she remembered true; its legions shattered by the might of young Valyria, its brick walls pulled down, its streets and buildings turned to ash and cinder by dragonflame, its very fields sown with salt, sulfur, and skulls. The gods of Ghis were dead, and so too its people; these Astapori were mongrels, Ser Jorah said. Even the Ghiscari tongue was largely forgotten; the slave cities spoke the High Valyrian of their conquerors, or what they had made of it.

Yet the symbol of the Old Empire still endured here, though this bronze monster had a heavy chain dangling from her talons, an open manacle at either end. The harpy of Ghis had a thunderbolt in her claws. This is the harpy of Astapor.

~

“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”

ASOS Daenerys I

“How big will he grow?” Dany asked curiously. “Do you know?”

“In the Seven Kingdoms, there are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas.”

Dany laughed. “That would be a wondrous sight to see.”

“It is only a tale, Khaleesi,” said her exile knight. “They talk of wise old dragons living a thousand years as well.”

“Well, how long does a dragon live?” She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails.

Ser Jorah shrugged. “A dragon’s natural span of days is many times as long as a man’s, or so the songs would have us believe ... but the dragons the Seven Kingdoms knew best were those of House Targaryen. They were bred for war, and in war they died. It is no easy thing to slay a dragon, but it can be done.”

The squire Whitebeard, standing by the figurehead with one lean hand curled about his tall hardwood staff, turned toward them and said, “Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he died during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He was so large he could swallow an aurochs whole. A dragon never stops growing, Your Grace, so long as he has food and freedom.” His name was Arstan, but Strong Belwas had named him Whitebeard for his pale whiskers, and most everyone called him that now. He was taller than Ser Jorah, though not so muscular; his eyes were a pale blue, his long beard as white as snow and as fine as silk.

“Freedom?” asked Dany, curious. “What do you mean?”

“In King’s Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed castle for their dragons. The Dragonpit, it is called. It still stands atop the Hill of Rhaenys, though all in ruins now. That was where the royal dragons dwelt in days of yore, and a cavernous dwelling it was, with iron doors so wide that thirty knights could ride through them abreast. Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”

“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”

“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”

Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first. “What do you know of dragons, anyway?”

“Little enough, that’s true. Yet I served for a time in King’s Landing in the days when King Aerys sat the Iron Throne, and walked beneath the dragonskulls that looked down from the walls of his throne room.”

“Viserys talked of those skulls,” said Dany. “The Usurper took them down and hid them away. He could not bear them looking down on him upon his stolen throne.” She beckoned Whitebeard closer. “Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.” “Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany. “Did you know my brother Rhaegar as well?”


“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly. I had the privilege of seeing him in tourney, though, and often heard him play his harp with its silver strings.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

“Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, “the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but ...”

“Go on,” she urged. “You may speak freely to me.”

“As you command.” The old man leaned upon his hardwood staff, his brow furrowed. “A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”

“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”


“He did, ser, but ... I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”

Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”

Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”

“As you say, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah’s voice was grudging.

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father’s knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

“He was indeed.” Whitebeard bowed. “My pardons, Your Grace. We speak of warriors, and I see that Strong Belwas has arisen. I must attend him.”

~

In time, the dragons would be her most formidable guardians, just as they had been for Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters three hundred years ago.

~

“Illyrio Mopatis wants you back in Pentos, under his roof. Very well, go to him ... but in your own time, and not alone. Let us see how loyal and obedient these new subjects of yours truly are. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”

Dany was not certain she liked the sound of that at all. Everything she’d ever heard of the flesh marts in the great slave cities of Yunkai, Meereen, and Astapor was dire and frightening. “What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”

“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen ... but it is Astapor I’d set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”

“The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?” Dany had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. “Why should I want Unsullied? They don’t even ride horses, and most of them are fat.”

“The Unsullied you may have seen in Pentos and Myr were household guards. That’s soft service, and eunuchs tend to plumpness in any case. Food is the only vice allowed them. To judge all Unsullied by a few old household slaves is like judging all squires by Arstan Whitebeard, Your Grace. Do you know the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor?”

“No.” The coverlet slipped off Dany’s shoulder, and she tugged it back into place.

“It was four hundred years ago or more, when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The khal who led them was named Temmo. His khalasar was not so big as Drogo’s, but it was big enough. Fifty thousand, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair.

“The Qohorik knew he was coming. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle.

“By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. With dark falling, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased.

“But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but you know Dothraki. These were men on foot, and men on foot are fit only to be ridden down.

“The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.

“Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained ... but more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.

“Since that day, the city guard of Qohor has been made up solely of Unsullied, every one of whom carries a tall spear from which hangs a braid of human hair.

“That is what you will find in Astapor, Your Grace. Put ashore there, and continue on to Pentos overland. It will take longer, yes ... but when you break bread with Magister Illyrio, you will have a thousand swords behind you, not just four.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”

“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”

“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”

“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”

“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”

~

“His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”

Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”

“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”

“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”

“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”

ACOK Daenerys I

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

~

“Aegon’s dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria,” she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night’s journey. “Visenya’s dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar’s breath was so hot that it could melt a knight’s armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion ... his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead.”

The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black, his scales slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. “Khaleesi,” Aggo murmured, “there sits Balerion, come again.”

~

If I had wings, I would want to fly too, Dany thought. The Targaryens of old had ridden upon dragonback when they went to war. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, to straddle a dragon’s neck and soar high into the air. It would be like standing on a mountaintop, only better. The whole world would be spread out below. If I flew high enough, I could even see the Seven Kingdoms, and reach up and touch the comet.

~

“Tell me the name of your ghost, Jorah. You know all of mine.”

His face grew very still. “Her name was Lynesse.” “Your wife?”
“My second wife.”

It pains him to speak of her, Dany saw, but she wanted to know the truth. “Is that all you would say of her?” The lion pelt slid off one shoulder and she tugged it back into place. “Was she beautiful?”

“Very beautiful.” Ser Jorah lifted his eyes from her shoulder to her face. “The first time I beheld her, I thought she was a goddess come to earth, the Maid herself made flesh. Her birth was far above my own. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The White Bull who commanded your father’s Kingsguard was her great-uncle. The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud.”

“And loyal,” Dany said. “I remember, Viserys said the Hightowers were among those who stayed true to my father.”

“That’s so,” he admitted.

“Did your fathers make the match?”

“No,” he said. “Our marriage ... that makes a long tale and a dull one, Your Grace. I would not trouble you with it.”

“I have nowhere to go,” she said. “Please.”

“As my queen commands.” Ser Jorah frowned. “My home ... you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.”

“Still, the island suited me well enough, and I never lacked for women. I had my share of fishwives and crofter’s daughters, before and after I was wed. I married young, to a bride of my father’s choosing, a Glover of Deepwood Motte. Ten years we were wed, or near enough as makes no matter. She was a plain-faced woman, but not unkind. I suppose I came to love her after a fashion, though our relations were dutiful rather than passionate. Three times she miscarried while trying to give me an heir. The last time she never recovered. She died not long after.”

Dany put her hand on his and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I am sorry for you, truly.”

Ser Jorah nodded. “By then my father had taken the black, so I was Lord of Bear Island in my own right. I had no lack of marriage offers, but before I could reach a decision Lord Balon Greyjoy rose in rebellion against the Usurper, and Ned Stark called his banners to help his friend Robert. The final battle was on Pyke. When Robert’s stonethrowers opened a breach in King Balon’s wall, a priest from Myr was the first man through, but I was not far behind. For that I won my knighthood.”

“To celebrate his victory, Robert ordained that a tourney should be held outside Lannisport. It was there I saw Lynesse, a maid half my age. She had come up from Oldtown with her father to see her brothers joust. I could not take my eyes off her. In a fit of madness, I begged her favor to wear in the tourney, never dreaming she would grant my request, yet she did.”

“I fight as well as any man, Khaleesi, but I have never been a tourney knight. Yet with Lynesse’s favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion’s laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world.”

“Only a fortnight?” asked Dany. Even I was given more happiness than that, with Drogo who was my sun-and-stars.

“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there’s not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.”

“I lived for her smiles, so I sent all the way to Oldtown for a new cook, and brought a harper from Lannisport. Goldsmiths, jewelers, dressmakers, whatever she wanted I found for her, but it was never enough. Bear Island is rich in bears and trees, and poor in aught else. I built a fine ship for her and we sailed to Lannisport and Oldtown for festivals and fairs, and once even to Braavos, where I borrowed heavily from the moneylenders. It was as a tourney champion that I had won her hand and heart, so I entered other tourneys for her sake, but the magic was gone. I never distinguished myself again, and each defeat meant the loss of another charger and another suit of jousting armor, which must needs be ransomed or replaced. The cost could not be borne. Finally I insisted we return home, but there matters soon grew even worse than before. I could no longer pay the cook and the harper, and Lynesse grew wild when I spoke of pawning her jewels.”

“The rest ... I did things it shames me to speak of. For gold. So Lynesse might keep her jewels, her harper, and her cook. In the end it cost me all. When I heard that Eddard Stark was coming to Bear Island, I was so lost to honor that rather than stay and face his judgment, I took her with me into exile. Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us.”

His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended. “Did she die there?” she asked him gently.

“Only to me,” he said. “In half a year my gold was gone, and I was obliged to take service as a sellsword. While I was fighting Braavosi on the Rhoyne, Lynesse moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. They say she is his chief concubine now, and even his wife goes in fear of her.”

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried.

~

She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

AGOT Daenerys III

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

“Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

“Dead,” agreed Jhiqui. “Long and long ago.”

Viserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did not seem so long ago to Dany. “Everywhere?” she said, disappointed. “Even in the east?” Magic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back, but Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores prowled the islands of the Jade Sea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that spellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while shadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why shouldn’t there be dragons too?

“No dragon,” Irri said. “Brave men kill them, for dragon terrible evil beasts. It is known.” “It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

“A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,” blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father’s khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys.

Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. “The moon?”

“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” the Lysene girl said. “Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.”

The two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. “You are foolish strawhead slave,” Irri said. “Moon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed.

AGOT Daenerys I

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

~

“Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer. Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian. 

#daenerys targaryen #dany passages #a dance with dragons #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a game of thrones

[astralkoo]

Beautifully Misfit 2

SERIES: Hybrid BTS

‣ Genre: fluff, smutt, hybrid au

‣ Word Count: 3k

‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader

‣ Warning(s): strong language, angst, bullying, fighting (not graphic), some mentions of abuse and neglect, talks of euthanasia

‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes. 

Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.

part. i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi (coming soon)

A/N; I promise I’ll introduce Jiminie and Kookie next chapter, I just wanted to get all the introductory stuff out of the way early on without making the chapters too long! Also, thank you so much for the positive responses on Beautifully Misfit part 1! It means a lot, and I hope you enjoy part 2!

“Are you sure it’s enough?” You asked for the twenty thousandth time.

“Y/n,” Namjoon sighed, “you practically bought out the entire store, I’m pretty sure you’re set for the next twelve decades.”

“But what if there’s something I missed?”

“Trust me, you’re not missing any of the general necessities. You don’t even know what breed of hybrid you’re going to get and somehow you’re already over prepared.”

You offered him a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “I suppose, I might have gone a bit overboard?”

He laughed loudly, “what gave it away? The king sized bed you ordered or the five thousand dollars worth of miscellaneous items?”

Humming in thought, you meekly interlaced your fingers behind your back, swaying a bit in your step, “a bit of both?”

Shaking his head at your ridiculous antics, he let out a light hearted chuckle, pulling you into his side. “You are one of a kind, you know that?” You smiled brightly up at him, wrapping your arm around his waist.

“So I’ve been told.”

But the light aura surrounding you seemed to crack as you approached the building. A sudden bout of uncertainty and nervousness gripped at your heart and mind.

You were finally here. After weeks of preparing your home for your new addition, endless hours of researching, and having several mental breakdowns in the arms of your best friend, you had finally arrived at the hybrid shelter.

It was almost surreal.

And definitely terrifying.

The shelter itself had been difficult to find. Originally, you’d believed it was fine to just pop into any random hybrid shop, because there was pretty much one on every block. Hybrids were very common, especially in the area you were currently living in. One prominent change in society a few years back was the climb in hybrid normality.

They’d once symbolized wealth and high status, but as their population increased, their value dropped and therefore, they were within reach of the ordinary man and woman. Within a span of two years, they became normal to have in everyday households.

Back when you were in middle school, there was only one girl who’s family was wealthy enough to own a hybrid. And she made sure to rub it in everyone’s face every chance she got.

But now, one glance down a street and there were usually at least three within view.

Unfortunately, this sprout in population came with several prominent downsides.

It wasn’t rare to hear of underground hybrid fighting rings. Men and women used hybrids as a source of entertainment, their own twisted amusement. The death of a hybrid in those fighting rings was like some sick joke on the street.

It was also not unusual to hear of hybrids being used for… sexual activities. Whether it be the owner abusing their power over a hybrid and taking advantage of them, or a hybrid being sold by a new form of pimp for money and power. It was a messed up system.

There were organizations that countered these issues, fortunately. Organizations that were dedicated to saving and protecting hybrids, as well as finding safe forever homes for them. Like H4H, ‘Home for Hybrids,’ which was where Namjoon had adopted Jin from and where you were currently going to adopt your own.

It was one of the most well known Hybrid protection organizations in the nation, and one of the most well credited. Unlike many other hybrid ‘rescues’, H4H took good care of their residents, treated them fairly and without abuse, tending to each hybrids unique needs in the most effective way possible.

You may or may not have read that off their website home page.

But it seemed legit enough. Namjoon approved of it, and you trusted Namjoon. He was good at this kind of thing.

“What’s with that face?” He nudged you gently in the side, breaking you from your train of thought.

“Just a little nervous. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you nodded confidently, eyes flickering over the exterior of the shelter. It was big. Really big. You wondered how many hybrids were inside. Probably hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Okay, that’s be an exaggeration, but possibly close to!

That thought alone sent another wave of unease over your restless mind.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Namjoon asked, concern obvious in his tone. He knew how you could be in these types of situations. You know, with decisions and all that. Especially life changing ones.

You quickly shook your head.

“No! No, I’m sure. I can do this by myself. I want to do this by myself,” you said, determination burning in your eyes. Your best friend smiled down at you adoringly, nodding in understanding.

“Alright. Good luck, Y/n,” He pecked your cheek, before turning to leave, only to pause at the feeling on your hand on his wrist. He looked back at you with furrowed brows, nearly melting into the damn floor at the look on your face.

This meant a lot to you. It really did. There weren’t a lot of important things in your life at the moment, but this was important. So important in fact that you’d spent the last few nights damn near tearing your hair out in a nauseating mixture of raw terror and unbridled excitement. Which was more overpowering was debatable.

“How… how will I know?”

He smiled reassuringly, flicking your forehead gently. “Trust this old dusty thing. You’ll just know. Don’t overthink it and don’t force it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll come naturally.”

You swallowed. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got this.”

“Damn right you got this,” He egged you on, playfully shoving you towards the massive center, “now go before you chicken out and bury your regret in a gallon of ice cream.”

Whipping around you threatening raised a hand at him, but he just laughed loudly and scurried out of arms reach, waving encouragingly as he got into his car. “You’ll be fine! I believe in you!”

You only flipped him the bird, earning a few looks from passerby’s.

“That Kim Namjoom,” you grumbled under your breath in aggravation, in spite of the smile that touched your lips.

With renewed confidence, you squared your shoulders, raising your chin as you struck a quick power pose. “I’ve got this.”

Yeah… you don’t got this.

As soon as you entered the building, your mind went blank. The lobby resembled that of a five star hotel, wide and modern and absolutely gorgeous. There were at least fifteen other people, some working there, others on a similar mission as you.

“Hello.”

You let out a yelp of shock, whipping around to come face to face with an unfamiliar boy.

He was very handsome, with brightly shining eyes and the kind of smile that would normally have you swooning in seconds had it not been for your buzzing nerves.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You just looked a little lost and overwhelmed. I’m going to assume that it’s your first time?”

You could only nod, cheeks warming faintly. Had you really looked that out of place?

The boy’s smile widened and he politely raised a hand for you to shake, “my names Jung Hoseok. I work here, as you can probably guess by the uniform and name tag. I’d be glad to help you out, if you’d like?”

“Y/n,” you introduced yourself, cringing as your voice cracked, “and yes, please. I’d really appreciate it.”

“Right this way, Y/n.” He took a step back, extending an arm to gesture at two large glass doors. Stifling any remaining unease, you allowed him to guide you through, immediately filling with curiosity. There was a hallway with three more doors, each with a large label across the top. The first read domestic, the second aquatic, the third exotic. “Any specific preference?” He asked, turning to you with another bright smile.

“Uh… domestic?”

“Good choice, I usually recommend exotic and aquatic hybrids for experienced owners. They can be a bit more of a handful and far more high maintenance, especially when it comes to their unique requirements. They can be quite pricy.” He explained with a playful click of his tongue that coaxed a soft chuckle from your lips.

“I don’t doubt that,” you couldn’t imagine the kind of home a person would need to own an aquatic hybrid, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but do you have a hybrid of your own?”

“I do, actually! A grumpy munchkin cat hybrid, his names Yoongi. I adopted him from this very place four years ago. He’s actually the reason I became passionate about hybrids,” he gushed fondly, clasping his hands in front of him. His eyes shined as he spoke, betraying just how dearly he loved this Yoongi.

“Was he your first?” You questioned.

He nodded. “My first and only!”

Immediately any restraint you had on your curiosity burst like an overstretches rubber band. “What was it like? How’d you know that he was the one you wanted? And what was it like bringing him home for the first time? Did it just click or did it take time? You said he was grumpy, has he ever bitten or scratched you? Shit, none of these hybrids bite, do they? I don’t tolerate pain very well so I don’t know just how well I’d be able to cope with being bit or scratched or—”

You began to ramble off question after question, his eyes going wide as he tried to process your words as quickly as they came shooting from your lips. But his shocked expression quickly turned to a gentle smile. At the feeling of his hand resting gently on your shoulder, you quickly snapped your mouth shut, face heating as you realized your mistake.

Leave it to you to have the biggest mouth of the century.

Hoseok was quick to cut off the apology that was seconds from being spit from your mouth with soothing words, “you’re nervous. That’s okay, I was, too.”

“Really? I’m not just loosing my mind over nothing?” Your lips turned upwards sheepishly as your shoulders rose.

A bright laugh bubbled on his lips at that, quickly shaking his head. “No, no, not at all. You’re bringing an entirely new living being into your home. Someone that you’ll be responsible for not only taking care of, but loving and protecting to the best of your ability. If you do that, then they will show you that same love and compassion in return. It’s an relationship of mutualism, give and you will receive. Trust and you will be trusted.”

Trust and you will be trusted.

You stared up at the boy beside you in awe, amazed by his wisdom. “Shit, you really do know your stuff, huh?”

He playfully popped his collar, giving a modest shrug. “I try.” You laughed loudly, him grinning happily at having been able to ease a bit of the tension that had been weighing down your shoulders. “Now come on, its time to find you your perfect new family.”

Family. That’s right. Family. You liked the sound of it.

Excitement overwhelmed the previously buzzing nerves that now lay dormant.

You hovered close behind him, fidgeting as he swiped his key card over a recognition device, a low beeping sound filling the hall before a notable click. With one last smile shot in your direction, he pulled open the door.

And you swear to god, you damn near dropped dead at the sight before you (in the ‘it’s so fluffy you could die’ kind way).

Hybrids–fucking–galore.

It was like a little pet paradise. Toys for every species and massive bean bags adorned freshly polished hardwood floors.

And the hyrbids. Dear god they were adorable.

“Wow,” you murmured, heart warming at the sight of two young cat hybrids playing happily with a unwinding ball of yarn. There was a group of puppy hybrids wrestling in the corner, playfully batting at one another and rolling across the floor. You smiled, giggling quietly until a sharp yell of pain split through the upbeat atmosphere.

“You bit him!” One cried in shock.

“I–I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I swear!” A dark brown haired boy with large eyes spoke frantically. He tried to reach for the one that had yelped only to be harshly shoved away, a growl tearing from his throat.

“This is why no one likes to play with you! Because you’re just a stupid mutt.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You should be. I better not get any of your filthy diseases.”

“I don’t have any d–diseases!”

“Liar, you’re a disgusting, diseased mutt. Why do you think no one ever wants to keep you?”

“Shut up!” The brown haired boy shouted, delivering a rough shove to the over boy’s shoulders, sending him flying to the ground.

“Tae!” Hoseok was quickly leaving your side, running over to the two as they began to fight in a much less playful way than before. You could only watch with wide eyes as he intervened, pulling the two growling pups away from each other. “Both of you calm down before you get your snack time taken for the next week!”

That shut them up real quick.

Crossing him arms over his chest, he glanced back and forth between the hybrid, a hard but concern expression on his face. “Would either of you like to explain what just happened.”

“Taehyung bit me!” The first and much larger boy was quick to bark out. Haha. Bark out. Get it because they’re both dog hybrids? No, okay. Moving on,

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Taehyung cried out desperately, “I tried to say sorry but he pushed me and started saying really mean things!”

“Did not.”

“Did to!”

“Hey! Stop that right now! You’re both acting like immature puppies, you know that is not how we behave.” They snapped their jaws shut obediently, heads lowering as they were scolded.

“I’m sorry, Hobi,” Taehyung whimpered, tugging at his sleeve meekly.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, Tae. You need to apologize to each other.”

He looked far less thrilled about that, but spit out a soft ‘sorry’ to the other hybrid nonetheless.

The larger grunted stubbornly, turning away, chin held up pridefully. “Sehun, apologize to Taehyung. Now.” Hoseok voice was quiet but surprisingly firm. Sehun let out a low sound of frustration, eyes flicking back over to where they stood.

“Sorry.”

“Very good, thank you. But you both know the consequences of fighting.” The two canines quietly whined in protest. “Ah–ah… none of that. After lunch and dinner you’ll both be helping the staff clean up and wash dishes. Now back to your rooms for an hour, alright?”

Sehun shot one last sharp glare in Taehyung’s direction before stalking off, fluffy golden tail lowered. Taehyung bit his lip, worriedly looking up at Hoseok. “I’m real sorry, Hobi. Are you mad at me?”

Hoseok rested a hand between Taehyung’s dark ears, scratching reassuringly. “No, of course I’m not mad, Tae. I know it was an accident.” The dark haired hybrid whimpered happily in relief, nodding and scampering off. But for a brief moment, his eyes met yours. You could’ve sworn a blush touched his cheeks before he offered a welcoming wave and disappeared behind a set of doors.

“You handled that incredibly well,” you chimed.

Hoseok chuckled softly, “you learn how to handle situations like that after a few go arounds.”

“Who were they?”

“Sehun and Taehyung? Sehun is a German Shepard hybrid. He hasn’t been here for too long. But Tae…” he sighed softly, shaking his head, “he’s been in and out of this place since he was five.”

“Shit.”

“I know. He’s a good boy, he really is. He’s just been dealt a bad hand,” suddenly, he got this really sad look on his face, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, “listen. I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but…”

“But?” You urged, taking a step closer to him as his voice lowered.

“There was talk of him being put down if it doesn’t get adopted soon.”

Horror. Absolute horror.

“P–put down?” You repeated, praying that he would say you misheard. He nodded sadly, lips tightening. “That’s… that’s horrible. I didn’t realize this was a kill shelter.”

“It’s not meant to be. They’ve never put a single hybrid down before that I know of. But the higher ups are saying that his quality of life will just keep declining if he continues to be adopted and sent back. Things like that take their tole on hybrids mental health, which subsequently affects their physical health. Hybrids that suffer from mental illnesses are ten times more likely to become ill and far less likely to recover from something as seemingly simple as the common cold.”

“I never knew that.”

“Naturally, hybrids seek companionship. We all do to some extent, but hybrids with their animal counterparts actually need it. It’s not a matter of what looks good for the shelter. It’s a matter of whether this hybrid will be driven to extremes.”

“Extremes?”

“It’s possible that he may become feral.“

You felt yourself stiffen. 

You’d done enough research to know what feral meant. His animal instincts would take over his mind, all human aspects ground into dust. He would become a danger to anyone around him. And would more likely than not end up being put down.

But you couldn’t picture the sweet boy with the big brown eyes becoming something so vicious and inhuman.

“That’s awful,” you muttered, more to yourself than to the worker beside you. He nodded in agreement nonetheless. Suddenly, you turned to him, eyes wide, “I would like to meet him.”

His own eyes enlarged hopefully, “really? You genuinely mean it? Because I don’t think he can take being let down again—”

“I mean it, Hoseok. I want to meet him.”

You could see how he was trying desperately to stifle his blossoming excitement.

“I’ll take you to his room!”

#hybrid #bts #hybrid!bts #hybrid!jimin #hybrid!taehyung #hyrbid!jungkook #hybrid!au #bts fanfiction #bts hybrid!au #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #switch!jungkook #switch!taehyung #dom!reader #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #sub!jimin #sub!bts

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: In the Light of a Blade

I lay in bed but I wasn’t asleep when Mingfei came in at 4 am, reeking of alcohol and soaking wet, like he’d been walking around in the drizzle.

I couldn’t even be angry. I was too worried about what was happening to one of the most important persons in my life. I sat him down on the bed and, as the leader of Club-S, told him to tell me what was going on with him.

Mingfei was blaming himself for everything that was happening. I couldn’t catch all of his reasoning because he was slurring his speech and barely staying awake.

One thing was clear to me: EVA had truly turned against us. She had been holding back video evidence of Mingfei and I in our draconized states. Everyone in the Secret Society with access to those records knew that we could break the blood threshold, coming close to pure blood dragons. We grew scales and wings and teeth befitting a top predator.

“What are we, Carli?” He asked, laying in bed in his clothes, staring at the ceiling. “I have to figure out what I am. If I really am a monster... shouldn’t I just turn myself in?”

I shook my head. “You defeated Herzog in that state. You’re a hero. The Academy just doesn’t understand that people like us can fight for what’s good and right. I think Anjou understood. That’s why he kept us secret for so long.”

He looked at me with sunken eyes and a distant gaze. “I felt like I should know Herzog. Like we had met before. Crow’s going to take me to a place I can get more information. If it’s too hard on you to do that, I understand.”

I lowered my eyes. No one on earth had hurt me as personally as Herzog had. When I lifted my eyes again, however, I’d made my decision. “Hey... you need people who understand you to stand beside you. I’m the only one with you in this crazy world right now.” 

I took his hand and squeezed it. “Consider this my duty as President of Club-S.”

The next day, Crow opened the heavy iron gate. “What Tachibana Masamune... or Herzog left behind is all here.”

Behind the gate was a huge warehouse.

The warehouse was hidden in an inconspicuous place in Tokyo. The warehouses behind this fence were all unmarked and looked the same. The fenced in area was at the end of a maze of gravel service roads. If you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for, there was no way you’d be able to find it without getting lost.

Ru’Yi was strapped to my back in a special carrier. Spider Fang and Tongzi hung at my hips. I stood next to Mingfei while Nono and Johann stood behind us. Crow undid the padlocked chain on the heavy door and held the door open for us.

The first thing we saw was a blood-stained black trench coat, lined with the Amaterasu painting of the famous cave scene. It hung on a headless model with a sword at its side.

As soon as we saw it, we stood in silence. I remember this coat flying like a battle flag, Chisei looking at me with golden eyes as he stood on the fire escape of Tokyo Tower. Then and now, I’d stood both in awe and fear of him, the emperor hybrid.

Mingfei likely thought of his relationship with Chisei as Akira Ryuu where he thought of Chisei as his precious Aniki and loved him dearly.

“Why are Chisei’s clothes here?” He asked, after our moments of silence.

“Only a few people know that Herzog is a demon that misled the Hydra clans. Among most of the ranks, he’s said to be the family ancestor who sacrificed himself to save us all at Tokyo Tower....” Crow said, his voice a monotone, his face schooled into a blank expression.

I let out a loud hiss and looked away. “Is that why you ignored Aoi Gen?”

Mingfei looked at me, confused. “Who’s Aoi Gen?”

Crow glanced down at me, smirking. “Now you’re thinking like a politician. If we acknowledged that Tachibana turned the Hydra Clans against her family and massacred the original Gen clan, well... we’d have to admit to everything... including his fake gravestone at the family site where you’ve been staying.”

“As sad as she is... she’s not worth that much drama.” 

I turned back to him, glaring fiercely. “So you’re going to continue to ignore her?”

“Officially? Yes.”

“Officially being the operative word?”

“Chisei can’t ignore something like that.” He looked back to the trench coat, changing the subject. “There are those who still come here to pay their respects. This warehouse is called the Teacher and Student Collection.”

I turned my eyes back to the coat. There were so many memories I had of it. Most of them were unpleasant and yet, the memory of him surfaced, of his hanging out of the helicopter hatch over the Red Well as we prepared to face death together. I couldn’t help but be moved.

Chisei and I were enemies for a long time. However, in the end, we shared certain intimacies with each other only and with no one else.

Crow chuckled. “Should we leave you two alone? It seems you have things that need to be said.”

My mood immediately dampened. “I’m not not sure what you mean?”

“There were certain rumors through the senior clan members that you two were more than just friends...”

“He tried to kill me!” I objected loudly.

Crow held his hands up in defense. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

I crossed my arms and looked away. The memories of my baby dying in the Red Well came to mind and tears sparked my eyes.

Mingfei reached out to me. “If this is too much for you...”

“Look. I’m not leaving. Let’s just stay on topic.” I dismissed him with a wave.

Johann spoke up behind us. “You have the same swords?”

“Ah. A keen observer!” Crow exclaimed. “The swords on the dummy are replicas. Carli has the real thing.”

Crow turned to lead us inside.  “All of these things are in Herzog’s collection. And he’s quite the collector. He’s got everything from ancient buddha statues to classical paintings... there are 5,000 rare books, 6,000 vinyl records...”

Crow continued to go on as we walked through what was essentially the Museum of Herzog.

“What a pig.” Nono grumbled.

“I know right?” Crow said coldly, stopping next to a jeweled Fabergé egg.

“What’s this?” Mingfei pointed to a box on the table.

“Oh... don’t open that. That’s his hair collection.”

“Hair?” Mingfei asked, confused.

“Yeah some people have a bit of a fetish with it comes to women. They sleep with them and then take a lock of hair as a memento. Of course, Herzog was obsessed with keeping things secret so... his women didn’t survive the encounters. What’s in that box is all that’s left of them. We used it to identify them and inform their next of kin.”

"Christ...” I whispered, looking away in disgust. “You should bury that you know. Those are human remains.” 

I paused, nausea rising in my throat. “Mingfei, I think you were right. I shouldn’t have come here.” I spun on my heel, going back the way I came. “I’ll wait for you guys out front.”

Mingfei nodded, solemn.

“Go with her.” Nono said to Johann. “Don’t touch anything on the shelves.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurred

I looked at Johann reproachfully, once he was next to me. “Why do you say ‘yes ma’am’ like you’re twelve?”

Johann’s eyes shifted, bewildered.

I sighed. “Never mind.”

We made our way back to the front of the warehouse where Chisei’s trench coat hung. I stood in silence for a moment. I needed to do something to get rid of the emotions I was feeling. Johann Chu carefully avoided my gaze until I got his attention. “Hey.”

He raised his eyes to mine, hesitant to meet them. 

“You know how to swordfight, right? Here, take the replica sword and lets do Shohatto drills!” I said. It was both an invitation and a demand. I didn’t want to burst into tears again. I wanted to be done crying.

I remembered something Johann had told me while we were in China preparing for our second ‘official’ wedding to allow his mother to participate in a ceremony.

He told me he was looked down on in elementary school because his mother had taken custody of him in the divorce. Everyone in class knew his father wasn’t his real father. His real father was a lowly chauffeur. They said he only got to go to this private elementary school because his mother was pretty, that the only reason his mother was married to his stepdad was because she was pretty.

The ringleader of this group of bullies was a karate black belt, the youngest blackbelt in China. Because his dragonblood wasn’t awake yet, Chu Zihang couldn’t defeat him.

But Zihang went to the Children’s Palace to train and soon had a black belt himself. He did it in three years, but not because he was a genius. At that point he was still just an ordinary child. He was just incredibly driven to beat that bully before they graduated from elementary school.

Before the graduation ceremony, Zihang challenged him and completely tore him to pieces. He had studied the bully and deliberately trained to counteract his strengths. He’d rehearsed the fight, according to him, ten thousand times.

The bully was like a cobra meeting a mongoose. No matter what he did, it didn’t work on Zihang. But Zihang’s every strike landed with full force!

Now that I thought about it, Johann had changed very little when it came to his core personality. He was straight as an arrow and once locked onto his target he would never let go!

He walked over to the trench coat and I watched him carefully. He glanced up at the headless dummy as though he were asking permission. Then he took the sword, still sheathed, from the model

He nodded seriously to me and my heart lifted. When it came to training, this Johann and the Johann I loved had no differences between them.

Johann and I stood a distance from each other, side by side.

“Shohatto.” I said.

We bowed in unison and then drew the swords in unison.

Shohatto was the most basic samurai drill. These drills had all the essentials of fighting: a draw, a cut, and defensive positions, finalized by sheathing the sword and bowing after each series of actions. Each drill was made facing a different direction.

The goal was simplicity, efficiency, and precision in footwork and motion.

If you had put up a mirror, the reflection couldn’t have followed our movements closer than we followed each other’s. I watched him in my peripheral vision. He was no longer a phantom in my mind. This was the sword drill he’d learned when he was young. He’d passed it down to me and now I was performing it with his young self.

Once again, I felt a strange sense of privilege for the opportunity.

We went through all the standing drills and then transitioned to the kneeling drills. 

My voice murmured. “Shohatto.” 

This was a little bit trickier because it required balance and Ru’Yi was a large sleeping stone of a baby attached to my back, but with my core strength intact I was still able to stand from the kneeling position and kneel from a standing position despite the tension in my back and legs to keep balance.

Johann had the drills down to pinpoint accuracy. Of course, he trained every day, and maybe he had gotten to a very high level by fifteen. But he was no longer looking at me. His eyes were straight forward with a glazed over look.

He was performing from muscle memory. 

Like a person who daydreams while driving, he was performing these complicated motions, but his mind was elsewhere.

At the end of the final kneeling drill, we faced each other on our knees, our swords in front of us. I wasn’t sure who I was looking at, my Johann or the 15 year old Johann. 

I couldn’t ask him.

We placed our hands on the ground in front of us and bowed.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Johann Chu #Chu Zihang #Mingfei Lu #Lu Mingfei #Luminous #Chen Moutong #Nono #Chisei Gen #Yuan Zhisheng

[fanficsrusz]

Family Reunion - Keanu Reeves Fluff

A/n: Anon requested this a while ago and i just got done with it so sorry for making you wait whoever you are 😘 its just a fluffy story so enjoy 👍

Summary: y/n takes her boyfriend, keanu, along to her family reunion.

________________

y/n climbed onto her suitcase as she struggled to close it. "come on close for god's sake" she mumbled to herself as she stretched across it, pulling at the zip.

"babe what are you doing?" y/n jumped, the voice scaring her and she fell to the floor with a thud. 

Keanu walked over to the bed casually, a cup of coffee in hand as y/n struggled to stand.

 "thanks for the help" she moaned and keanu just shrugged laughing. She began to slide the now closed suitcase onto the floor. 

"what are you packing for" keanu asked as he placed a hand into his pockets as he looked at the various items of clothing that were thrown all over the floor. 

Y/n turned to him slowly. "please tell me you're joking. For the love of God you better be joking" y/n stepped closer to him and keanu backed away, seeing the anger in y/n eyes. 

He thought for a moment and came up with nothing and just gave her a sheepish smile hoping that she would take mercy on him. 

"let me give you a clue my sweet boyfriend who I love dearly but is also extremely stupid sometimes" y/n spoke slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "it rhymes with ramily feunion" keanu dropped his mouth open as he suddenly remembered what y/n was packing for. 

"shit thats this week" keanu asked and y/n laughed sarcastically as she shook her head "its tomorrow. We leave tonight.

As much as she wanted to throw something at her forgetful boyfriend, she couldn't help but watch as he began to run around the bedroom as he gathered all the things he would need for the trip. 

Keanu suddenly stopped and rushed to y/ns side. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him. "i'm sorry i forgot. Do you mind helping me pack?". 

Y/n couldn't help but smile as she nodded her head "how could I resist someone as cute as you" she kissed his lips quickly before she moved over to his wardrobe, grabbing various items from inside. 

____

Keanu twiddled his thumbs as he looked out the cab window. Y/n placed her hand onto his, stopping his actions. 

"why are you nervous? They're going to love you. I promise" y/n offered him a small smile and keanu could barely even look at her. 

"this would be the first time meeting them y/n. What if they don't like me? What if they hate me? What if they dont think im good enough for you? What if-" y/n stopped his rambling with a kiss. 

Pulling away she held his face, forcing him to look at her.

"look i know my family. They're going to love you i promise and besides…" she sat back before continuing ".... I'm the one dating you not them so they don't really have a say in it do they". 

Keanu smiled as y/n settled his nerves, making them disappear with her truthful words.

They were only at bay for a little while longer though because they sooned pulled up outside y/n childhood home. 

Thanking the cab driver, the pair stood at the gate. 

Y/n grabbed keanus hand and gave it a squeeze as she reassured him. 

"you ready?" she asked and keanu shook his head. "is it too late to go home?" y/n laughed and began to drag him towards the door "come on" 

Before she could even ring the bell, the door swung open, revealing an older woman. She looked similar to y/n but somehow different. 

The woman threw her arms around y/n neck and began to kiss her face. 

"hi mum" y/n laughed as she just accepted the attack. 

"Oh, darling. It's been so long, ive misses you. You look so grown up" she held y/n at arms length as she took in her daughters appearance. 

That's when she noticed the tall, handsome man behind her daughter. Practically pushing y/n aside, she stepped forward and hugged keanu. 

"and you must be keanu, the man who has captured my daughters heart. You're so handsome" keanu gave an awkward smile. "you must be mrs y/l/n. Its nice to finally meet you. Youre just as beautiful as your daughter." she swooned as she turnt to y/n. 

"darling you've got a true gentlemen here and please call me mum sweetie." she gestured towards keanu. 

"come inside, everyone has been waiting for your arrival". 

The pair followed her inside and towards the living room and keanu felt scared at the amount of people in the room. 

Y/n screamed as she ran over to her sister, hugging her tightly. Keanu recognised her from when she stayed with them but everyone else was a mystery. 

He stood awkwardly at the doorway, not knowing what to do with himself and settled on just waiting for y/n yo return to his side. 

Two burly looking men soon walked over to him and keanu gulped. 

"oh so you're the boyfriend huh? im her father" one of them said sternly and keanu felt intimidated as he nodded before introducing himself. "yes. Hello, My name is keanu sir. It's nice to meet you" he stretched out his hand before quickly pulling it back when her dad didn't accept it. 

"aren't you a little old for y/n?" the other man piped up. This was an issue that keanu feared most. He rubbed his neck nervously. 

"would you two leave him alone. Dad he is only 15 years older than me. You're 17 years older than mum so what's the issue? And you uncle Steve, play nice" she leaned up to kiss each man on the cheek. 

"well we only want the best for you y/n" her dad said and y/n laughed as she moved over to keanu, grabbing onto his arm. "keanu is the best for me now if you don't mind, I want to introduce him to everyone else". 

She pulled him away before her dad and uncle could intimidate him anymore and keanu let out a sigh of relief. 

"don't worry about them two, they'll soon warm up to you. Now I want you to introduce you to my grandmother."

Y/n pulled keanu other to a frail old lady sat in an armchair. Y/n crouched next to her as she placed a hand onto her leg, grabbing the women's attention. 

"Nana, I want to introduce you to my boyfriend keanu" she moved to the side, giving keanu some space to crouch next to her. 

"hello, im keanu, it's nice to meet you". The old woman suddenly grabbed his face and squished his cheeks, causing y/n to giggle. 

"look at you. Aren't you a handsome boy. Y/n keep him by your side or I might just steal him from you" keanu gave an amused smile as he laughed at the old woman's joke. “Yes grandma. Come on keanu we have a lot of other people to meet"

y/n continued to introduce him to other various family members throughout the night and eventually everyone started to enjoy his company, laughing at the jokes and stories he told about his life.

At one point, even y/n's father found himself growing comfortable around him. 

At around 9pm, everyone sat around the dinner table, eating and talking about random subjects. y/n was too preoccupied talking to her sister that she didn't notice how her mum was questioning keanu. 

“So, have you two thought about marriage? Children?” keanu’s eyes went wide as he looked at y/n for an escape route. 

“Uhhh y/n?” she looked up at her boyfriend to see him looking like a lost puppy. “What?”

“I wanted to know if you two have thought about children yet?” y/n spat out her wine, causing everyone to turn to her as she abruptly stood from her seat. “Okay i think it's time that we went to bed. Keanu lets go.” she grabbed keanus hand as she began to walk up the stairs.

 “I love you all but you're all terrible” she called before disappearing out of sight, keanu giving a sheepish smile as he went. 

y/n walked down the halls of the house until she reached the last room. Keanu stared at the door covered with posters and smiled. Pushing open the door, he couldn't help but laugh at the room which was bright pink, fairy lights hung along the ceiling and the small objects that allowed him to glimpse into the life that y/n had before she met him. 

He picked up a picture frame and smiled as he looked at the picture of y/n with some friends. He could see that she was a lot younger in the picture but she still looked like his y/n. Placing it down he turned to y/n who just stared at him.

 “What?” she asked as she jumped onto the bed. Keanu followed and sat next to her as he continued to take in the room around him. “Nothing. Its just so weird to see this side of you.”

“Yeah well my mum just kept it the same after I left home. I kinda miss it you know, the ease of not having to work and just being able to do what I want when I want. No commitments” y/n sighed as she thought about her childhood and felt sad at the thought that she was now an adult. 

"well there are a few perks of being an adult" keanu rolled over as he hovered above y/n leaning down into her. Y/n smirked as she played coy "oh yeah? What's that then". Keanu moved his hand down to her pants as he moved to kiss her.

Their faces were millimetres away when the door was thrown open and y/n dad walked in, causing the pair to jump apart, keanu standing to attention without even thinking and her father blushed in embarrassment. 

"DAD! Learn to knock for christ sake" 

"sorry sweetie. It's just that your mum told me to ask you if you two could watch the kids for a few hours? A few of us wanted to go to the cinema for a late night show and we know that you don't really like that sort of thing?" he shifted awkwardly not really knowing where to look and y/n smiled. 

" sure dad. We can watch them" she stood as she placed a kiss on his cheek "we'll be down in a few minutes dad" 

"thank you sweetie. keanu" he gave an awkward smile towards him before leaving the room as quickly as he had entered. 

Turning back to keanu, y/n bursted into laughter "i feel like a teenage girl sneaking a guy into my room" y/n moved over to a small trunk at the end of her bed and pulled out a few books from inside. 

Keanu fell onto the bed in embarrassment. 

"I never want to look at your dad ever again" keanu threw his head back and y/n laughed dragging him out of the room. "don't be silly keanu" 

Pulling his hand, she lead him downstairs where all the adults stood in their jackets. 

Y/n's mum looked over at them and laughed as her father's face turned red and he looked away. 

"thank you for doing this sweetie. We shouldn't be more than a few hours" her mum walked over and kissed her on the cheek and gave keanu a small hug before the group left. 

Closing the door behind them, y/n turned to keanu "and just like that we're in charge. Lets go" she marched towards the living room where her niece and nephew sat. 

They had arrived only in the last hour and she was yet to see them. 

"Y/N!!!" both kids yelled when she came into view causing y/n to laugh. She crouched to their level and they rushed to her, giving her a tight hug. 

"oh wow you two are getting big. I can't believe you're 5 and 8? You're practically adults" she kissed them on their cheeks as they giggled at their aunt. 

"y/n i've missed you so much" her niece, Grace, said "oh well now i'm here. Has your big brother been looking after you?" the little girl nodded frantically and y/n laughed. 

Grace stepped back shyly as she looked at the man behind her aunt. Y/n noticed and smiled. 

"oh guys i would like you to meet keanu" y/n stepped aside so keanu came into view. He gave a small wave and smiled sweetly at the kids. 

"hi. Its nice to meet you" 

"you're so tall" the boy, Rick, said in awe causing y/n to giggle.

Keanu thought for a second before speaking "yeah well you can be tall as well if you eat all your vegetables" Rick gave keanu a strange look before laughing "yeah mum has already tried that on me, it's not going to work" keanu held his hands up defensively "right ok sorry" 

"ok stop bullying my boyfriend. You two need to go to bed. I'll read you a story if you want" y/n began to usher them up the stairs and towards their room where they got ready for bed. 

~

Peering around the corner of the kids room, keanu watched as y/n read a story to the children. Each child tucked under her arms fast asleep as she finished the book. He couldn't help but smile as he felt a flutter in his heart. 

Y/n looked up as keanu leaned on the door frame and motioned for him to help her up. 

Keanu walked over and gave her a hand, slowly helping her stand from the bed without disturbing the kids. 

"why were you staring" she whispered as she turned the light off and the pair made their way to their own room. Keanu smiled and pulled y/n to face him, placing his lips onto hers. The kiss was sweet and full of love. 

Y/n pulled back and laughed. 

"not that im complaining but what was that for?" she giggled wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"seeing you with grace and Rick made me realise how much of an awesome mum you would make. Maybe your mum is right. Maybe we should think about moving on in our life, settling down and having some kids" y/n stared at him for a second before a smile graced her lips "seriously?" she asked and keanu nodded happily. 

"well, let's talk about it properly when we get home ok" she leaned up to kiss his cheek before walking towards their bedroom. 

~

Y/n climbed into bed and keanu followed, pulling her flush against his body and y/n smirked facing him. "you know we could start to practice the process of making children" she drew circles on his chest and keanu smirked before kissing her on the forehead. 

"as much as I would love to do that, I'm not going to try anything else….. Your dad scares me. '' he whispered the last part as he remembered how her dad walked in on them before and Y/n laughed as she slapped his chest playfully "ok fine. goodnight you big baby" 

"night babe"

The end

______

Taglist

@gwenebear @celestiaelisia @blondieee-me

#john wick #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #john wick oc #keanucharlesreeves #Keanu reeves fluff #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves oneshot #Imagine

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

Heist (Loki x Reader) Pt. IV

Masterlist

*ENDGAME SPOILERS*

Missed the first part?  Read the first part here!

Author’s Note: Wow we’re this far in already?!  I wanted to give y’all this a little early.  I wanted to write more, but I know you’ve been waiting impatiently for the big reunion.  Let’s jump right in, shall we? 

Also, if you want anything special done with Loki, send me an ask!  I love writing requests, and I get to them ASAP!  

Taglist:

@angelofasgard16 @it-jinxed-us @dark-night-sky-99 @pyrowolfgirl1408 @heartsxhoney @twhgirl @xavierwoodsxkofikingston @panda-duuu @nonsensicalobsessions @marisayouass

Flying through the quantum realm was a trip you never thought you'd get to say.  It flew by quickly, but it was like going at G-Force.  Considering how small you were at the time, you may have been going at the speed of light.  It made you sick to your stomach, no doubt about that.  You were grateful to land in the dungeons of Asgard.  

Arriving shortly after you was Rocket and Thor.  They collapsed on the ground next to you.  Clearly, they had similar thoughts about the quantum realm.  You weren't excited about having to go through that all over again.  If you could, you'd rather wait the 10 years to get back.  

Unfortunately, that's not how this can work.  "Alright, Y/N, I'm sure you know the way to Loki's cell.  We'll follow you and move past to get the Aether.  I can unlock the barrier for a short time if you want to do that and meet up with us in about an hour."  Thor stated.  You nodded and started making your way through the dungeon.

It was so dark in the dungeon that you felt like you were blind, and the brick didn't help the temperature.  It'd feel great on a hot, summer day, but now was not the time to think about that.  Now, you had to see Loki.  10 years without seeing him killed you, to say the least.  You missed him dearly.  

Rocket started running for it when you made it to his cell.  Thor quickly passed by after taking down the barrier using a special control panel.  It was Asgardian, so you had no idea how it worked.  Either way, as a scientist, you wanted to know how that was possible for a land without electricity.  

You slowly made your way to the barrier, peering in.  There he was, tossing a cup in the air over and over again.  He looked so much younger than you now, even for only 10 years.  He looked exactly how you remembered him.  Long, black, curly hair, his high cheekbones, and his emerald green eyes.  You were happy to know that your brain hadn't forgotten a single detail about him.

The barrier slowly came down temporarily and you walked inside slowly.  Loki noticed the sudden movement and turned to see you.  He was shocked and quickly sat up.  It had been a couple of weeks since he had last seen you.  "Y/N where have you been, I've been waiting for-" The god stopped abruptly.

You weren't surprised by it.  As he got a closer look, he could notice your aging.  Your hair was cut slightly shorter than it was before, you had barely noticeable wrinkles by your eyes, and you looked maturer.  "You're not Y/N, are you?  Who are you?" He asked.

"Well," You started off, "I'm technically Y/N, but I'm not going to bother trying to trick you.  I'm sure you can tell already that I look a lot older."

Even your voice sounded defeated.  Loki's heart was slowly breaking at the sight of you.  You didn't need to say anything, he knew that whatever happened, it wasn't good.  You looked weaker than before, and your eyes spoke everything.  Something happened that broke that spark you used to have.  The joy and happiness he'd see every time you came to visit was gone.  He couldn't imagine hearing your laugh coming from you at this point.  

"What happened?" He asked quietly, studying your eyes carefully.

"I'm not from this time, as you can tell.  In fact, I'm from 10 years into the future." His eyes widened when you said that.  While 10 years was nothing for him, he knew it was somewhere around a tenth of a human's life span.  

"What has the future done to you, my love?"  Loki walked up to you carefully.  He was worried it was a trick of some sort.  He lifted his hand up to your cheek carefully.  As if it were an instinct, you leaned into his touch.  His touch was so much better than you anticipated.  

"More than I have time to tell you, probably," You smiled slightly.  Loki couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't you though.  He knew something bad would be coming soon, but he didn't know what.  He drew his hand back and you almost frowned at the action.

"How do I know it's really you?  What if you're a Skrull or someone who's coming to invade Asgard?" Loki stepped back slightly.  

You were unsure of how you could prove it to him.  It suddenly popped into your head as to what could work.  You pulled the necklace out from under your top.  The stone was shining brightly under the light.  "Remember when you gave me this?  I still remember the day like it was yesterday.  It was in my book with Shakespeare plays.  You placed it on the page with Romeo and Juliet."  

Loki was silent as he looked at the necklace and then back up to you.  He wasn't sure why, but he trusted it.  Especially because the necklace looked exactly like it did when he last saw it on you.  Every time after he gave you the necklace, he'd see it on the next visit.  Maybe you would put it on right before going to see him, but he didn't mind either way.  He loved seeing you wearing it.

"What are you doing here so far from your present?" He asked softly.  He walked up to you until he was only a few inches from you.  He was tempted to pull you into his embrace. "What happens that takes the light from your eyes?"

"I don't know how much I'll change with telling you the future, but at this point, maybe it's not a bad thing."  You said, trying to debate quickly what to do.  Before you could say anything else, you felt his arms snake around your waist and bring you up against him.  

All that did was bring you to tears.  You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent.   Everything about him brought back memories.  You couldn't help crying.  You missed this so much.  

Loki wasn't sure of what was going on.  He didn't know, nor did he care.  He knew this was still his Y/N.  He knew that this was still the woman he loved.   His hand moved up to your hair and he ran his fingers through it lightly in a comforting manner.  

When your tears subsided shortly after, you decided to tell him limited details about what happens in the future.  You couldn't mess up the timeline, even though you had been told it'd be alright.  "Loki, I probably shouldn't tell you anything about it, but we've probably already messed up the timeline anyway." You realized that he had moved you both to the bed while you were crying.

"We?" He asked.  "There are more with you?"

"Thor, and a raccoon, it's a very long story," You brushed it off quickly.  Loki was confused by the raccoon part, but he didn't question it.  "I know you know Thanos quite well."

He froze up at the thought of the titan.  "Yes, I know too much about him.  What happens?"

"In five years, he gets all of the infinity stones in the process of one week.  Asgard is destroyed because of your sister, Thanos gets the stones, and he takes out half of all populations in the universe," You dodged telling him that he died.  Loki rubbed your back in comforting circles.

"So, you and Thor are alright in the end?"  He asked.  That's all that mattered to him.  He didn't care what happened as long as you and his brother were okay.

"I don't know if you'd say we're alright, but we're alive.  We lost a lot of people though."  

"Including me?"

You stopped for a moment and continued to look at the floor.   You hadn't seen him in ten years and all you wanted was to be able to see him, but you couldn't bear to look him in the eye and tell him the answer to his question.  It'd break your heart all over again, and how would he react?

The Norse God reacted to it better than you expected.  He was calm and collected about it.  "How?  Where?"

"I only know as much as Thor would tell me.  He said you gave up the Tesseract.  You tried to pretend that you would pledge allegiance to him.  When you went to strike him, he stopped you with the infinity stone.  He-" You had to stop yourself for a second.  It was getting to be too much.  "He snapped your neck.  Thor believes that you did it to delay Thanos from going to Earth, so it'd give Bruce time to warn the others."

He was quiet for a single moment, contemplating your words.  "Bruce?  As in the Hulk, you talk so much about?"  

You laughed a little at his question.  "Everything I've said, and that's what you get from it all?"

"If it makes you laugh, love, then that will be the first thing I take from it all," He said, knowing that his question would make you laugh.  At least, it would make his present Y/N, so he was hoping it would work on you as well.  

"I missed you so much," You quietly muttered.  Loki sadly smiled at you.

"When do you have to go back?"

"Whenever Thor and Rocket come back with the Aether."  He assumed when you mentioned Rocket you meant whatever a raccoon is.  

"Could that be a while?"

"Knowing those two?  They're going to take forever to simply figure out what their plan is."

"Then let's make the most of our time."  Before you could ask him what he meant by that he was kissing you gently.  

Your heart nearly stopped at the action.  It may be cheesy to say that sparks would fly, but that's how it was when you'd kiss him.  Loki was always gentle, in fear of driving you away by going any harder.  

Once the shock wore off you kissed him back.  You were rougher than he was, rushed because you didn't realize how touch-starved you were after all of these years.  All you wanted at this point was him.  

Instinctively you had started tangling your fingers in his hair.  You could feel his arms around your waist bring you closer to him.  It was probably the happiest moment in the past five years.  Even if it wasn't in your timeline, even if you were ruining someone else's timeline, you didn't care.  You were selfish when it came to him.

You and Loki broke apart when you needed oxygen.  It may have been only minutes, but you could've sworn it was hours.  "If you keep doing stuff like that Loki, I'm not going to want to go back," You laughed breathlessly.  

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay.  You have your own present to go back to.  Maybe I'll be around in your present now, now that you've told me this."

"It doesn't work that way though.  Time travel works in a strange way.  What I'm doing, if you don't do the same actions you did in my timeline, it will create a new timeline."

"Unless this was how it was supposed to be from the start," He said, absentmindedly grabbing one of your hands.  

"What do you mean?"

"Do you doubt my motives, darling?  I've tricked my oath of a brother plenty of times into thinking I died.  I don't believe I could forget how to do that of all things," He grinned.

"If that's the case, I'm going to kill you in 2023, I'm warning you now," You fired back.

Loki chuckled, happy to see you acting like this.  You definitely needed it.  You didn't realize how badly you needed him.  

"I'm counting on it," He said.

"At least, in 2018, write me a letter, alright?  Let me know you're still around," You smiled slightly.  He promised.

Before you could say anything more, you saw Thor out of the corner your eye.  Rocket was running closely behind him with the Aether in hand, or paw, for that matter.  "Hate to break it up, but we gotta go!"  Rocket yelled.

"Thor?  What happened to you?"  Loki was astonished to see his brother in the state he was.  It looked like he had been crying before.  With Mjolnir in hand, he opened the barrier, allowing you to be able to walk through again.  

Thor didn't reply and instead waited for you to come through.  Before you left the room, you hugged Loki tightly again, leaving a peck on his cheek.  He smiled at you, and let you go, not before whispering one final thing to you.  "I assure you, Y/N, the sun will shine on us again."

You slowly made your way down to Thor and Rocket.  Thor took one final glance at his brother before tapping the button on his GPS.  You and Rocket did the same motions, changing back into your suits.  "Let's go reverse what that giant purple bastard did," You said.  Rocket looked at you, pleased and amused with your nickname for Thanos.  You all clicked your button at the same time, bringing you back the present.  

The last thing you saw before going back was Loki watching you curiously from his cell.  You wouldn't forget a single detail about this anytime soon.  

#loki x reader #loki x you #avengers 4 #avengers endgame #endgame #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #thor #chris hemsworth #rocket raccoon #marvel #comics

[weirdlizard26]

For the ask meme? All of them.

jay,,,

give me a sec to edit this post ok

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

wine glasses are like reading glasses except you wear them while drinking wine

i’d say water bottles but only the ones that can handle heat and stuff and not poison your drink with plastic or whatever

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

i havent had a lollipop in a good while so thats my choice

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

havent tried either but boy i’d love to try just a little bit of cotton candy at leastonce

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

bro,,,,,, that was like 10 years ago, how am i supposed to remember that,,,,,,,

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

i usually drink soda from plastic cups but honestly? nothing beats the experience of sipping that sweet sweet ambrosia from the bottle,,, but also i’d love to try soda in a can some day!

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

idk what half of these would look like but sportswear always wins in my book

7. earbuds or headphones?

ok i actually googled whats the difference and im more of an earbuds person! theyrejust safer i think and it makes me kinda anxious when im home listening tomusic and cant hear anything going on around me

8. movies or tv shows?

tv shows! well, unless the episodes are like 40 minutes or a full hour because its hard to focus for that long kfjsndkfs

9. favorite smell in the summer?

pavement after rain and also. grass.

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

haha thats a funny joke you made there *starts crying*

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

just a couple of meat+cheese+mayo sandwiches! if its summer mom cuts tomatoes or cucumbers for us and as they start getting more and more expensive we replace them with pickles!

12. name of your favorite playlist?

sorry i couldnt choose!

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring!

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

aaaa i love fruit flavored ones!

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

aaaaaaaa i dont remember if it was elementary or middle school but we were assigned this really cool ukrainian book that ive actually read before they assigned it. well, nobody here will recognize it but it was Тореадори з Васюківки by Всеволод Нестайко and it was about 2 boys who were best friends growing up in the countryside and they went on adventures and had fun and their friendship made me so happy,,, i guess i was all for cool friendship portrayal even back then! it was mostly laughs and jokes but some moments were actually serious and hit me really hard and i remember them to this day actually

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

its a myth, sitting was created as a personal attack on me

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

my trusty old sneakers!! theyre all black and the sole is very soft and nice

18. ideal weather?

when the sun is out and its just warm enough to show off your new graphic tee and also very soft and nice

19. sleeping position?

i just lie on my left side like a fool

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

notebook!

21. obsession from childhood?

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!!! AND DANNY PHANTOM!!!! i even made a ghost fighting costume once,,,, tho it wasnt much of a costume, it was just fingerless gloves i cut out of paper. they were extremely uncomfortable. but very effective in fighting ghosts!

22. role model?

kfjsdnfk i have a bunch! might sound weird but one of them is bdg i think??? and the other 2 are some online acquaintances whom im too afraid to interact with more often than i do

23. strange habits?

repeating silly lines i hear on tv / in anime/cartoons? and also i never touch food with my right hand unless its plums?? and there are more but. you know. bad memory.

24. favorite crystal?

all of them!!!!!

25. first song you remember hearing?

my grandma used to sing this to me over the phone

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUPnqqPXQsw

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

go for a walk!

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

slep

28. five songs to describe you?

we are the people by empire of the sun

home by cavetown

strawberry blonde by mitski

smile like you mean it by the killers

afterlife by arcade fire

29. best way to bond with you?

wash your hands very thoroughly and make jokes

30. places that you find sacred?

i see nature i go crazy from how much respect i have for it

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass andtake names?

*wearing hinata cosplay* im here to play volleyball and kick your ass and as you can see ive already played today’s match

32. top five favorite vines?

road work ahead

a avocado!! thanks!!!!!

REBECCA THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK

i fell can you help me :(

that vine where ukulele sounds like human voices and people sounds like ukuleles

33. most used phrase in your phone?

idk how to check that??? sowwy

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

the stomach meds ad they keep showing on tv

35. average time you fall asleep?

3am? 4am? idk for sure

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

t-trollface…

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

havent used either (cause ive never traveled anywhere too far away) but the latter looks pretty and i feel like it would fit more stuff

38. lemonade or tea?

depends on my mood!

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

dont kick me but im not sure if ive ever tried either ;w;

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

the school’s cat who hates most people actually kinda warmed up to me even tho im terrible with animals

41. last person you texted?

jay uwu

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

afabs cant have both huh

but i want both. please give me both.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

all of these sound nice but my lazy ass will always go for hoodies

44. favorite scent for soap?

aaaaaaaa im allergic to a lot of soaps but i like flower scented ones

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

i love all of them dearly but lately ive been more into superheroes i think. im not sure really sure what exactly i feel

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

something really really long

47. favorite type of cheese?

there are different types????

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

i hope im a pear

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

become a good person. thats all.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

i dont remember what it was but i remember i was with my friends and we couldnt stop laughing for several minutes and ive never felt happier

51. current stresses?

UNIVERSITY FUCK OFF!!!

52. favorite font?

i like comic sans

53. what is the current state of your hands?

they arent doing so hot tbh, my dermatitis is back again

54. what did you learn from your first job?

i dont have one!

55. favorite fairy tale?

gonna be honest chief, i dont remember too many of them ;w;

56. favorite tradition?

on new year’s we turn the lights off, light up a candle in the kitchen, laugh at president’s speech and only then starts eating

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

getting over a lost friendship, passing high school finals and uni entrance exams and coming out to my best friend

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

singing!! being able to learn how to do most things pretty quickly!!! and i cant think of anything else but honestly these two are quite enough for me

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

uh oh! guess what! i dont have a catchphrase and im very self-conscious about it!

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

im torn between sports anime and slice of life

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

because humans dont have wings we look for other ways to fly

from haikyuu

obviously

62. seven characters you relate to?

tsukishima kei from haikyuu

mae borowski from nitw

apollo justice from ace attorney

flame princess from adventure time

donatello from tmnt

sokka from atla

kageyama shigeo from mob psycho 100

63. five songs that would play in your club?

mr brightside, bohemian rhapsody, smile like you mean it by the killers and allof haikyuu ops and eds

64. favorite website from your childhood?

if social media counts, vkontakte i guess?? i didnt really go anywhere else and it still exists and i thriving so im not sure if it should count fkjsndkjf

65. any permanent scars?

yeah, the one from my very first vaccination from when i was a few months old i think and also some traces of when i had chickenpox

66. favorite flower(s)?

idk a lot of flower names but i really like tulips

67. good luck charms?

dont have any at the moment but i’d love to get one!

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

whatever fish mom used to buy when we were kids >:(

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

bro my memory isnt good enough to remember those,,

70. left or right handed?

im a righty but i had to become a lefty for like a month when i broke my pinkie

71. least favorite pattern?

i like traditional ukrainian ornaments

72. worst subject?

history :P

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

ice cream + fries

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

idk how pain levels work but i try not to take meds unless the pain is interfering with studying

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

idk but i had a box full of my teeth for so long they turned to dust and i had to throw it away

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

RHNGRHGNRHGRNH EVERYTHING except for freshly made mashed potatoes

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

if its green it can stay

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

have never had either of those and i hope i never will cause they sound gross!

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

i dont have a license, so.

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

kfjsndfks depends on the mood tbh!

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

fireflies!

82. pc or console?

i WISH i had a console but this is too broke for that,, i played a couple of times tho and it feels more fun than pc!

83. writing or drawing?

please dont make me choose, ive abandoned both and its making me feel bad

84. podcasts or talk radio?

podcasts :O

84. barbie or polly pocket?

idk what polly pocket is but barbie rules!!!

85. fairy tales or mythology?

i feel like sometimes fairy tales are kinda like watered down myths so i have a right to say i like both

86. cookies or cupcakes?

my heart goes to cookies

87. your greatest fear?

finding out im faking any part of my identity

88. your greatest wish?

get through whatever’s going on right now

89. who would you put before everyone else?

mom

90. luckiest mistake?

when i recorded an undertale medley and got a few notes wrong but it actually ended up sounding better than originally

91. boxes or bags?

boxes!

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

fairy lights……

93. nicknames?

never really had many? my bff calls me mr smith sometimes but thats all i can think of fkjsdnfs but also! steve used to be my nickname before i decided my life my own and i get to choose my name

94. favorite season?

spring ;w;

95. favorite app on your phone?

sudoku

 96. desktop background?

 97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

my own and my mom’s

 98. favorite historical era?

eh im not very fond of the past because not every time period had soap

#wl26 #wl26 answers #flamingerrs #jay just so you know i love you a whole lot #i really did that huh #long post

[arthurs-wife]

Forever - IV

New Hanover, 1899

Jedediah’s last several encounters with Molly had been no better, he kept seeing the woman already dead or just out of his reach. He had spoken to the woman for perhaps 20 cumulative minutes in his seven hundred years of life and he was madly in love with her, his bones ached every night of his existence.

Sometime in the 1600s (he couldn’t tell you when) the Irish civil wars broke out and Molly was the leader of one such band that was completely demolished by the English. Jed had found them slaughtered.

In the 1700s he devoted his life and time to helping the poor as they starved at the hands of their rulers.

She was starving, dying, shot, stabbed, trampled. She was everywhere.

He moved around Ireland as much as he could go before he couldn’t stand it anymore, convinced the woman was following him.

With the egress of Irish folk to America, Jedediah wondered why he just hadn’t left Ireland yet. The woman haunted him and he wondered if it wasn’t because he had slaughtered villages in his Norman days. It was his eternal hell. So he emigrated to the last place on earth he thought he would go.

In the 1850s, he held a brief position as a constable in London, the only town worth living in, in his opinion. He was amazed by the technology, the contraptions they had created in the last 700 years. Towers, bridges, stagecoaches?

The reprieve from his ghost was short lived as during 1850, there was a rash of killings focused on prostitutes, one including the familiar red hair.

Was no place on earth safe?

Of course he had tried to take his own life several times, none of it worked. He kept waking up like the stubborn bastard he was. He wondered where on earth there was a volcano to throw himself into and came up on Hawaii, which was on the opposite side of the colonies.

So he sailed across the ocean to start his new life in New Hanover in 1898, hoping to shake himself from the curse.

He settled in a town called Valentine, too weak to move onto Hawaii. He was tired, it had been almost 50 years since his encounter with Molly. He checked his nonexistent watch, only 50 to go.

America surprised him.

By the road one evening he found a girl, almost as tired as he was but far younger. For the first time in many, many years he felt hope, a purpose. Her name was Izzy and he loved her dearly. It all fell apart when they came to Horseshoe Overlook for shelter with the Van Der Linde gang.

There she sat, miraculously alive and unharmed, in the arms of the ring leader himself, Dutch.

He couldn’t help but stare.

“Arthur who are your friends here?” the man boomed, good naturedly but Jed detected a hint of testiness.

“Jedediah,” the man he had come to know as Arthur grunted, “his daughter, Izzy.”

His heart warmed, it was the first time someone had said it out loud. He held his daughter close, kissing her head.

“Will you be staying with us, Mr. Jedediah?” Dutch asked, moving up to him slowly as if sizing him up.

Jed’s eyes were continually drawn to Molly and he eventually nodded.

“For as long as you’ll have us.”

As Jedediah rocked Izzy to sleep that night in front of the fire his heart raced. Would they be attacked tonight? What hell would happen to them? What misfortune had he brought upon these fine people?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, startled.

“She asleep?”

It was the same flawless Irish accent he had heard in 1333, the same bird song voice flowing through his soul. She had on a sweet smile that reached her eyes. Jed looked down at Izzy and chuckled.

“Out like a light.”

“Susan set up a tent for you two,” she gestured to the front of camp, “if you’d like to set her down there.”

Jed nodded and stood up carefully, scooping up the sleeping child in his arms and following Molly and her swaying dress to the new tent. Setting her down gently, he pulled a blanket up to her chin and straightened, turning around to face Molly, who had not left.

“Molly O’Shea.”

God.

“Jedediah Porter.”

“It’s nice to meet you Jedediah.”

“Please, miss, just Jed.”

She smiled, the sun became a little less bright.

To Jed’s complete surprise, Molly O’Shea stayed beautifully alive over the course of the next few months, although the gang went horribly to shit. It was punctuated with brief peaks of leading Molly out into fields as she cried over Dutch, his inability to love, and why couldn’t I have met you sooner, Jed?

Oh, Molly.

He remembered picking a flower, a bright white orchid, pale as her skin, and tucking it behind her hair. He had grown to know her as much as he could in three months, the longest he had ever had the pleasure of being with her. She stitched his wounds, caressed his scars, his many, many scars.

“What’s this one, Jed?” she asked one night in Shady Belle. She was drunk, as per usual, trying to forget the man who was slowly descending into chaos, tracing the edges of a particularly nasty scar on his forearm.

This was when I poisoned you, dear.

“Steel accident,” he lied, “bit broke off when I was tempering it and… came off and cut me.”

She seemed to believe it and continued tracing, moving up to another scar, and another one, until she reached his neck, his jawline. They stared at each other a long moment, the sun sinking behind them. It set her hair alight, waving in the breeze like seagrass. He pushed some out of her eyes, thankful he had the chance to feel something so gentle between his fingers.

“Jed, I…”

Breath caught in his throat, chest tight, he waited, yes my love?

A scream from camp brought them both back to earth, a headless man on a horse jerked them all back firmly to reality. They could not stay here any longer.

Jed never got the chance again to be alone with Molly, and after several more months by her side she stubbornly clung to the unravelling leader of their gang.

In deceit, Jed was able to find Izzy a new home in Saint Denis after most of their gang had fallen apart. She clung to his leg as her new underground home took her in.

You’ll be safe here baby.

It’s not safe with me anymore.

He still heard her cries in his ears as he lay down every night.

It wasn’t long after he lost Izzy that Molly fell apart. Jed admired her loyalty to the man, her unwavering pledge to stay by his side through the darkest of times. Jed found himself on a rock looking out over a waterfall in their new camp in Ambarino, more alone than he had ever been.

Molly had disappeared shortly after Izzy. Jed had searched and searched for the woman he had been avoiding his entire life but had come up empty. Maybe she would come back. Voices brought him back to the camp and he turned to see Micah dragging Molly into camp, stumbling around in her pretty green dress, disheveled to hell.

“Found her drunk in a bar in Saint Denis,” Micah said triumphantly, throwing her to Dutch and smirking. Jed rushed up in a rage but held back. He didn’t want the wrath of Dutch to come down on him, though he didn’t think the man would care much now anyway.

“Miss O’Shea,” Dutch sighed, “how jolly.”

“It’s Molly, you sack of shit!” she cried, losing her footing as Micah let go and stood back, “oh Master of everything, the lord almighty!”

“Calm down,” he spat, hatred in his eyes. The camp gathered around at the commotion, staying back as Jed did.

“I won’t be ignored, Dutch van der Linde!” she said, pointing heartily at him, standing up for herself finally, “I ain’t him, I ain’t her, I ain’t any of your stooges! You don’t owe me nothing, I don’t owe you nothing! I’ll spit in your eye!”

Dutch stood there calmly, muttering various “calm downs” and what have you but it seemed to make her worse. The poor woman had reached her breaking point. When this was over, maybe she could finally be convinced to leave with Jed, make a break for it on their own. Get Izzy back and start again.

But then she fucked up.

“I told them!” she yelled, and the camp when silent.

“I’m sorry?” Dutch whispered, threatening to be lost in the wind as everyone held their breath.

No, Jed thought, not Molly… Molly wouldn’t betray the location of their camp to the Pinkertons… would she?

“Yeah I told them,” she repeated, “and I’d tell them again! Now I’ve got God’s ear!”

“You told who what?” Dutch stated calmly and Jed saw the rage bubbling up red from the man’s collar.

“Mister Milton, and Mister Ross,” the woman rattled off, pacing, “about the bank robbery, and I wanted them to kill you!” It wasn’t hatred coursing through her voice, but sadness. All the lonely nights she spent in the grass, Jed knew not a word she said was true. He exchanged glances with Arthur, who just shook his head slightly.

“You did what?” Dutch’s voice had finally risen and he pulled out his pistol, aiming it dead at Molly. She didn’t seem to care.

“I loved you, you god damn bastard!” she cried, curling her fists and shaking them at him, “go on, shoot me! Kill me!”

Jed’s heart broke in pieces, eyes welling up with tears. Arthur stepped in, putting a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and trying to reason.

“She’s crazy,” he shook his head, agreeing with Jed, “she ain’t worth it.”

Dutch shook him off, but lowered his gun anyway, taking a step towards her. Jed breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this would work out.

“You told on me?” Dutch said, “you betrayed me?”

“Oh,” Molly barked a laugh, “you’re not so big now, are you?”

“Quiet!” Arthur snapped, turning to Dutch and lowering his voice, “just calm down.”

“Arthur?”

“She’s a fool,” he repeated, “get her out of here.”

“You know the rules,” Dutch warned.

“Not so big are we now, your Majes-”

A shot cracked out and Molly reeled, blood spurting from her stomach and heart as she fell back and hit the ground. Bill cried out and Jed whipped around to see Susan holding a shotgun, Susan who set his tent up for Izzy. Susan, who now looked murderous. Susan, who didn’t bat an eye at Jed when he rushed to Molly’s side.

“She knew the rules, Arthur!” she snapped coldly, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Dutch seemed surprised as Jed rushed over, gripping his gun tighter.

“Jed?” he hissed.

“She was lying, you cold bastards!” he shouted to no one, “all she did was love you. And all you did was push her to the side!”

Dutch raised his gun and aimed it at Jed, who didn’t flinch.

“Go on, you coward.”

He had been stabbed, shot with an arrow, even poisoned once, but Jed had never been shot before. The white hot, searing pain through his chest sent him flying back next to Molly and he screwed his eyes shut, feigning death for the thousandth time.

“Get these bodies out of here and burnt!” he heard Susan cry, “and get back to work!”

He was heaved up by someone and carried away into the forest. After a while he was thrown down roughly and he heard Molly thump next to him.

“I got this, Bill,” he heard Arthur’s voice say calmly. Footsteps thundered away from him. Jed cracked an eye open and saw Arthur kneeling next to Molly, doing something like praying but not quite. He sat up and held his chest, watching as Arthur did a double take and push himself back.

“No, no, wait,” Jed said quickly holding his hands up, “please don’t… please don’t go anywhere.”

Arthur fixed him with a strange look but stopped.

“I saw you get shot in the heart,” he said quietly, looking at the tatters of Jed’s shirt.

“Yes, I…” Jed started for the second time in his long life, “unfortunately I can’t die.”

“Well,” Arthur finally said after some internal discussion, “wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen you die with my own eyes. How long have you…” he gestured to Jed.

“About seven hundred years.”

“And you’re not bored?”

“I’m getting there, Arthur,” he chuckled, wincing at his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Molly,” Arthur said, “I know you two… got along.”

“Yeah we did,” Jed sighed, looking over at her, “would you mind if I took her and buried her? She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Sure,” he said, standing up and holding out a hand to help Jed, “what about you?”

“I will be long gone after this,” he replied, groaning as he stood, “trust me, you won’t see me again.”

“Didn’t think I would,” Arthur nodded and coughed heartily. Jed frowned. Arthur had looked just like his old brother, Banon, many years ago. Was everyone he met doomed to die? Well, yes, considering he’d outlive them all.

“Save them, Arthur,” Jed pleaded and shook his hand one last time.

He watched as Arthur sped off back to Beaver Hollow, and began digging his love’s grave again.

#molly o'shea #jedediah porter #my fics #hhhhh

[reedsmeer-blog]

♔  →  westeros  presents  MEERA  REED,  the  LADY  in  GREYWATER  WATCH.  a  raven  sent  word  that  she  bear(s)  the  resemblance  to  JESSICA  BROWN  FINDLAY.  the  TWENTY  EIGHT  year  old  CIS  FEMALE  was  ALERT  &  AFFECTIONATE  before  the  dawn  of  war,  but  have  now  become  INTRANSIGENT  &  STOIC.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  THE HAND STRETCHING THE WIRE, ALL CALLOUSES, ALL BLOOD; DARK HAIR DAMP WITH SNOW AND SWEAT, STICKING TO EVERY BIT OF SKIN; THE ELATION OF DISCOVERY IN THE FORM OF A GRIN, EXHAUSTED BUT BEYOND SATISFIED.  whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE  STARK,  but  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones.  (  cams,  19,  gmt,  she/her.  )

i. meera's first years were filled with stories, some she knew to be true, others simply legend, but some were a mystery she's yet to uncover. those words filled her head with folklore and tales of the past, which she carried with her like the chains of a maester - meera was known as the storyteller, retelling those tales to younger children with all of her theatricals, whispering sad songs of long gone knights and other characters of the outside world, telling her little brother jojen all the things father had taught them, just so the boy could say if she made the stories justice. perhaps she'd write it all down in a book, like those her mother kept, bound in old wrinkly leather. or perhaps she never would, respecting the ages old tradition of the crannogmen and hiding every whisper beneath the water, where no outsider could come and then leave.

ii. her father taught her how to yield her very first weapon, a frog spear. from him, she got that, and the scale armor, all in bronze, which her father had made specifically for her. once he let that fester, meera broke off on her own, pursuing whichever skills she deemed fit for an heiress, for a hunter, for a survivor. with the help of many amongst her people, she could climb trees in near silence, become a whisper in the leaves, a swimmer so subtle she gave no sign on life in the still green waters. she knew of places outside of their small bubble, where some girls would spend the same time preparing for dances and embroidering handkerchiefs, and sometimes meera would wonder what that must have felt like, but the surrounding fields of the neck were all she had ever seen, and that life remained the object of stories and songs, nothing else.

iii. lord stark was dead, long live the wolf king. the reeds knew nothing but loyalty, serving their lord well, but that was more than getting caught in the middle of a war - she'd grown up with the tales of the wolf pack, who her father loved so dearly. the she-wolf, who meera so wanted to have met. the wild wolf, a legend forgotten. the young pup - she wondered what had become of him. and the quiet wolf, a righteous man whose letters always made father so happy. a just lord who hadn't asked for the burden of the title. not long after, the two reed siblings were on their way to a mission explained only by the gifts that the two reed men had. of course, who was meera to question them? her spear was guided by their visions, their dreams, their curses. if they pointed out the way, meera would carve it for them.

iv. this isn't my war. sometimes the terrible thought got stuck in her gut, vile sickness threatening to pour out almost immediately. jojen and brandon were blessed with mystical abilities she could only observe and follow, lost inside their own heads or souls, driving them from place to place, even when she insisted on other paths. it was robb's war. it was jojen's pursuit. it was bran's destiny. she pushed the thought away every time, devoting more and more of herself to their goals, even if it killed her - it went beyond loyalty or political alignments, they were her family. all of them, including hodor, summer, shaggydog, little rickon, even osha. the world was wide and they were only small but huddled together, the group made up a mighty force. and so she stayed, even when she wasn't heard, even when she couldn't understand, and every farewell broke her heart in bits. the softness in her that the northern cold couldn't harden made the journey a much more personal one. what would come after was a much harder question she did not dare ask.

v. the neck needed her. saying goodbye to bran, no matter how temporary, broke every shard she believed to have left, and the girl who waved goodbye to her home was not the same who returned. more aware than ever of the incoming threat, meera knew her duty was with the reeds, which she needed to help protect - greywater watch is the final stronghold on the north, and in troubling times such as these, no southern threats can pass, and no long nights can either. more than ever, she is determined to carve out a path for herself, earning a role that's active in the war that is here and the wars to come. her training has been relentless, she followed her mother and father to every call from their folk, and her stories are more tragic, filled with tales of dying northerners, burnt down villages and blue-eyed creatures.

vi. howard reed was a stepping stone. unlike his predecessors, he yearned for something he could only find outside of the neck and he fought for it, venturing into the great world that was so hostile to him, fighting amongst others, visiting great castles and seeing things he'd only heard of in songs. meera shares that adventurer's heart, but amplified. his stories were the beginning of a wish she can no longer contain, not after she's seen so many glimpses of the world from her journey with the stark princes. from great mountains to the shore and the sea, to the very top of the great wall, meera had a wisful smile stuck to her lips even in some dire situations, and it was not enough. she felt so inspired by what she saw and all the potential of what she could yet see that there is no other way but into the great outside world, to explore and visit all corners she can, to see the small shops and the big landscapes and the terrible battles and the tallest castles. everything they have to teach her is out there for the taking, and meera knows it will not only make her a better person, a better fighter and a better reed, but also more fulfilled than she ever could be, should she only be stuck in greywater watch.

vii. the loyalty of the reeds is something eternal, and meera very much caries that torch too. while she is no tactical commander or mighty fighter, her weapons are the wolf king's and she has expressed her willingness to use them for his war.

BITS AND PIECES

howland stark was picked up from the ground by the starks, armored, sheltered, cared for. he followed ned to the ends of westeros, fought for him, and in the very end committed treason for him, keeping to himself the terrible secrets of the tower of joy. he !! pulled ned away from lyanna's dead body and you can't tell me he didn't take it upon himself to deal with the brunt of the logistics to get lyanna back to winterfell just so ned didn't have to suffer through that too. house reed is not just the geographical line of defense for the north, they are the stark shield - not only did meera grow up hearing stories of this great family they pay vassalage to, she got the exact same faith. she would have gone to the end of the world and back for bran and rickon, and honestly same thing applies for any other stark because she believes so damn much in their core values and their honor !! don't talk to me about the endless loyalty the reeds have for the starks, i'm so upset.

the reeds are faithful, and for long so was she. be it to the old gods or to some ancient powers that went far beyond her comprehension, they guided her towards some higher purpose and blessed jojen for a reason. before falling asleep, she'd often whisper to herself, sometimes the names of nearly forgotten gods or promises and questions to those she did not have a name to call by. however, she got very few answers. if anything, it doesn't seem like the gods have been cruel towards her, it seems as if they've abandoned the girl, or never been there at all. the stories that have for so long guided her seem ever more hollow and her personal prayers more pointless. there's quiet anger building up within meera that only gets amplified after every tragedy and she doesn't know for how much longer she can pretend it is not there. damn the green dreams, the wolves in bran's eyes, the prayers and the smiling trees and the rituals - they keep leading her to the same place of loss and confusion, and the only significant piece of the impossible puzzle is human action, defiant or in spite of the gods, doing whatever the hell they deem to be the way.

after her return home, she got some leather-bound bits of parchment where she's been drawing and writing down stuff about the things she's seen, much like an adventures journal. whenever she leaves greywater watch, she brings a couple along, even if only to jolt down the name of small towns.

her loyalty does not equal compliance. meera respects the starks and her family, and does listen to them most of the time, but she is defiant to any reasonings she cannot agree with and stubborn to a very obvious fault. she WILL be heard, even if that means harsher words, or shouts that pierce through what's usually a gentle amused demeanor.

while she doesn't have the mythical aspect of many in her family, the woman has a profound connection to nature. growing up, she'd play in the shallower ponds and the branches of mossy trees - walking barefoot along slippery stones, ancient fossils, near the jaws of predators; meera is at her most centered when she's in direct contact with the life that she shares the world with.

even though greywater watch did not have a maester, there were many skilled people all around her who shaped her knowledge, aided by the extensive personal library her mother kept. herbology was always a particularly interesting topic, although always bested by the hidden arts and folklore. she can often be found collecting plants that catch her eye, saving them for future use should they be of help.

she would fight every being in the world for her little brother. and she trusts him and his wisdom so so deeply, even if sometimes she just wants to get rid of all the mythicisms and inject some pragmatism into situations. do not touch jojen.

her moral compass sometimes isn't the greatest. her pragmatism gets in the way of righteousness, and she has and will consider things like theft and murder should that make the most sense for the problem at hand. however, those around her, especially jojen, can always easily bring her back to her good values.

meera is NICE. i think the stereotype of the 'not a lady, had weapons, isn't in a dress' often leads to hardening the character, but meera really is not that. there's an inherent softness in her, which she often demonstrates in physical touch, by squeezing people's hands, gently caressing shoulders, placing kisses on the top of their heads. she is kind and gentle and cheerful, and often has a smile on her lips, unwilling to let herself sulk in her own pity and tragedy (at most, she'll leave that for quiet moments with herself, get it done with and return to being a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how flickering).

check her STATS & PINTEREST !

#❛ v . | nothing scares me anymore ; a study . #rev.intros