#there are so many unexplained time jumps too like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cordeliawhohung · 4 months

Text

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem. Or maybe they're worse. It's difficult to tell when you're still stuck in that basement.

warnings: PTSD, angst, anxiety/panic attack, blood, hurt/comfort

wc: 7k

Simon was always good with a gun.

Well, not always, but he learned quickly after he joined up. Countless hours were spent down at the range, cleaning, loading, aiming, shooting, working on his technique and stance; becoming a lethal and effective killer. Practice makes permanent, and he found himself using a handgun to shoot several yards at a target at an outdoor range, which felt wrong. The distance was much too far, and he couldn’t even tell if he was hitting his target effectively, let alone if his grouping was alright.

That wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. His M1911 felt too light, even with a full magazine, which seemed like it held too few bullets. He swore he loaded nine rounds in, but could only squeeze the trigger three times before the slide was stuck open, telling him he was dry. So he’d reload, rack the slide, and try again just for the same events to occur.

Eventually, he got frustrated. Too damn far to see the target properly, and he certainly had faulty equipment, so he holstered his gun and glanced around the area, defeated. The range itself was proper, but something seemed off about it. It was his feet, constantly slipping on something, and it wasn’t until he looked down that he realized it was sand. Desert-like sand, but it seemed too moist. Was he at the beach?

“Did I not say I would find someone who would make you talk?”

Simon turned around so quickly he swore his neck would snap. It was Bukin. Always Bukin. He grinned like a hyena with rotting teeth and a decaying core, and his chuckle was just as sour. An unexplainable rage began to smother him at the very sight of that creature, and his fingers twitched as he reached for his gun once more.

“You don’t deserve her,” Bukin continued as Simon aimed the muzzle of his pistol at him. “She would’ve been better off with me.”

A single shot echoed in the air, but there was no ringing in his ear, or crack in the distance. His gun didn’t jump, and Bukin still stood as if a bullet had never been fired in the first place. In anger, Simon stomped towards the man, gun still pointed at him, and pulled the trigger another time. Once more, there was nothing but a single shot and no blood.

“Or maybe you should have never had her at all,” Bukin mused as he crossed his arms over his chest, unphased. “You had to have known it would happen, yes? Death follows you everywhere you go, Ghost. It was going to get her eventually.”

The stiff end of the muzzle pushed against Bukin’s sternum, and Simon held it there firmly as he pulled the trigger once again. He had gone through the actions so many times. He knew what it sounded like when the breath was torn out of someone after the impact of a shot. Where was the thud of Bukin’s body? Why was the light still in his eyes?

“Ghost?”

Simon turned around at the sound of your voice. There was a small waiver in your tone that made his stomach drop, and he could feel his heart scream and shatter at the sight of you. Hands covered in blood, trembling lips, tears pouring from your eyes as you clutched your chest. You stared at him as if begging for him, as if he was the only person in the world who could save you.

When he tried to take a step forward, he felt his feet starting to sink through the sand, like the earth was trying to swallow him whole. Legs straining, he tried to push through, climb across the land and claw his way to you. You continued to stand there, hand clutched to your chest, blood flowing impossibly fast through the wound. Had he caused that? Or had you always been like that? Broken? Bleeding? Why did you look at him like that? Like you were forgiving him?

Sand swallowed him up to his waist by that point, and there was so much blood soaking the ground he couldn’t tell how much of it was yours, pouring from your wound, or his, pouring from his nails; broken and ragged from clawing to get to you. The worst part was, there were no hands holding him back, no biting words degrading him. Nothing in the world was stopping Simon from saving you except for himself. There was more blood than earth by that point, and the roaring sound of the ocean waves drowned out your crying and begging.

Eventually the earth felt pity on Simon, and the sand swallowed him whole.

Simon hardly needed to set alarms those days. His body did all the work for him, consistently waking him up with a frenzied jolt. A thick layer of sweat permeated his sleepwear, and he could feel strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. A terrible, chest rattling drum pounded in his body, and he could feel the way his ribs heaved in order to steady his heart.

The first place he turned to look was to you. Fast asleep on your side of the bed, the only clue that you were even alive was the subtle movement of your shoulders with your soft breathing. He knew he should have been happy to see you sleeping so peacefully, but when his eyes settled on the bottle of Ambien on your nightstand, a sour taste soiled his tongue.

Turning his attention to one of the windows, Simon took notice of the dull spring sunrise peeking through the curtains as he sat up. It was soft and white, like there were too many clouds in the sky for the sun to shine properly. It was only a matter of time before your alarm woke you up for work, and though he usually liked to stay around until you left, something was telling him to run. Run, fight, scream, because then at least the pounding in his chest would make sense.

Instead, he turned back to face you and your sleeping form. So soft and quiet underneath the covers, hidden away from the world that was much too cruel towards you. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, and not even that stirred you out of your sleep. Still, it made him feel a little better as he slipped out underneath the blankets and began to dress himself for the day.

One day the bed would grow warmer. He’d wake up with you in his arms again, smiling up at him, and his nightmares would finally fade away. But he was too afraid to cut you on the broken pieces of himself, and he was tired of seeing your blood. Your happily-ever-after would come someday. Eventually. Just not that day. Not while he still failed to save you, even in his dreams.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Once again, the sound of Jace’s shoes were driving you up the wall. The man had grown partial to wearing a full suit at work, for some strange reason, which only proved to annoy you even further. Strutting around in his charcoal grey suit all important-like while he breathed down the necks of every poor girl that worked there. He wasn’t a creep or anything, just much too enthusiastic about his job, and with no concept of personal space it didn’t take much effort for the man to irritate you.

Luckily, you were working on fixing a jam in the cash dispenser, which meant you were mostly out of your manager's line of sight. It was a difficult jam, something that couldn’t be fixed by simply opening the side panel and yanking the paper cash out by hand. Grime built up on money too easy, and the tips of your fingers had turned grey just from handling what little cash you had managed to yank out of the dispenser. No wonder that shit got jammed; there was so much dirt and dust stuck in that machine. Did anyone even bother to do any cleaning while you were gone?

You nearly laughed out loud at that thought. While you were gone. Why did you make it sound like you were gone by choice? Would it have been easier if you had just gone willingly? Would it have saved you from the pain?

No. No, you were at work and you needed to focus. There was no room for you to slip away, to go back to that house, that beach, that orchard, any of it. Your hands stilled on the machine as you took a shaky breath. No room for emotions; just for cleaning.

You stepped away from the machine for a short moment, trying to change your focus to something else while you reached for a can of compressed air. It made quick work of the dust and buildup crammed into the sensors and circuits of the machine, and you watched as it swirled in the air around you. A tingling sensation settled deep in your nose, and you tried not to think about the adverse effects that inhaling literal human grime and greed would have on your health.

Jace’s shoes hit against the stone floor of the bank again. Their terrible click-clack sound was not at all similar to boots on wood, and yet you still found yourself looking up towards the ceiling. There was no second floor to the building, no rooms above your head. Nothing but bright lights and fancy fixtures greeted you, and you found yourself swallowing hard as you looked back down at the dispenser. It was an instinctual reaction, something you couldn’t stop yourself from doing, and yet your heart raced all the same.

Sniffling, you shook your head and continued messing with the machinery in front of you. After opening a few more panels and removing a few parts, you found where the worst part of the jam had occurred. Someone didn’t check the cash well enough for slight tears, and it had gotten caught on one of the belts and torn, leaving a large pile of money behind it waiting to be processed. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you reached into the machine to pull the disfigured money out, and you did your best to ignore it as you started to close everything back up.

Something cracked behind you, and you froze. It was nothing more than someone scooting back in their chair, and you knew it. It was a sound you had heard plenty of times at work. You knew what it was, and yet your body didn’t. Your body heard it as a thump above you. A chair toppling over after someone shoved it in anger. Then it was followed by footsteps. Boots on wood. Stalking towards you as the sound descended downstairs. He was right on top of you. Right behind that door. Waiting to tear you apart.

Then his hand was on your shoulder. Always touching you. Always grabbing you like he owned you, like you were nothing more than a pet to him. Maybe you had been. No, you were less than that; you had just been livestock. An animal he tried to use to keep himself alive, something to bargain with. And his hand was on your shoulder, ready to take you away to be slaughtered.

“Hey, are we getting anywhere with this j-?”

When you turned around, you led with your elbow, and it collided with something squishy, followed by a yelp. Your eyes landed on your manager, Jace, who stood in front of you, doubled over as he held his nose. Blood splattered on the ground, staining his fingers as it poured uncontrollably from his nose. You looked down at the mess and noticed he had gotten some on the tips of his shiny, annoying dress shoes.

“Bleeding fucking christ,” he said through gritted teeth.

All you could do was stand there in shock with your hands hiding away your mouth as you looked at the mess you caused. You wanted to be angry, you deserved to be angry. He fucking touched you when a simple question could have easily gotten your attention. But he was bleeding, all over the floor, and when he looked up at you with involuntary tears in his eyes, you found your stomach churning with guilt.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked. You tried to sound large, but your voice only shook as you lowered your hands away from your face.

“What?” Jace asked, peeved. His voice was congested due to the blood he was trying not to choke on. “I should be the one asking you that! You broke my fucking nose!”

“Do you know how to talk to people without touching them?” you retorted. But your voice gave away what strength you tried to fake. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop shaking.

“My apologies, didn’t realize it was a bloody crime,” Jace muttered, the sarcasm almost covering his anger.

Even after all that time, it was always the same. Greedy hands on your waist in a bar. Vile hands holding your wrist, threatening to shatter it. The hands of your idiot manager trying to get your attention. Each and every time you knew it was wrong, that they shouldn’t have been touching you like that, and each and every time you were the one to blame for it.

It was always the same. Nothing had changed.

Different voices, kinder voices, tried to get your attention, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of your terror. That pulsing mass of muscle in your chest, or the hyperventilating of your lungs. Sometimes your chest ached so terribly you thought you would die, and that’s how you felt in that moment. You’d just keel over on the stone floor and drown in the blood you accidentally spilled over a fucking panic attack.

So you left. You hadn’t even fully realized you were leaving until you were outdoors where the bitter spring rain almost instantly soaked you to the bone, even through the thick fabric of your blazer. There was the vague sound of the bank door opening behind you, but you ignored it and kept walking and prayed that whoever was behind you would leave you to be devoured.

Your walk home felt like a blur; like you were just some puppet with her strings being pulled. There wasn’t a single action you had taken the last few days that actually felt like your own will. You had turned into a simple bystander for your own life. People said that spring rain washed away everything so that there was room for new growth. The only thing you felt in the rain was cold, and it certainly didn’t wash away the anger that tried to strangle you or the sobs that choked you.

When you arrived home, everything was quiet. Usually Simon was there to greet you, but you also usually spent more than two hours at work. Really, it was for the best that he wasn't there anyway. He had always managed to find you in such vulnerable states, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him seeing you like that. Soaked to the bone, uncontrollable tears falling from your eyes, having probably just lost your job after essentially assaulting your manager.

It was a coo that caught your attention. Brought you back to reality, if only for a moment. It came from Boo, of course, who stood near your feet. He looked slightly disgruntled at the small puddle of water that had gathered around your feet, like he wanted to rub against you but didn’t dare get his paws wet. You wished you had his ignorance.

You felt bad for doing so, but you left Boo by the entrance as you pushed deeper into the apartment, headed straight for the bedroom. Your blazer was peeled off of your body and you carelessly left it in the middle of the hallway before hiding yourself behind a closed door. It didn’t take Boo long to track you down and attempt to paw at you through the gap under the door but you just couldn’t. He was an ignorant cat, and still you wouldn’t put him through the horror of watching your breakdown.

A squelching sound followed every step you took as you walked to sit on your side of the bed. The utter anxiety and pain in your chest had diminished but you could feel it slowly being replaced by a terrifying numbness. In order to preserve itself, your body had placed itself into some sort of limbo, and you didn’t know what to think of it.

Sighing heavily, you wiped at the moisture on your face, unsure if it was from your tears or the rain. When your vision cleared, your eyes settled on the bottle of pills on your nightstand. A half empty glass of water sat next to it, almost enticingly. Fucking Ambien. You shouldn’t give in, and you knew that. You’d fuck up your sleep schedule even more than it already was. But whatever was happening, whatever it was that was going on inside of you, you didn’t want to be conscious for it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Smoking after any sort of physical training was certainly a terrible idea, and Simon was fully aware of this, yet he didn’t care enough to stop himself. So he stood outside, close enough to the building that the rain didn’t get him too wet, despite the fire laws that went against it, and puffed away. He hoped the rain would wash away any lingering scent of nicotine from his clothes.

He worked harder than he should have, and his body paid the price for it. Achy muscles plagued his arms, legs, and for some reason his core, even though he hadn’t focused on it all that much. Progress was slow, and he was still further away from his old self than he liked. A part of him wondered if he would ever see combat again. Did he even want to after everything that happened to you? Could he stomach leaving you again, not knowing if you’d be there when he came home?

The thought of leaving you made him sick.

It didn’t take him long to finish his cigarette, and he shoved his mask back over his face before venturing off into the storm. Noon would roll around soon, and he figured he’d need to eat a big meal after the hours he put in at the on base gym. After suffering through mid-day traffic for longer than what felt legal, Simon arrived home where the rain was just as unrelenting. Avoiding the moisture as much as humanly possible, he dove into the apartment.

A small puddle of water greeted him at the entrance, and he found his eyes narrowing at the sight. Was there a leak? Dark eyes glanced up at the ceiling, worried the roof wasn’t holding up, yet there didn’t seem to be any sign of cracks or a burst pipe. Sighing, he slipped into the kitchen where he removed his mask and coat and set it on the counter. His pack of cigarettes peeked out of his pocket, as if trying to tempt him to take another, but he ignored that thought in favor of leaving to grab a towel to clean up the mess instead.

Simon hardly took a step into the hallway before he froze. Something was wrong. A sopping wet mess of clothing sat in the center of the hallway, and a ring of water settled around it. It wouldn’t be good for the flooring, but that was the least of his concerns. The door to the bedroom was closed tight, and Boo laid on his side, nose peeking underneath the crack as best as he could. Simon ventured a few steps closer, catching the attention of the impatient feline, and he instantly hopped up and trotted up to the man, meowing.

“What’s up, mate?” he asked, leaning down to gently scratch the cat's ears. The question was playful, but it didn’t help the uneasiness that had an iron grip on his stomach.

Boo followed Simon to the door and was the first to dash in the moment it was opened. Your sleeping frame was the first thing he noticed, and if he didn’t know better he would have thought you hadn’t moved at all since he left in the morning. But you were on top of the covers rather than under them, and in your work clothes instead of pajamas. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your shoes.

Concern didn’t even begin to describe the mess of feelings swirling in Simon’s head. You were supposed to be at work, not a soaking, unconscious mess in bed. Carefully, he approached the side of the bed where he tried to assess you as quietly as possible. No marks, your breathing looked and sounded okay, your eyes fluttered like you were in deep sleep; you looked fine. But you weren’t. He knew you weren’t, and he didn’t like that.

Maybe he should have left you alone, but he couldn’t stop the hand that reached for your shoulder. Your clothes were still moist, and his skin stuck to your dress shirt as he gently shook your shoulder. You were icey to the touch, and he tried not to flinch at the feeling.

“Sweetheart? Hey…”

His voice was so soothing it had to be a dream. No, not just his voice, but everything. It all felt so far away and muted, yet so close, as if something was clawing inside of you, trying to get out. Lungs expanded with a deep breath, your eyes fluttered open, and your vision was completely obscured by Simon. He knelt on the floor next to the bed where he leaned forward so that his hand could brush against your cheek. It was only then that you realized how cold you were. Damp clothes clung to your body as if trying to suffocate you, and your muscles attempted to turn into stone with how stiff they were. It was like waking up on wet grass.

And it all came back to you. The crunching sound of your elbow smashing a nose, the panic that footsteps stirred in your chest, how you couldn’t be touched without feeling Bukin instead. You stared at Simon with glossy eyes, and you tried to open your mouth to speak but stayed silent instead. His concern only grew at your silence, and you watched as the proof of it etched onto the features of his face. He looked at you like that so often you were certain his face would be stuck that way.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked softly. Everything he did was soft when it concerned you. Like he feared he would shatter you.

“I… don’t know.” Your response spewed out of your mouth before the thought was even formed. The Ambien you had taken shrouded your mind in murky water, and you weren’t sure if you should be grateful for it or not. Neverbefore had you ever felt so light and heavy at the same time.

With an odd burst of energy, you sat up and Simon’s hand fell from your face. It was as if no time had passed at all. You had just been stuck in some sort of limbo and thrown right back into reality the moment you had woken up, and fuck did it hurt. A heavy dryness overwhelmed your throat to the point you were certain your vocal cords would crack, and there was some evil creature running around wreaking havoc in your head.

“I’m gonna get some water,” you said as you scooted towards the edge of the bed. Each word that you spoke felt too big for your mouth, but you let them tumble out anyway.

An uncomfortable squish sounded as your still soaked shoes hit the floor, but you ignored it as you pushed yourself to your feet. Boo curiously paced in front of you, eyes trained on your face as if he too was attempting to read your mind, but you ignored him as you wandered out of the room.

You hadn’t realized Simon followed behind you like a lost dog until you reached the kitchen. Before you could even reach for a cup, he had already gotten one down for you and was at the sink filling it up. Rain continued to fall just as fiercely as it had been during your walk home, and you could feel the low grumble of thunder reverberate through the entire complex.

“Did you walk home?” Simon prompted as he held the cup for you to take. He was trying to test the waters. Trying to figure out why you were home, but not fully there with him. In a way, you reminded him of himself, half awake, walking around the house smothering toothpaste on his face in a traumatic driven daze.

“Yeah,” you answered bluntly. Sniffling, you raised the cup to your lips and took a small sip of water before continuing. “My manager was just, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I’m probably fired anyway.”

“Fired?” Simon repeated, the disbelief obvious in his voice despite how hard he tried to keep his tone neutral.

You really didn’t want to talk about it. Because you could say that you smashed Jace’s face with your elbow, and you could say that you didn’t like the sound of his shoes, or how he touched your shoulder. That was easy. Those were facts. What you didn’t want to explain was why. Why you responded with such violence, why the sound of his shoes ignited some deep fear you tried to smother, what you were reminded of when he touched you.

So you looked around the kitchen in an attempt to distract your brain enough to come up with a lie. You had always been so terrible at lying, and you knew Simon was aware of that fact, too. Eyes focusing around the room, you looked everywhere as long as it wasn’t at Simon. An old grocery list held up by a magnet on the fridge. The slightly cracked handle on the microwave. Simon’s jacket bunched up on the counter.

A boiling heat rumbled in your chest when your eyes landed on a small cartridge that slid halfway out of the pocket of his jacket. At first you thought your eyes attempted to play a trick on you. Something that the Ambien made you hallucinate. But the more you focused on it, the clearer it became; as did that anger that threatened to engulf you.

“Have you been smoking?” you asked, eyes refusing to tear away from his jacket.

Simon followed your gaze, and the muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed. You didn’t even give him time to answer before you set your cup of water on the counter next to you and snatched the cigarettes out of the jacket. Why did the sight of it make you so angry? No, you knew exactly why. You just kept playing dumb with yourself. Every time you thought about it, you were transported back in time to where the scent of it clung onto Eric’s clothes. How it burnt your nose when he got close enough you could smell it on his breath. It was the first thing you smelled when you woke up on the ground after Adakskin beat you. That terrible smell had haunted you for years, and you didn’t think you could stand it if it started following Simon around, too.

You marched over to the bin on the other side of the kitchen, and Simon called after you but you didn’t respond. Every muscle in your body had grown so taut that you had slightly crushed the cartridge before you tossed it with the rest of the rubbish. A restrained and frustrated sigh left Simon as he reached his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. There was something exceptionally irritating about not getting answers. Sure, he was used to people holding out on him during interrogations, but allies had more or less always been truthful with him. You had always been truthful with him. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t painful seeing you struggle and not knowing how to help.

“Sweetheart. Love, look at me,” Simon urged. It took everything in him to keep his voice mellow, to not get too frustrated. Like Gus had said, you didn’t have the same tools going into all that like he did. Eventually you did turn to look at him, eyes already growing wet. His gaze softened as he relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and face; it was the closest you had ever seen him to looking truly sad. “Talk to me.”

Every emotion that you had forced into dormancy began to erupt in that moment. All the anger you tried to swallow, the grief you tried to bury, the disgust you felt towards yourself; it all came up to the surface. The pounding headache in your skull didn’t help with the tightness you felt crushing your chest, and for a moment all you could do was muster a defeated shrug, hands bumping against your thighs.

“I don’t know how to,” you admitted in frustration. “I don’t know how to talk to anyone anymore. I want to. At least, I think I do. But, fuck, sometimes I think about what I want to say and I sound fucking insane.”

Pausing for a moment, you reached your hands up to rub at your face. It was difficult to tell if it was because of the Ambien or not, but everything felt fuzzy. More than it normally did those days. Your thoughts, your words, your movements, it all felt unreal. Even so, a flood had started. Everything had been building up inside of you for months, nearly crushing your organs with the pressure, and it felt like there was nothing you could do but watch it pour out of you.

“Like, I was fucking kidnapped. That sounds fucking crazy, like something you’d see on a true crime show, not- not something I’m supposed to experience,” you continued, pulling your hands away from your face. “And it’s weird because for a while I was just some sort of trophy for them. Something to taunt you with and it- it was fine when it was just that but fuck Simon he- that crazy bastard he-”

Words failed you, and you choked back a sob as you bit into one of your knuckles. Simon braved a step towards you as the tears started to stream down your cheeks. Somehow, talking about what happened was more painful than actually experiencing it.

“He didn’t even do anything serious so I feel like an idiot for even freaking out about it but I can’t- like- fuck, sometimes people touch me and it’s him. It doesn’t make sense but it’s just- it’s him and it terrifies me. Every footstep I hear sounds like it’s above me even when I’m in a single story building, the smell of cigarettes reminds me of waking up on the fucking floor.”

You choked on the snot building up in your nose and you paused for a second to sniffle and wipe away the uncontrollable swell of tears that fell from your eyes. Something in you urged you to stop talking, to just shut up before you said something you regretted, but you couldn’t. There was no dam in the world strong enough to hold back everything erupting inside of you.

“Sometimes I think about how he touched me, dressed me in his coat, the things he said to me and I feel disgusted. He ruined me. I can scrub at myself as long as I want and I still feel it. I can’t get clean. I know it doesn’t make sense but I don’t know how else to explain it,” you continued.

Simon only grew closer, slowly, as if he was trying to coax a wild animal into his grasp. Maybe that’s what you had become. Some feral beast that took too much effort to love. He was close enough for you to grab, and you wanted to so badly it ached. You wanted for him to reach out and swallow you whole because maybe then you’d finally be clean.

“And I want to tell you everything but I feel so ashamed to be alive right now,” you sobbed. “He ruined me. That sounds so fucking stupid but he- I wished he had been worse. I really, really do. They fed me and kept me alive and kept me clean like a goddamn pet when really the whole time I wished they would have killed me already because I felt like I was betraying you by being unharmed. But they didn’t. And I’m still alive, and I don’t think I’m supposed to be because I’m not- I don’t think I’m really here.”

There it was. Bubbling in the back of your throat. The confession that felt like it would kill you if you admitted it out loud. But there was no stopping it. All you had ever done was watch your life go by from the sidelines anyway.

“I can hear something that reminds me of being back there, and I know. I know why it scares me and what it reminds me of. I can reach out and talk to you because I know- I hope that you still love me after everything but I just can't because I’m not really here. I’m still in that fucking basement, Simon. And I want to be here with you, and I want to feel better but I’m stuck there.”

You hadn’t realized how close Simon had gotten to you until his hand brushed against your upper arm. That was the last straw. Whatever composure you attempted to hold together shattered, and a moment later you found your face buried into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so firmly it was like he attempted to hold you together. When your knees gave out underneath you, Simon fell with you. Gently, he lowered the both of you to the ground so that you sat in his lap while he leaned against the cupboards under the countertop.

Each sob rattled your body so violently you were sure you would break apart then and there, but Simon wouldn’t let you. His hand engulfed the back of your head where he kept you close to his chest, rocking you ever so gently. There was something bittersweet about the way he kissed the top of your head, how he buried his face as best as he could into the crook of your neck. He held you until your body was finished rocking your world with wails, and even then he still continued to hold you.

“There’s nothing in this world I care about more than you,” he spoke once the waves settled. “I wanted to tear the world apart when I realized you were gone, and I thank whatever sick creator we have that you’re alive. I’m not gonna judge you for doing what you had to in order to survive. It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”

His confession nearly had you sobbing all over again, but you bit into your lower lip and forced yourself to keep your composure. You weren’t sure if you even had many more tears left to shed, anyway.

“You should have never gone through that at all, and I’m sorry you did,” he continued. The hand on the back of your head adjusted slightly, gently moving your shoulder back. Taking his hint, you leaned back some and looked up at Simon. His thumb ghosted along your cheek, wiping away any remaining moisture. “We’re gonna get you through this, yeah?”

It felt impossible. Getting through it. Getting better. You wanted to deny it, claim that healing was meant for people who were still mostly whole. But you wanted to get better so badly it hurt. You swallowed and sniffled some as you nodded in agreement, and moments later he pulled you back into his chest once more.

That was the first time that you really felt like you were home. Crumbled on the kitchen floor in Simon’s arms. There was something lovingly tragic about it; about being destroyed and still having someone to love you. It was a promise. The kind that couldn’t be broken. So when he pressed yet another kiss to the top of your head and mumbled the words, “I love you more than anything,” you believed him.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been months since Simon had last seen you smile. Truly smile. Yet there he was, sitting on a log in the middle of the Forest of Dean watching you giggle as you dipped your hands into a small stream. The August heat was unrelenting, even through the canopy of foliage overhead, and he watched as you rubbed the fresh water up your arms. The two of you were roughly two hours into your hike, and it had been awhile since he had last seen you so energetic. Each waving flower, small critter, and neat rock had to be enjoyed, and you made sure to point out everything worth seeing.

Digging his canteen out of his bag, he took a deep sip of water as he watched you pick rocks out of the stream bed. You’d run your fingers over it, cleaning off any clinging dirt so that you could enjoy whatever colors were hidden underneath, and then place the item back in the water where you had found it. Even though your back was turned to him, he could still imagine the grin on your lips.

The last few months that you had been in therapy had been treating you well. There were some things that were still difficult, old wounds that would never quite heal right, but you laughed more often, and talked as if you had never known a moment of silence in your life. It felt nice. Better. Things would never be back to how they used to be, though sometimes he wished they would, but it was more than enough to hear you laugh again.

A gasp left you, and Simon watched as you slowly straightened into a standing position. Knowing that he was about to be beckoned over, he hid the canteen away in his pack once more before sliding off of the log he had been using as a bench.

“Simon, come look,” you said quietly, as if afraid to disturb something.

With careful feet, he snuck up by your side where he was quick to notice what had caught your attention. A small dragonfly had perched itself on the tip of your forefinger where its wings glinted like church windows in the obscured sunlight. It stayed remarkably still for a creature that chose an excited human to rest on. You whispered how beautiful it was, how the blue of its body mirrored that of the sky, or how the pattern on its wings could be put in a museum.

Once it had its fill of compliments, it fluttered off of your finger and back into the heart of the forest where it vanished from sight. You stood there for a moment with Simon by your side, the toes of your shoes just kissing the crystal clear stream water by your feet. Everything was fresh, warm, and real. Nature surrounded you on all sides, and it was the most free you had felt in a long time.

“I’m excited,” you suddenly blurted out, attention turning to Simon. “To move into our new place.”

He hummed in response as his hands found your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. Smiling, you leaned into him with the palm of your hands flat against his chest. He looked at you with such adoration, like even after all that time the two of you had been together he still couldn’t quite believe you were his.

“It’ll be a good workout. Lifting all those boxes,” he quipped with a slight smirk. “For me, anyways.”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and swayed in his arms, yet your gaze found its way back to those lush, dark eyes of his. As if your bodies were magnetized, his lips found yours in a sweet, deep kiss, and the warmth of the sun couldn’t even compare to the warmth that ignited inside of you. And it felt nice, beyond nice, being able to kiss him without fearing you’d taint him. You could hold onto him, and lean your head against his chest when the kiss was done, and you were there. You were there in Simon's arms in the midst of a forest and nowhere else.

“It’ll be dark soon if we keep going at this rate,” you sighed contently as he gently swayed you back and forth.

“I’ve got a flashlight,” he said.

“‘Course you do.”

“Always prepared.”

Another playful eye roll followed that comment, and the two of you slowly separated from one another. After recuperating, you started down the trail where you once again continued pointing out every single little thing that caught your attention. Simon watched on with a small smile and offered cheeky comments when it fit just so he could hear you laugh more. It was freeing to be out there in the fresh air, away from the noise of the city. It was even more freeing to know that soon you would be in a place where everything felt different and clean. Soon, you and Simon would be able to start over again, and you couldn’t help but grin to yourself at that thought.

As far as you were concerned, each step you took along that trail was another step closer to getting out of that basement.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here @spookyscaryspoon

find my taglist here

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soft spot #f!reader

159 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 10 months

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

5 - A War of Tragic Beginning

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 18.5k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, mentions of executions, discussions of war, blood and violence, smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, slight dom/dub dynamics, casualties of war, major character death, unexplained mystical phenomena, slight canon divergence

Notes: I have no excuse for the length alright, I apologize. Anyways, I told you this was a slow burn, so strap in because we are in for the long haul now. Series Masterlist Here.

Little news had come out of Kings Landing since Robb had received your raven about his father being injured in the streets by the Kingslayer. Maester Luwin had tried to maintain an air of rational saying that things are likely too busy but it was an unspoken look between him and Robb that talked of a worry about what as to come. Once word from you stopped coming, Robb stopped sending, the likelihood of anothers eyes intercepting any word between you, too much of a paranoia.

He had kept busy, falling into his fathers role as Lord of Winterfell more naturally then he had once feared. You had assured him the morning you left that you had every confidence in him, and a boyish part of him hoped that you’d be proud for seeing the right future in him. Bran was still getting used to his older brothers new demeanour having separate Robb from him as a brother and his more common demeanour now called Lord Robb. If he remembered correctly, he didn’t have too different of a point of view when he was a child.

Still very young, and his only other sibling, only friend even being Jon, Robb had many memories of having the free time to watch his father assume a role he was never meant to have. Winterfell was meant to go to his Uncle Brandon, and once the war ended, his father had to quickly learn to take this role over. Days his father was in court, he was much more stern whereas in the quiet of the night was when he finally could see his father laugh and joke.

Robbs nights however, weren’t filled with the same peace. A plot by the Lannisters to murder his brother that none seemed to know why, his father, sisters, and wife away in Kings Landing where the only word was him being attacked by the same Lannisters, and his own brother, his closest companion for his entire life now up at the Wall swearing his entire life to a whole new family.

It was Jons choice, but somehow it made it harder to accept.

Somewhere along the lines, Robb couldn’t help but realize that he should’ve done more as his brother. He should’ve made Jon’s life less of a series of obstacles to jump over, should have stepped in more between him and his mother’s anger. So much of Robbs life had changed so drastically so quickly.

His father named hand of the king, leaving for the captiol with both of his sisters, his brother falling from a tower in a plot to murder him, his brother leaving for the wall, and now to add being tossed into a sudden marriage with one of his oldest friends and only having one night together before she too was dragged to the capitol. Even just a year ago, Robb would’ve had Jon there to talk it out with.

They’d ride to some challenging terrain in the woods and spend the afternoon switching between jesting at the other for complaining and reassuring the other. They were both good at that, or at least Jon was. Robb once more, regretting not being more of that reassuring support to his brother when it would have mattered the most. But at least Robb could’ve gone to Jon to stop the noise in his head screaming about you.

Jon knew you as long as Robb had, and he had a better friendship with you as well. He was close with you for so many years and that was nothing to scoff at but there was a quiet understanding you and his brother had that he was thankful for. Whatever Robb couldn’t see, you always did, and vise versa. Robb had only started to work with you in the training yard, because Jon had started teaching you first. Were the one brother he could talk to still here, maybe he wouldn’t feel so strange about his feelings over you.

Robb wasn’t blind, he knew all too well you were pretty. By the time you had come to Winterfell when you were fourteen and had matured considerably since the last time he saw you, Theon who had not met you by that point made an off handed comment about being the one to teach you what a man looked like. All three of them were around sixteen at the time and he could still see the glaring and aggressive looks both he and Jon gave him instantly. But he wasn’t wrong, you were very pretty.

There had always been a spark of something there, but something in Robb told him to hold off on acting on any of it. Your friendship regardless was fond, soft looks that always warmed him on the inside and eventually Robb simply had matured enough that if this was all there was then it would be alright. Then the letter came.

Something about the morning you came to his room, nervously trying to get out that you didn’t want their first kiss to be in front of the way too big crowd of the wedding set Robb alight. The fact that you did want to, the softness of your lips and skin under his touch and the sigh that Robb didn’t even think you realized you let out dragged him down.

It was duty to marry, but you were someone he cared about, and neither of you were shying away about what being married would entail. He had to guide you that night, and as he watched you nervously collect yourself in his room looking out the window he truly felt like some lecher. His eyes unable to stop looking at you in a way he never really did before and how easily you melted under some of the lightest of touches made him want to ruin you.

It scared him how easily you two fell into something neither thought you’d ever even have, how well you felt around him and how responsive to his touch you were. And now not seeing you for months, not even knowing if you were okay? It made Robb desperate to talk to someone about how on edge it made him feel. Like he was too protective, his thoughts about you too obsessive and he needed someone who understood him to work through his mess of a mind over you.

He couldn’t really talk to Theon. He trusted him like a brother, easy to forget he was a ward, a prisoner, when they both treated each other like he was just meant to be there. But Theon wasn’t the right one to talk to about you. His interest in girls was always just sexual and Robb couldn’t even remember a time he talked about someone in any kind of romantic way. Being so far apart so soon after marrying you was messing with his head.

But, that feeling only got worse. A raven came from Kings Landing, and as he stood there with Theon and Maester Luwin, that confusion turned to rage. Holding it in his hand he looked it over again. “Treason?” Looking up to Luwin he felt as confused as he was enraged. “Sansa wrote this?”

Luwin was doubtful but confident, “It is your sister’s hand, but the Queens words. You are summoned to Kings Landing to swear fealty to the new King.”

His blood growing hot he couldn’t even bring himself to read the words another time, for case he tore it up on the spot. “Joffery puts my father, and my wife in chains and now he wants his ass kissed?”

Luwin spoke low, offering a reason that as Robb only imagined the right of you and his father tossed away in their dungeon, sunk to the lowest parts of the sea. “This is a royal command, my Lord. If you refuse to obey..”

His voice was confident now, the Lord Robb that Bran would call him. It felt drastic, but as every other scenario played in his head, none came to mind that sat alright with him. “I won’t refuse. His Grace summons me to Kings Landing, I’ll go to Kings Landing. But not alone.”

This was it, he says these words and he has chosen his, his families, and the Norths course of action but as he looked at Luwin, he didn’t see the look of someone who didn’t trust him. He saw the same support and loyalty that he’d seen towards his father many times over.

“Call the banners.” Asking to be sure, asking if he truly means all of them and he didn’t blink nor pause to respond. “They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not? Now we see what their words are worth.”

Luwin was proud, even if he didn’t say it. They’d dismiss him as a boy, but that was not the command of anything but a man and a leader.

It took some of the houses far sooner to get here, the North was vast but as they arrived it was with no doubt or offence. It would be a few days before they could expect all of the banners, should all of them prove their loyalty at least, and it left Robb tense.

Unable to relax, there was a constant clench in his jaw, a heavy set in his shoulders that hardened each passing hour. Grey Wind stuck dutifully by his side. He didn’t have the words to explain it, but there was a connection he had with his direwolf, something that he was sure if he brought up to Maester Luwin, would be dismissed as his imagination. But Grey Wind always knew what Robb was feeling it seemed and at times, Robb didn’t know why but it felt like he was controlling him as if he were the true wolf.

It was that sense which he put trust into that night. Grey Wind grew agitated and worked up, Robb letting him out into the main yard thinking he may just be in need of a good hunt as all of these men converged on Winterfell.

Robb was speaking with Maege Mormont when it happened, the howling of Grey Wind, a chattering just outside and the galloping of a horse. Drawing him out the doors, Robb had barley stepped onto the gravel below when his eyes deceived him.

You were feeling truly exhausted. Not having slept in days, and the second you had landed in White Harbour you heard of the banners being called and made one hard ride to get here. The no food and barley any water wasn’t didn’t make you any less shaky either. Climbing off the horse, you could only look at Robb as you struggled to catch your breathe. Looking at him, he was more of a leader then when you departed, and you were certainly not similarly better off.

He called your name, and it was hard to remember if you went to him, he you, or met both ways but all you could really recall was collapsing into his arms. Robb pulling you tight against him, one hand wrapped around your lower back and the other cupped the back of your head to hold you close to his neck. Your name once more murmuring quietly from his lips, being hummed into the side of your head as you tried pulling back. “No, no, no, relax. Hold onto me, okay?” That warm voice almost made you cry, soothing in a way you hadn’t heard or felt in months you only managed to wrap your arms around his neck before Robb swiftly scooped you up.

Turning his head away to the crowd you heard him command someone to fetch Maester Luwin, only to turn back to you quietly when you tried shaking your head. “He’s looking you over, and that’s final.” A command in his voice that was well suited on him.

A woman’s voice shouting in the background as Robb brought you inside to, “You heard him, get your asses moving,” He chuckled into you when your brows furrowed slightly.

Your eyes tried fluttering shut, so in need of sleep but Robb slightly adjusted his hold on you to be tighter and higher, “Don’t fall asleep on me now.” You tried to speak, mind racing to get it all out at once but he shushed you with a gentle murmur of your name. “It’s alright, relax for me first. Let’s just make sure you’re okay before we do anything else.”

Sitting you gently onto his bed, you winced to sit up against the headboard as Robb took to the edge of the bed facing you. A hand running over the side of your face, his bright eyes narrowing with flashes of anger at the dirt and cuts still scattered about. Your hand gently reached up, grasping at his wrist and holding it there as you ran a thumb over his pulse. Still as strong as it was when you left. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not fine, you could barley stand for two seconds the second you got off your horse.” Opening your mouth to protest, Robb called your name firmly with his other hand gently at your waist. “You going to force me to make it an order?”

Smirking weakly, you felt some of your insides come alive too at the soft one he returned. “You ordering me around as what, Lord of Winterfell or my husband?” A playful scoff left his lips as he leaned in, sliding the hand on your cheek to gently hold the back of your neck. “I’ve only just gotten back, my Lord. A little patience wouldn’t hurt.”

You barley saw him roll his eyes before he pressed his lips to yours. Nothing firm or pushing, just an ever so gentle kiss as he ran his thumb over the back of your neck from his firm grip. Your hands weak, only willing to grasp at his waist before he already pulled back. Meeting your eyes, you wanted to pull him back at how much was overwhelming his.

Both of you looking to the door as Luwin came in, a genuine look of relief in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. One that was so much more real then any of the people around in Kings Landing.

Robb stood close by as he watched him check you over. Answering his questions, where certain marks came from and Robb’s jaw tightening with each explanation. “They are mostly innocent, should heal in a matter of days but you are okay. I can get someone to fetch some food and water for you,” he looked up to Robb “and you make sure she gets some sleep.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, “You’ll need all the energy you can to deal with the lot out there.” Laughing weekly, you leaned your head against the wall behind you, covering your face with a long sigh, collecting your thoughts.

“Are you up to telling us what happened?” Hands falling down to your lap you nodded, much more serious then just before. Glancing between Luwin and Robb you explained as best you could. About looking into Jon Arryn, the King’s death and what Renly and Petyr Baelish tried to propose and by the time you got to what truly occurred you felt the same rage you did in the moment.

“He played us for fools. Trusting him, the city watch, all of it.” Your eyes on the fire at the opposite end of the room glazing in the flames as you saw it all again. “He was right, she didn’t care what we were going to do, she knew. Cersei knew we wouldn’t stay quiet and she counted on it, we were always going to get thrown into those cells.”

Luwin relayed what the raven from Sansa had said, and you confirmed what Lord Varys had told you himself. “She’s still engaged to Joffery, and as long as she is she’ll be safe.” Pausing with a tilt of her head, “Relatively safe.”

You hadn’t mentioned Arya and neither did the letter, “What about Arya?”

Shaking your head, a weaker feeling passed over your eyes. “She’s still in the city, and if she is they’ll find her. They’ve got eyes everywhere, someone will see her and Cersei will likely keep her under close watch.”

Luwin had thought it over, “The Queen needs them alive, especially now. Three Starks to trade to prevent war.” Robb asking what about you, and the glance between you and Luwin said it all. Your eyes narrowing as you looked down to nothing as he was far more grim. “She’s not just your wife, she’s Stannis Baratheons daughter, his heir.”

Your voice was tight, yet fooled no one of the strain behind it. “If I didn’t leave when I did, I wasn’t coming out of there with my head.” Missing the restrained anger in Robb as you failed to look at either party in the room. “If somehow they beat my father, then the claim passes to me.” The words felt heavy and unnatural on your tongue as you said them. “Then they really can’t risk it.”

“You’d be dead either way.”

Turning to meet his eyes, you knew the rage behind his stilled expression all to well. A rage many Starks held and one that you had seen in his father as things continued to get worse. He wouldn’t lose it here though, with his fathers bannermen outside there was a real place to channel that rage.

Luwin left you both alone, going to ensure someone sent you up something easy to down as Robb came back to your side. Sitting close enough now that he could lean his forehead against yours, his hands on your cheek and waist while yours found enough strength to gently slide around his neck.

Despite how you both got here, there was no doubt that in this very moment, Robb felt like home and how much you truly had missed him. Maybe it was too strong or too soon, but now wasn’t the moment for you two to talk about that. Right now as he waited for someone to bring you something, you both sat in the others presence. Appreciating both the quiet and the feeling of the other in your arms, but like that day by the Weirwood as everyone else left to give you two a moment. Just quiet closeness to reassure the other, it had to be about you two now and your heart was much lighter at the sensation of how easy it was getting to allow it to be that way.

You’d remember your strange dream that night in the black cell later, the one of fierce cold and fire and the urgency in the rasping voice that you once knew but couldn’t place the longer you were away from the dream. But right now, it was the soothing, all consuming warmth of the one you vowed to be with.

Laughing to yourself, he pulled back with a slight grin. Running a hand over your hair, “What?”

Maybe it was how tired you were, but it just slipped out no matter what you had just tried to tell yourself not to do. “You make it too easy to fall in love with you, you know?” Robb’s eyebrows raised and his eyes lit up playfully.

“Do I, now? Do you want to elaborate on that at all?” Rolling your eyes you tried turning away but he gently pulled you back. “Oh no you, don’t. You’re in my bed, you’re not getting away that easily.” Leaning in he brushed his mouth against yours as he spoke, “How about my pretty little wife tells me all about what’s made her cold, hard, exterior fall for a man like me?”

You smirked as you felt your insides fluster, you were exhausted and for days on end now, in a constant state of panic and yet here Robb was making you feel like a little girl as he teased you. Part of you felt guilty at how Jon had simply known you’d find it easy to do so, but looking at Robb you knew not only did he deserve to be loved but you wanted it to be from you.

Something about these Starks apparently spoke to you. One real father away on the island of your home and yet the one you worried for was the wolf trapped away in Kings Landing. So much of the men in your family found no love or affection for the women in their life and yet both of Eddard Starks eldest sons found their own unique way to make you soft on the inside.

Pushing forward to kiss him yourself, Robb sighed into your mouth. His body relaxing a bit more like you both could only put on a ruse like this for so long. Pulling away just enough to press his lips to your cheek and down your jaw you smiled weakly, “You’re supposed to let me rest.”

Humming as he kissed your neck, it almost tickled from the brush of his facial hair. “I never said you had to do anything, my lady. Just relax, and take it like a good girl.” Oh he was unfair, he was not allowed to make you shiver like that now of all times.

Lightly pushing him back, he breathed a laugh at the knock at the door, sitting back to give you space as he called them in. To your surprise, the door was rather busy. One made sense, Grey Wind having found his way inside, no doubt also keeping to Robbs side more as people arrived. Some likely unsure of being around the increasingly growing dire wolf, and seeing him obey at his masters side would lighten that doubt.

The three others, one was a large man you recognized as Hodor carrying little Bran who upon seeing you widened his eyes and exclaimed your name. Nodding to the bed, Bran glanced at the large man with a polite, “Please, Hodor”.

Steps loud and large, Hodor reached the bed where Robb gently took his brother himself to sit up up close to you the way Robb was. Bran reaching forward the same time you did with a hug, you burying your face at the top of his head running a hand over his back, little exchanges of “I’m so glad to see you,” followed by an “I missed you too.”

Pulling back he sat in front of you as you looked up to the other woman. Not a face you recognized but putting down a tray of what looked like a simple broth and bread. She avoided your eyes but curiously glanced up as you moved your head to meet hers. Bran spoke up first, “This is Osha, she’s-”

“One of the free folk.” She paused before adding on a quick, “My lady.” That sounded unnatural from her mouth, which given who she was you supposed made sense. A quick glance to Robb he nodded calmly that he’d explain later but assuring enough to trust her. Gesturing towards Bran, her voice was deep and with a bit of a rasp that sounded strained, but appeared to just normal. “The little lord heard you’s was here and wanted to see you.”

Thanking her, she turned and slunk away as you watching curiously before looking back to Bran, running a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up.” He seemed to be in better spirits then what Robb had written to you about, no doubt time doing much of the help.

You three sat for a while, you slowly working away at the food while Bran sat, leaning slightly against Robb as you all pretended like the world outside the room wasn’t awaiting death and war. You noticed Rickon wasn’t there, but Luwin later would tell you that Robb calling the banners had almost sparked something in the six year old that made him spend more time on his own.

You felt for him, he was too young. Bran was as well, but at ten he was better equipped to handle and understand the situation. Growing late into the night, Hodor took Bran to bed as Robb insisted you sleep, noticing it was getting harder for you to keep your eyes open.

By tomorrow night almost everyone should be arriving or close to, and when they did? You and Robb were to be put to the real test. A lifetime of being raised by respected lords and leaders and the question of not only could you both be leaders, but did you have it in you to do it together.

Morning came early, far too early but you had woken up in a way you could barley remember by your return. The sun just lightly shining into the window from the more cloudy northern skies, a warm fur draped over you as you lay in a bed, one actually soft and forgivable on your muscles. But it was the warm body behind you that pulled you out of your sleep.

One large warm hand draped over your hip has caused your shirt to ride up ever so slightly, enough that it let him slip under and explore whatever he could find. Sometime during the night, he seemed to have pulled away the thick of your hair out of his way, giving him the space to rest his own head partially against the back of yours and enough for Robb to have pressed a few gentle kisses to your neck when he joined you in bed hours after you fell asleep.

The stone walls of his room were so much more relaxing then the brightness of any quarters you had in the captiol. Twisting slightly, you tested if you could move without disturbing him, but Robb just adjusted in his sleep to whatever you did. Turning to face him now, your hands rested gently in the small space between you.

You wondered if you looked so calm, so at peace in your own sleep. Somehow you doubted it, Robb was the better one to look at in this pair afterall. His brown curls once more tinted red in the morning light, begging you to gently run you fingers through them. Trying not to jostle, you sighed quietly at how soft they were and how easily you could play with his hair.

This..well this was something unique for you. For everything that had your heart before him, the only time you’ve ever had the real grace of waking up next to someone to intimately were dark, stormy nights on Dragonstone. Nights when Shireen had snuck into your room and whispered if you could let her sleep in your bed tonight.

But waking up like this was something you only had once before, with the same man. This time your exhaustion wasn’t from any memory you wanted to look back on, this time it was the scattered fears of fleeing a city wanting your head no doubt. Just as you tried to shake off such a thought, Robb’s brows furrowed, eyes still not open.

His voice matted in sleep, accent thick as anything and slurring together as it came out raw. “You trying to drive a man crazy this early in the morning?” Opening one eye with a playful annoyance you breathed out your own laugh in return. Robb flipped onto his back, arms pulling you along with him, your body cuddled into his side as your head rested closer to his chest.

Moving in closer, you felt your limbs buzzing at how new yet normal it felt with him. “I’m not allowed to admire my husband?” If the way his grip on you tightened, so freely calling him that stirred something within that man.

Keeping his eyes sharp on the ceiling with a smirk sliding onto his lips, Robb let one hand trail down your side. “Not when it riles him up so easily, and you’re supposed to be resting.” His hand said something different however. His palm rough on you as it made its way to your waist, stopping to greedily squeeze the soft skin he could grasp at. His smirk grew at the skip in your breathe.

Your own eyes narrowing playfully as you gently ran your own hand over his chest. Pushing the open sides of his shirt off him to give your fingers room to explore without anything in your way. “I’m supposed to be. Didn’t stop you from getting in the way of that last time.”

Mistake. That seemed to be a mistake. Robb shoved his hand down your hip and thigh, the force of the action shoving your pants down with him. Turning slightly to see you better, you weren’t nearly as teasing or daring as your words. It only made him bold.

Suddenly moving so that you were the one on your back and Robb learning over you on his side, his face looking down your legs as he yanked them the rest of the way off one leg. Pulling back to hover over your bottom half he grabbed the other side and yanked it off as well, tossing the article to the floor like it offended him.

He didn’t give you a chance to return the favour. Climbing up your body, Robb just as roughly pulled your shirt off as well leaving him mostly clothed and you laying back in his bed completely bare. His eyes raking over yours he found himself pausing, “How is it you look even better then I remember?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Robb leaned down and captured your lips. His kiss much greedier then last night as he wrapped an arm around your back to pull you up into him. Your hands running over his chest and pushing the material off of him enough that you could grasp onto his shoulders.

One hand grasping your jaw to tilt your head to stay exactly where he wanted. Your knees parting without thought to let his hips slide into the space as he hovered over you more. Biting you bottom lip, you could feel the sting from his force pulling a gasp from you. Robb chuckled darkly into your mouth at the high pitched sound, using the perfect opportunity he wanted to slide his tongue into your mouth.

One hand raking up into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as he dragged his tongue along yours while his hand on your jaw gave you no choice but to let him taste you at his mercy. Dragging his fingers along your inner thigh as he dragged them slowly across your folds, you jolted and grasped onto him tighter when he dragged his nails over your clit.

Moving your neck to push your head into the pillows, he granted himself access to your neck with bites not letting you ease into it. Gasping his name, Robb smirked against your neck as he bit and sucked at the skin with much more ferocity then he had your only other night together.

His fingers slid back down your entrance and back up in the same tease as before with no pause, your thighs now sat the side of his own hips shaking slightly as you exhaled trying to keep composure. A feat not worth fighting as you let a whine slip as Robb pressed his lips firmly to a sensitive spot of your neck that he could feel soak his fingers more. Slipping them up to your ear your eyes fluttered as his warmth breathe ran over it, “Is it really this easy to make such a composed woman into such a needy thing for me?”

Another whine failed to swallow down your throat before he heard it. Pushing up onto his knees he pulled the rest of his shirt off. Reaching for his own pants he paused, hands right at the lace when he looked up at you with a dark need. Slowly Robb moved his hands to slide over your thighs and grasp at the skin.

Your chest heaving you couldn’t stop glancing down as your veins burned in a need. “Robb-”

“You want my cock?” It should’ve been shameful how you didn’t even think to nod, but his eyes only grew darker. “Be a good little wife and pull it out for me, then.” What should’ve been more shameful was how quickly you sat up to obey him. The way he looked at you like you were just a juicy piece of meat all for his ravishing hunger made your brain feel foggy.

Looking up at him, you undid the lace slowly pulling the material down. Just as you freed his cock, he grasped the back of your head, keeping your eyes on the thick length begging for attention. You couldn’t understand why you felt so willing to do anything he wanted or asked, but it was like having only him and his touch in your thoughts was a craving. Your hands gently grasped at his hips as he still knelt above you, his voice thick as anything. “It’s all yours. Just ask for it.”

“Please, Robb, my lord, I want you in my mouth.” Were he not spreading them you’d have clenched your thighs together at how tightly he fisted your hair as he almost hissed at you. Unable to risk speaking, he pushed your head forward.

You licked the tip of his cock, eyes closing at the salty taste of precum already leaking out. Moving to take the rest of his length into your hands, he tsked at you with a tightening in your hair. Fingertips flexing, you kept them on his hips as you took his tip into your mouth. Sucking gently as you licked what you could it, it didn’t miss you that even just this he stretched your mouth wide.

Ever so slowly, he allowed you to take him at your own pace, your own saliva building up and coating his cock the deeper you took him. Pushing past a certain point only a little over a third, your heart skipped a beat of what felt like panic. Robb however, seemed to sense it, loosening his grip and more massaging where he held you at your hair, his other hand reaching for your neck. His thumb gently running up and down your throat, as you felt your heart steady and your muscles relax.

“That’s a good girl. You can take all of me, I know you can.” How was he so calming yet making you even wetter all at the same time? It took some time, Robb muttering small praises before you were more then halfway down his length.

You pulled back a bit, as Robb guided your head himself now to pull your mouth up and down his cock, the sight of your closed eyes enjoying as you bobbed your head on him too much. His head falling back with a needy groan, something which might be your name thrown in there as he let you take this for now.

The more you sucked his cock, the more you forgot the world around you, the more worked up you felt on the inside and the more eager you became to take all of him. His length throbbed just as he yanked your mouth from him. A trail of saliva caught between his length and your gasping lips as you looked at him. Soaked from your mouth and shining from how much you spread his own precum along as well.

In an instant, Robb shifted. Pulling you up to his lips as he leaned down to yours. “Turn around for me,” He muttered between another kiss.

Without thought, you moved onto your hands and knees as Robb yanked your hips up more, forcing your face slightly towards the bed. One palm sliding over to roughly grasp at one of your ass cheeks he swore with a grumble under his breath. The other went to gather the wetness between your legs and ran across your clit with two fingers. You gasped as the spark of pleasure burned your core as he was firm and rough in his touch.

Pressing himself closer the tighter the rough circles he had on your clit, the more overwhelmed you felt from it. Head dropping you found it hard to breathe at the constant touch and Robb behind you left your ass to drag up your spine and grasped the back of your neck. Pushing you to stay face down into the sheets as he slid the two fingers deep inside you. Pumping quickly for only seconds before pulling them back out and up to your clit again as you begged with “Please,” and breathless “Robb- oh fuck,”

The hand on the back of your neck made you feel like an animal forcing to obey their pack leader, but perhaps that's exactly what this was. He was the wolf, and you were the mate on your hands and knees soaking his hand. Only Robb’s own need was strong.

Just as you moaned, the fire inside you burning to bright and snapping, your orgasm washing through you did Robb push inside. His cock just as soaked from your mouth and what his own touch gathered from you, he slid in deep way too fast.

You were too slick inside and he sunk deep enough in one thrust that you could’ve cried, but you may have cried more if he pulled out. Pausing, Robb leaned over you, his cock that way pressing firmer inside as he rested his forehead against the back of your own. “Fuck- I should punish you for keeping a cunt this good from me for so long.”

His hips started to move, and they were not gentle but maybe they shouldn’t have been. The pace was fast but the roughness was unrelenting to the point that you could only dig your hands into the sheets and brace yourself. He felt so thick inside of you and his thrusts so fast and rough that it took your words and your breath but not his own.

Biting at your ear he slurred out in great desire as he pounded into you, “My perfect girl, perfect little wife so fucking good for me, taking my cock,” You whined his name and his laugh almost sounded somewhat delirious. “Oh fuck, clenching around me like you want me to spill inside of you already, That what you want? Want me to fill you up already?”

You barley could nod from how pressed into the sheets you were, but you would’ve stayed that way for as long as he kept fucking you so intensely. “Anything, fuck anything Robb please,”

His strength was less rough but his pace was deliciously cruel. “Don’t say that, don’t you fucking say that if you don’t mean it.” His entire chest laid over your back as he buried his head into your neck rambling. “You have no idea the thoughts that run through my head about you, no fucking clue. You’d run back to your father if you knew the things I want to do to you.”

You cried out his name, reaching one hand blindly behind you to grab onto him and grasp his hair like your own anchor. “Please, I mean it, I mean it I promise. I’m yours, fuck-”

His words spitting into your skin as he pushed your orgasm right back to the edge, his cock having to pound into you with more force just to fuck you as deeply as you clenched so tight around him. “You’re mine, pretty girl?” You nodded but he needed more. “Say it. If you’re mine tell me, fuck tell me you’ll always be mine and I’ll fill this cunt right fucking now.”

Nothing else came to mind, only him. “Always. I’m yours, Robb. Now and always,”

The angle was awkward, but as Robb turned you to bring his lips to yours with force neither of you cared about how messy it was, how your teeth bashed against the other at one point as he kissed you and fucked you, he dragged your orgasm right around his cock.

Crying his name into his mouth, his deep groans turned to moans as he came as well. You could feel his seed, more thick then you remembered and somehow so warm as he filled you up. As long as you were still feeling shocks of pleasure from your orgasm, somehow you kept milking Robbs cock for all he could spill inside of you.

Both of you were ragged, out of breathe as he stayed inside you, laying atop you as neither tried to move him or yourself. It was a while you stayed just like that, his touch turning to gentle and soothing eventually. His voice turning much warmer and soothing again as he lulled you back to the present with soft nothing whispers.

You two only had one other night in this bed, and yet today was your last for you didn’t know how long once more. Only this time, as the men all gathered on Winterfell, you’d decide on final plans before departing and then in the dead of night?

It would be the true final judgment, did your lives truly prepare Robb and yourself for war. But at the very least, you both had the other for however this journey took you both. You weren’t going to sit idly as war fought alone for the father who made you feel as he was yours as well.

For all his faults, you at least understood what it was about Northerners that you could see would greatly put off your father. Some of these men you knew, others you didn’t but there was no question that they saw you as part of the dynamic. Maege Mormont took a liking to you right away, with a comment that would’ve flattened your father and sent him walking into the sea were it him.

“And those ingrates said you didn’t have enough of the North in you.” An arm wrapping around your shoulder, she pulled you into her tall, large frame fondly. “Looks like our lady here got plenty of Northerner in here last night.” Her other hand nudging at the marks you had quickly realized just wouldn’t get covered.

Robb had smirked quite proudly to himself when you realized he had done so on purpose.

The laughs though, didn’t put you off. From everything you’d heard about the woman next to you, your tongue slipped the words out easily as dry as ever. “I can hear the bears all growling without you to warm their nests from here, Mormont.”

Grasping your shoulder she shook you with a hearty laugh as did the others. Introducing you to her daughter, Dacey. Just as large and imposing but with the same grin on her face as she forewent the formalities with you as well.

Maege had been the one to give you the run on which lords were which and what houses you didn’t already recognize. Normally with a greeting and nudging you up yourself. Knowing the men you’d fight beside with was not out of the ordinary for you, you knew most of your own fathers bannerman by sight but the ease of their handshakes and talk put your mind at ease.

Northerners were different then you, for many reasons you got along with them but at the end of the day you to anyone else would be seen as the enemy. You grew up in the Crownlands, your Uncle was the King and your father one with his own claim down south. Your blood was that of the Andals, theirs of the First Men and yet the ones who didn’t trust you spoke to you and found little to care about in those differences.

And the others, well seeing how you already knew a number of these houses was answer too. It was hard to remember, that across the continent, another war was being prepared by the one man it seemed the Crown thought you’d stand by.

But you were told to stand by your family, and if Eddard Stark had not made you feel as if he was a father to you already? You lived half your life in the North, with these people, your heart belonging to more then one. And now you were Robb’s wife, and that made you a Stark to them more then those who still saw you as a Baratheon.

As the sky fell, more plans begun to form and a camp was in mind that would be the first act of taking them all out into the field. Draped in a fur and standing so confidently at Robb’s side you could feel the starting of looking at those who made such promise of council.

Having come over to greet Robb, you were then met with a pair of curious eyes that sat on the face of a very hard to read man. His voice was smooth and with a quiet kind of power his handshake to you felt unusually tight. His eyebrows raised however, when you squeezed back with your own strength as he now kept his eyes on you. “I must say, my lady, you are surprisingly exactly what I expected.”

Your face remained impassive as you struggled to find something behind the polite gaze. “And what would that be, Lord Bolton?”

Then there was a small half smile on one side of his mouth. “Your father has quite the reputation as a commander. I see much of that in you.” Nodding his head to Robb, “The lad is lucky to have you by his side.”

He and Robb shared an easier look before he pulled you a tad closer with a playful tug around your waist. “That I am. I’d be a fool if I just left her here after spending all those years knocking her into the dirt.” You narrowed your eyes playfully as his smirk grew wider. “Hey, I didn’t say I was still doing it.”

Bolton looked at you with a curious gaze. “I look forward to finding out how a southern girl fairs against her own kind with the North at her side.”

In the moments as he walked off you and Robb were silent before you spoke up. “You’re sure I should come with you?” His eyes narrowing as he turned to stand at your front. “You don’t think it’s a mistake having me at your side out there?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

Shaking your head, you tried turning away crossing your arms over your chest. “I know how to swing a sword, but maybe that doesn’t mean I have the right to be out there with you and these men.”

Robb grabbed your upper arms, not a trace of amusement in his eyes and a sternness in his voice as he looked at you. “How many wars have you fought in?”

“None.”

“How many have I fought in?” You tilted your head at him in indignation but he ignored it. “How many?” You repeated the last answer. “Exactly. You’ve been in as many battles as I have. You’ve trained like I have, and yet none of those men are telling either of us we should just stay here and let them do the fighting for us. They trust me to lead them as I’ve called upon them. And I trust you.”

You looked off at the nothing in the growing sunset for a bit, your voice smaller then you wished. “It’s paralyzing. Not knowing that it’s really going to be like.”

You didn’t see it but Robb smiled softly. Tilting your chin to look over at him with two fingers he leaned down to you. “At least we’ll be scared shitless together.” He pressed a short kiss to your lips before pulling away and tugging you into his side.

“Now come, we have a bunch of men in the main hall all clambering to yell about which one of them gets to do the most killing.” Huffing a laugh, you thought back to your father once more.

Certainly, a very different atmosphere then the kind of army he commanded indeed.

The more ale in their bellies the more rowdy they became over it. Robb had you sat by his side in the hall, Bran beside him on the other table end and Grey Wind having found a place between both of them on the floor. You felt for him, having to watch his brother leave off for war and leaving him in charge of Winterfell at only ten.

At the opposite end of you and Robb sat quite a large and imposing man. Greatjon Umber has a loose tongue and a louder yell as discussions continued. “For thirty years I’ve been making corpses out of men, boy. I’m the man you want leasing the vanguard.”

With one elbow on the table resting over your mouth your eyes narrowed slightly at the roundabout debate continuing on. Robb beside you was stern yet too growing agitated. “Galbart Glover will lead the van.”

Greatjon acted as if he’d just been served piss stew as he scrunched his face up in offence. “The bloody wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover.” Robb leaned forward, resting both hands together in front of him, his shoulders tense. “I will lead the Van, or I will take my men and march them home.”

You rose your head high, a narrowed look that caught Brans attention before Robb’s did. His eyes were unamused when he looked to Greatjon. Sitting back as his voice came out rough and yet unwavering in tone. “You are welcome to do so Lord Umber.” Standing slowly he braced his palms on the table as the ferocity didn't even blink in his eyes. “And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker.”

“Oathbreaker?” Jumping from his seat, Robb stood straight as you and multiple others stood from yours in defence. The man pushing his luck a great deal too far had silence wash over the hall. “I’ll not sit here here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass-”

In an instant something that caught stuck with you played out. Not even half a second went by, did he reach for a blade by his side did Robb’s eyes narrow slightly and a growl let out. Grey Wind leaped up onto the table and in a few short steps lunged onto the man grasping at his hand with his teeth.

A snap echoed as Greatjon yelled out in pain on the ground, while Grey Wind calmly returned to Robb’s side. Calm as the wolf had been moments before the outrage as Robb scratched behind one of his ears staring still at the rising man holding his bleeding hand. “My lord father taught me it was death to bare steel against your liege lord. But doubtless. The Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me.”

Throwing his chair to the side, none moved but all with watching unsure eyes as you and Robb both stood next to each other with still gazes. “Your meat...” Something in the man seemed to dull back down as he looked around the room then back to the two of you. Realizing in his haste, he had pushed Robb too far and bore the punishment for the subordination. He rose his bleeding hand, and so did he lighten his tone. “Is bloody tough.”

A different air in a Northern Army indeed, as both men started to laugh as did the hall join in with ease as the tension melted down to nothing. Crime committed, justice given and both men could look at the other knowing their limits. For a quick second as the man looked at you, a smirk on his face as Robb placed a hand on your thigh, the touch burning as if his blood ran hot from such an encounter.

“No wonder you fit so well, lass. I’m not the only one whose got a wild bite or two in ‘em now am I?” Gesturing with the bloody hand to your neck, maybe you should feel ashamed for such marks be so glaringly obvious but the laughs that came weren’t at you. In fact a fair few seemed to be of an amused approval.

Robb beside you, tightened his grip on your thigh. Roughed up by a wolf indeed, you were. Only you’d ask for it, even beg for it at this point. The warmth of Robb beside you, the heat of the castle, and yet for some reason as you glanced at him? Feeling something grow inside of you at how easily he sat there in control of such a rowdy barrage of soldiers?

You felt a strange wave of cold, a cold that felt just like that image of fire and rasping tone that so far away from you now, you couldn’t quite recall what it was you had dreamt. But the cold returned as you sat there, at Robbs side preparing to leave for war.

It didn’t last, but it wasn’t the same cold that the army had all left into. Whatever cold and the distant rasp seemed to be trying to get to you with, was something that not even the furs around you shook off.

For only a second, you thought of ice.

Snow had begun to fall once you had reached Moat Caitlin. Only a light dusting that stayed not long after hitting the ground but it felt fitting. The North left for war and this brought the cold with them.

You had all left in the middle of the night, eyes could be on you at any time and under the cover of darkness was the safest bet. Robb took no chance at allowing the Lannisters to find out they were coming. You both had looked back at Winterfell one last time before turning to the other. If the other had nerves running through their heart, neither of you showed it.

A number of you stood in one of the tents, around a map as word reached you all of both forces against you. Tywin Lannister had his army planted close to the Trident and had the numbers, but with a lesser number still greater then the North had, Jaime Lannister was besieging Riverrun fast and pushing them back close to their tails.

“Lord Tywin has more commanders at his own camp-”

“Jaime’s moving faster through-”

Your eyes trained on the map, seeing the forces move in the stillness of the image as you looked to the numbers coming to mind. Either choice was risky, yet the lands that surrounded them spoke to different fights to come. The man around you speaking in your watchful quiet, “Our scouts confirm it’s even larger then the Kingslayer’s.”

“One army or two, the Kings in the North threw back hosts ten times as large.”

You were quiet but the eyes you as you spoke both had a similar understanding. “We worry about their numbers to ours we’ll be here until they find us. We push on Tywin and there’s nothing around us except to chance us against theirs.”

Roose Bolton glanced to you curiously, “What are you suggesting?”

“If we break-” Multiple lords at once looking up, had you and Robb turn to a sight that you hadn’t expected. Lady Catelyn stood with Ser Rodrick almost with a look between shock and worry on her face to the scene she arrived at.

Her and Robb shared a moment where they hesitated to embrace in front of the men, almost making you smirk. Truly there was more love in that little moment then you think you’d ever seen publically from your father in a lifetime. Whatever image of leadership was at their thoughts was already far too much for Stannis Baratheon.

Lady Catelyn smiled at her son in front of his men at the minimum.

Looking at you, she found a far sight from the stripped down emotions you two shared in Brans room as he lay unconscious. Had you asked her, you reminded her far more of the detached reputation of Lord Stannis. You nodded once at her as she requested, “I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.”

In a quick moment, you found yourself feeling unwelcome. Not to any fault of hers, but you found yourself pulling from Robb. His quick touch to your waist pushed back gently as you jolted your head to the entrance of the tent. “You heard her.”

Beside you, Theon was shoved forward as well. Greatjon snatching him like wrangling a child, “You too, Greyjoy. Are you bloody deaf?”

The pair of you came beside the other as you gave the pair space to talk, you not looking back at what still didn’t feel like your place. Theon however, felt no qualms of bringing it up. “You’re as much her family as you are Robb’s you know.”

Face flat, you shrugged a shoulder. “She said alone. Can’t be alone if I’m there.” Looking forward you could see Grey Wind wandering along the edges of the camp, eyes trained on you without having any need of. You thought of that day in the hall before looking back to the men around you. Theon kept looking as you shook your head. “What?”

Stopping, you turned to look at him as he looked not like he did to a superior he served, but just as the boy you spent years with at Lord Stark’s side. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Brows narrowing in confusion he stepped forward with an eye roll. “Your father’s off on an island about to declare war on the Lannisters too and you’re not with him. Don’t try and tell me that doesn’t make you feel a bit fucked up.”

Oh, oh this is not what you wanted to talk about at all. It was hard to tell if you gave anything away in your expression as you looked to him. “Robb’s-”

“A husband that he chose for you.” Something inside you felt uncomfortable, not with Theon but with an implication you were clever enough to pick up on. “I’m just saying, you’re still that old bastards daughter and if he’s the one with the actual claim to the throne then that-”

“Don’t.” A harsh almost whispered hiss that took him back. You did not want to hear this, that was not the life you chose and not something you were meant for. “I’m not fighting for a fucking chair, Theon. I’m here for the Starks. That’s all.”

The air between you was thick at the sheer amount that neither of you were saying, and it wasn’t lost on you how he didn’t chose his path to serve this House as you did to marry into it. If he was almost one, as he was insinuating that you could be one right now?

Absolutely not. You wanted nothing to do with this, and neither should he. He tried saying your name and you shook your head. “We are not discussing this.”

You hated whatever the hell this had turned into. Something unspoken and volatile swimming between you both that if you wanted nothing to do with, you pleaded on the inside for him to drop it as well. It was not the same as what happened then. This was about Lord Stark, about the girls, about keeping together the family that had made you both like one of their own.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Grey Wind perched closer by with an eeiry aggressive look in his eye looking in Theons direction. Nervously looking between you both, he backed off with a genuine regret. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“It was.” A mere second passed before you exhaled. Looking around the camp with a much easier time breathing before turning to stand more beside him as you felt the brush of Grey Wind come to sit close next to you, your hand reaching down to run over his head gently.

“Now that you’re married, is it wrong of me to say you look sexy in that armour?”

Whatever he tried to bring up, now gone into the wind once more. It wasn’t a life meant for either of you, and you knew it. So you both stood there and laughed. Nudging him with your arm he nudged back as you both glanced with a small smirk. “Still look better then you, Greyjoy.”

If something more was running through his head, it was impossible to say, but you laughed together and felt less like you both were here armed and armoured for bloodshed. But once more two people who had long bonded over irritating duties and even more distant fathers.

Running your hand over Grey Wind you spotted Maege Mormont over in the distance, what looked like yelling but could just be her natural manner when story telling. The rowdiness of the northern army stood out so much more. The only other army you’d truly seen ironically was what led you to Theon.

Your father had taken charge of taking down his uncle, Victarion Greyjoy and his Iron Fleet in the Straits of Fair Isle. A victory which allowed your uncle, Robert and Eddard Stark to gain access to the Iron Islands and end the rebellion. In exchange for Balon’s life he surrendered his ambitions to take his crown and gave his last living son up as a ward to the Starks.

Victarion as far as you knew continued to serve his brother and the third, Euron had been banished for crimes that you need not think about. That was a man who was a true Iron Islander. Does and takes what he wants, only paying what they called the Iron Price. If they want something they only get it by taking it. Standing next to Theon though?

Watching other Northerners? You two felt similar. Neither of you belonged with these people by blood, but in many ways you also didn’t feel at home with your real blood. Balon hadn’t been Theon’s father for ten years and Stannis had not treated you like a real daughter in the ten years since Shireen was born either. Yet you stood here now, accepted amongst these kinds and both someone of great importance to Robb Stark.

But still, perhaps what was spoken between you? Was just the insecurity of both, the worry that you wouldn’t be seen as one of them, and the wonder if you should be? For now, all you had to focus on was getting the Starks back.

Everything else now was secondary. This wasn’t a war of anything but justice.

It was Catelyn who later found you, “It seems our families can’t stop going into war together.”

Looking up at her from where you had been partially leaning against a tree, your tilted your head in mild agreement before looking back out to the camp. “Perhaps the crown should stop giving us reasons too.” Clearly there was something else on her mind, but you could see she was struggling to find the right words for it. Pushing up you stood next to her for a moment before speaking up. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Her face shifting into something confused before it morphed more into a motherly concern, saying your name consolingly you just shook your head and looked straight.

“No, I know I shouldn’t have. I thought I didn’t have enough time to get to him, or find Arya or Sansa and I just left. I was there to stand by your husband and do my duty, and I failed that.”

You could sense part of her wanting to come closer, the soft embrace of a mother but with your arms crossed and a distant harsh stare she looked down before taking but one step closer to your side. Not that she said anything, but it didn’t fail to occur to Catelyn that her own reunion with Robb was likely nowhere near anything you’d get should you see your own father and mother again.

The truth she spoke wasn’t sugar coated at the least, “If you had stayed there, the Lannisters would prefer your head on a spike then to even consider trading you.”

A whisper, but one without fear or pain as if you had thought of it too many times to be bothered anymore. “Knowing Joffery, he’d have it sent to my father. Paint a nice picture of what he was willing to do to keep his uncle from taking his throne.”

It bothered Catelyn that this didn’t seem to horrify you as it did her or Robb. “And yet you still think you shouldn’t have left? What would that do, whose justice are you serving by rotting away in a cell?”

A question you thought you knew, but the more you considered it the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that running wasn’t how you were raised. “We both stood in that room and committed the same crime, but I’m the one free and he isn’t. My duty was to stand by his side, what should these men think of me? Knowing I fled that?”

“Your duty is also to stand by Robb’s side, is it not?” Shoulders tensing, you felt tightness in your chest that put a pressure on your lungs. “There is every chance we can get Ned and the girls back safely, but you’re also Lord Stannis’s daughter. Cersei thinks she has no reason to fear us, but she does about your father. And killing you sends a better message then keeping you alive.”

Your eyes were trained down on your feet, a noise in your head that begun to turn into an ache. “I’m willing to wager trading your families lives in favour of my own would’ve caused a lot less bloodshed.”

She had no chance to respond, Robb’s warm voice coming up behind you both. “You mind if I steal her away?” Catelyn relented, but a look between them spoke of a worry in her eyes as his hand found it’s way to your lower back and pushing you forward. Beside him was a larger man, a harsh narrowed almost glare on his face and an armour that was dissimilar to the men around him but a little more like the lighter material of yours. The black colour also flared out in what looked like scales.

Robb introducing you both, and the design clicked. Brynden Tully, known to many as the Blackfish. You nodded to him as he watched you back with a curious look. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, my lady but I would’ve much preferred it to be anywhere but here.”

A weak willed half smirk slid onto your face for only seconds. “Same to you.”

Robb could sense something wasn’t quite right, but it just wasn’t the moment to address it nor did he suspect you were going to make that easy. He’d seen Theon talk to you about something and since then it was like something changed in your brain and kept you at arms from everyone around you.

At least it’d be easy to get out of the Greyjoy what he said then to try and force you to explain what was bothering you. He knew all too well you tended to keep it bottled up until it exploded.

The area around the table was crowded as those present huddled to debate their movements, plotting out who was where in the process. Robb was standing at the head, you and Theon on either side of him. Ser Rodrik to your left, then around the bend was Greatjon Umber, Brynden Tully, Rickard Karstark then closing the loop beside Theon was Roose Bolton.

Night had fallen on the camp and a decision needed to be made now if they were to have any chance at riding ahead of any scouts from the opposite end. Roose Bolton leaning forward as he debated his own stance. “We need to get him on broken ground, put his knights at a disadvantage.”

Greatjon was loud in response to the former’s more quiet tone but with no less fever. “No, we need to get around him and break Jaime Lannister’s siege of Riverrun. Do that and the River Lords will join us.”

Peeling your eyes from the map you met the man’s eyes, a spark of agreement that had you both give the other a very slight nod. Loud and brash, but he had a better point in your eyes. Robb beside you had his eyes much like yours on the map as he plotted out in his head. “To do either we need to cross the river, and the only crossing is at The Twins.”

Palms braced on the table, you scratched at the wood with your nails slightly. “Robb’s right, we need that bridge, but Lord Frey isn’t going to just open the gates and let us pass. Or if the Lannisters have bribed him to their side.”

Brynden Tully rapped his knuckles lightly against the map, “We get to the Twins, then what is it going to be? Do we move against Jaime, or Lord Tywin?”

The answer on Robb’s tongue was interrupted however, two men dragging a small man covered in grime in between. “Pardon, my lords. We’ve captured a Lannister scout.”

Both you and Theon taking an edge and throwing it over the other half to cover the pieces at play, catching the Greatjon’s amused attention. “Don’t you worry, he won’t be leaving this tent with his head.”

Robb watched the scout with careful, dark eyes. Calmly asking where they found him. “In the brush above the encampment. He looked to be counting.”

The quiet in the tent was thick, the only sound being Robb making his way around to the front never taking his eyes off the nervous scout. Coming in front of him, he still made no move that put him at any less fear. “How high did you get?”

Eyes darting around the room before looking back to him, “Twenty thousand. Maybe more.”

Leaning forward, you watched Robb who had yet to give anything away but you could see the gears in his head click into place. Ser Rodrick beside you, knowing him still as a boy tried to offer an out. “You don’t have to do this yourself, your father would understand-”

Turning to him, Robb looked not like the boy he thought he was speaking too, and his voice as sure as any of the seasoned fighters in the tent. “My father understands mercy, when there is room for it.” The men around you far more looked with less confidence as he looked back to the scout. “Let him go.”

The smallest whisper of protest was let out, but a pride filled you with how quickly it was shut down as Robb turned to look at them all. Only as his eyes met you, did yours narrow slightly with a tiny tilt down of your head almost like a nod of yes. You could see the conclusion, both Greatjon and Roose were right.

Stepping towards the scout, Robb leaned in close, voice low and a dangerous authority to it that ran shivers down your spine. “Tell Lord Tywin, winter is coming for him. Twenty thousand northerners marching south to find out if he really does shit gold.”

Almost shocked at leaving with his life, the scout had some decency before being dragged out. “Yes my lord, thank you my lord.”

It appeared, his choice was not yet clicking in some. Both Roose Bolton and Greatjon Umber appeared their own distinct variety of angry but it was the hulking size of the later that rounded the table to get into Robb’s face. Almost spitting as he scolded him, “Are you touched boy? Letting him go?”

Without even a blink, Robb was quietly calm and unflinching. “You call me boy again.” Greatjon leaned forward as did Robb. “Go on.”

Greatjon stammered, taking a leave with nothing more then a huff. A rowdy man that you suspected wouldn’t quite temper that aggression until Robb could prove his worth, a worth you had no doubt in whatsoever. Turning back, he looked to you as your eyes shined with a proud and impressed glaze over them, pulling the map back Robb assumed his previous position. Two carved wolf heads being put down in front of each carved Lion.

“Once we reach below the Neck, we split into two.”

The plan had to move fast, whatever negotiation with Lord Walder Frey was going to have to be done quickly. Roose Bolton would lead two thousand men to the Green Fork and sneak up on Tywin in the early morning before any word could reach him or Jaime Lannister that the main force of the army was sneaking right up on the kingslayer in Riverrun.

If the scouts were correct, you’d come right up behind him at Whispering Wood but first as you stood on the hill in sight of the crossing at the Twins you knew time was ticking. Theon stood primed with a bow, ensuring no word was coming in or out by raven. So far none stood out, and none were directed anywhere but as letters to other Freys, the last one read out by Theon, “A birthday to his grand niece Walda.”

“Or so Walder Frey would have you think.” Catelyn looking to Theon, “Keep shooting them down, we can’t risk Lord Walder sending any word to the Lannisters.”

You and Robb stood next to one another, the tensity in your veins seemed to twist and connect to his as you stared at the bridge in the bright barley rising sun. “Father rots in a dungeon, how long before they take his head? We need to cross the Trident and we need to do it now.”

Theon looking over to him, “Just march up to his gates and tell him you’re crossing, we’ve got five times the numbers. You can take the twins if you have too.”

Watching the sight you could only see the darkness of the black cells you knew Eddard Stark was still tossed into. “Not in time, Lord Tywin will either get too far north to surprise or he’ll hear word from his own scouts before we can get Bolton and his men at their heels.” You and Robb glanced the other, an urgency in both your eyes. “For six hundred years they’ve exacted their toll, we need to get in there and make a deal now.”

“Have my horse saddled and ready.” Peeling his eyes from you, Robb looked to his mother who turned to look at him with her own disapproval.

“Enter the Twins alone and he’ll sell you to the Lannisters.”

Others threw out other suggestions, but if you were to get across now there was no use in standing around debating how to go about it. The longer it took as well the was increasing the chance that you’d lose the ambush on Jaime. Robb shutting down his mens protest. “My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took, and if I’m going to lead this army I won’t have other men doing my bargaining for me.”

Just as he looked down to you, Catelyn spoke up. “I agree. I’ll go.” The protests were just as loud as before but there was a calm confidence in her. “I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me.”

Something turned in your stomach, like it was filling up with blood and threatening to spill out from a slice inside it. Only Robb heard you, gripping your wrist with a thumb over your pulse to ease you down as you whispered. “Unless he had a profit in it.”

Nerves raced within you the longer time ticked by, an antsy feeling that refused to give up no matter how calm others around you felt. You supposed this was normal, that most in your position felt this way but the passing of time had you staring out to the water like jumping in would wash away the growing lurch of anxiety.

Sat down on a high stone nearby, you had one arm laying across your chest as your elbow rested on it to bring your nails up to your lips. Threatening to tear at the skin until a rough hand slid across the back of your neck firmly. “You know it never felt real until right now.”

Robb didn’t question, just coaxed you to stand up. Facing you now his hand drifted more to the side of your neck so his thumb stroked at your jaw. His blue eyes bright in the morning sun and an anxious pang smacked you at what was to come once more. You grabbed at his wrist, turning with it so he rested it alongside your collarbone and you leaned back into the cold armour on his chest.

“All these men, they all came at my call. Following my commands, but they’re all far less terrified then I am.” Your hand tightened against him with a furrow of your brows. “Maybe they’ll know we’re coming, get the jump on us and then I lead them all into a slaughter.” You could feel him glancing at those whom were to be headed towards the Kingsroad into Tywins forces. “More then I already am.”

His voice was deep and rough in your ear as he forced himself to stay calm about it. “I thought the scariest part would be the prospect of yourself dying when I was a kid. I never understood why my father didn’t even blink twice when he set out to take out the Iron Fleet, but I think I get it.”

Your heart raced and your limbs itched to move as you both stood there, “I’m not just watching you sail off to war and hope you come back. I’d have to watch it, or even worse have to live with myself knowing I survived and you don’t.”

He didn’t show the fear he spoke of, it was kept tight in his chest and you wished you had that ability to stay so together. “Then we just don’t die then.” You could feel the small grin in his voice, bringing one out of you as Brynden approached.

“Pardon the interruption, but I know two scared shitless kids when I see it.” If the anxiety weren’t so strong you may have felt flustered at how Robb didn’t move an inch from you as he turned to his great uncle. “Saying we all felt the same before our first time won’t help, but it’s true.”

Robb holding you an indeterminable amount of tighter, “It’s not just being able to fight, I have to lead these men. My father needs me to lead them.” His voice was controlled, not letting much get passed an even tone.

Coming next to you both, Brynden from that angle reminded you a lot of Catelyn. Tougher, brasher and far more authoritative by nature you assumed, but you could see the same worry in his eyes that you had seen in hers many times. “If you weren’t good enough to lead them you would’ve have gotten all them this far anyways. Not just anyone can command twenty thousand men for the first time. Gods know Edmure doesn’t have that kind of leadership.”

You hadn’t met him, but from all accounts he seemed to be in a similar place as Renly once was in the trio of siblings. The youngest and the one which didn’t have the same kind of authority that ran deep in the families blood. At least the Tully didn’t see fit to crown himself and tear the family apart.

Not a single Baratheon was working together, and yet the Starks and Tullys both seek to work together for the sake of a cause of family and justice. The only Baratheon who is even with another of your family is Shireen, but being ten she didn’t count. You were quiet in volume, but the more you leaned against Robb the calmer you felt. “Your fathers a good leader, for all his faults mine is too but I think that’s the problem.” Robb looked down to you, his curls brushing over the side of your head slightly. “You’ve gotten us this far on your own merit, and we didn’t follow you because we expect you to be like Lord Stark. We all followed you because we trust in you.”

Brynden nodding to him, a fond look in his eye to his great nephew before looking to you. “And you’re certainly not your father.” Looking over with a raised eyebrow he shrugged his shoulders as his arms crossed his sleek black armour. “Trust me, us riverlands folk might be more forgiving, but that lot wouldn’t trust Robb if they thought you’d bring him down.”

You bit your tongue, keeping your face impassive. “Guess I die, we’ll find out if that's true.”

Maybe on another day this talk of death would’ve put Robb off, but this was your first battle as it was his. You both knew the others skill, but there was too much at stake in this battle. You lose this and you lose this entire fight for Lord Stark’s life. You lose this with your life? Even worse.

Jaime would have yours and Robb’s head sent to Kings Landing and no doubt Joffery would parade them around the court boasting about what fools the northerners are. You had been in a cell expecting that to be you, but you’d rather throw yourself down in front of the court then have the same done to Robb.

Some time passed before Robb spoke up again, “What do you think he’s asking? Walder Frey?”

Brynden rose an eyebrow with a grimace on his face. “Be thankful you’re married already. There’s nothing Frey wants more then to spread that damned family of his across the kingdoms more then their ugly mugs already are.”

You never considered yourself attractive, your mother was never spoken of like the beauty of the Stark women, your own sister whispered as “that ugly daughter” like they had any right. You briefly wondered if he’d be better off with a pretty Frey girl, a strangely childish and girly worry while you waited to send men off to battle.

By the time Catelyn had returned, you all were quite antsy through the whole camp. Those whose blooded their swords before ready to jump atop their horses and go, and others worried about how long it would take before it was too late in the morning to not be spotted early.

Looking up, she seemed to have an air of relief about her. Robb beside you spoke first, “Well? What did he say?”

All in the tent dropping with a sigh as she spoke, “Lord Walder has granted your crossing. His men are yours as well.” The Greatjon letting out a small sound at the news. Numbers were indeed what you needed desperately with the events about to come. “Less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you.”

Now comes the part all dreaded as he asked, “And what does he want in return?”

“You will be taking on his son Olyvar as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood in good time.” You held off a smirk at the easy dismissal from Robb, more of a nuisance then a burden at the least so far. However, “And Arya will marry his son Elmar when they both come of age.”

You and Robb did share a glance at that one, you could genuinely hear her yelling about such a thing from here. You tilted your head with a slight grimace, “She won’t like that one bit.” Catelyn paused, making you both worry. “And?”

She sighed to herself, glancing at Brynden. “When the fighting is done, Edmure is to marry one of his daughters. Whichever he prefers.” So Arya wouldn’t be the only one causing a fuss over this deal it seemed, but it was so. Crossing was granted.

As the horses mounted, the drawbridge crossed you, Robb, and Roose Bolton passed first. The pair of you nodding to the man, his own confident back. “When we meet again, my lord, my lady.” Watching two thousand men ride off in the direction to get the jump on Tywin Lannister you and Robb looked at one another.

For everything you worried about earlier, it was that sight and that sight alone that had you both feeling unwell. Roose was a skilled man and a terrifying one at that, but the men he led weren’t being drawn to a fair fight. They were cattle being tossed onto the Lannisters for slaughter as you jumped on the other.

You and Robb looked at one another as the men all crossed to the other side. His voice was even and confident like the man you’d seen last night. “You with me?”

You exhaled the shaking on the inside. “Now and always.”

The feeling you had watching the men head one way was the same feeling Catelyn had the watching her son and his wife lead the others in the opposite. Ser Rodrick stayed behind with her, from the point of safety when she refused to leave. The longer the two of them waited, the more she felt her heart tear itself up.

When she had watched Ned ride off to war over two decades ago, she had found out soon after she was pregnant. Robb was the thing that carried her through being alone in that war and now she sat atop her horse, waiting to see if that same son would come back. A son who started a war to rescue his father.

And you. As she waited, Catelyn felt she hadn’t given you the chance. She’d known you since you were a little girl, watched you grow up on and off in her own home and see her children and husband consider you one of their own. But the older you got, the more your friendships started to form and she couldn’t help but think she let one of those get in the way.

It made sense, out of all of her husbands children you and Jon Snow were the most alike. The quieter ones, a little more reserved and closed off and tended to be on the sidelines. A night she remembered vividly, you had been twelve and Jon fourteen, you two had snuck out in the dead of night. Arya was barley two, and was terrorizing Cat’s sleep by doing nothing but fuss and cry at night.

She walked through the second floor outside, gently humming her newborn to sleep when she saw you both come into the yard from the stables. The pair of you soaking wet, head to toe clothes and all as Jon was walking you both forward, his arms wrapped around your front as you could barley speak through teeth chattering laughter.

Apparently having snuck out to ride to a small lake in the dead of night, Jon had picked you up and tossed you in the water, and when you went to climb out, he jumped in himself and dragged you back with him. You both were so comfortable with the other in a way she hadn’t seen from you and Robb, not that you and him weren’t friends but she’d just never seen Jon like this.

It was painfully obvious to her in that moment, Jons crush. She didn’t know when it went away, but the older he got the less she ever saw it until it stopped occurring to her. You were younger, you were only twelve and hadn’t even bled yet, you weren’t thinking of boys that way. The boys did though. Robb, almost fifteen by then had confessed to Cat that he thinks he liked you and it was seeing that same crush in her husbands bastard son’s that made her put a block up.

That crush went away for Jon, and eventually it seemed to simmer down for Robb as you both became adults and had other duties to attend too. But she always kept something in her mind as if it was your fault that you were just closer to Jon. Like you chose a side, but where were you now?

In the thick of Whispering Wood fighting by your husbands side, by Robbs side and she felt ashamed for not having looked to you like the daughter you were now. You both didn’t marry in love, but the foundations were all there.

She hadn’t accepted that when Robb called the banners, it was you he was also fighting for, and yet you were the one who fought your way back to him first just so he didn’t have to ride into war alone. She’d seen the way her son looks at you and it wasn’t fair of her to dismiss you like you were just another soldier in his army.

Catelyn saw the way that you only ever looked like there was truly a living breathing emotional woman in there when you looked at her son. The way you and Robb would grasp at the others wrist was just like that day in Brans room. Grasping at the boys wrist, feeling his pulse as weak as it was to remind yourself that he was indeed still alive.

You hadn’t lectured her, judged her, or said anything but your own understanding of her grief. You hugged her, kissed the top of her head like she was the child in need of comfort and not you. And she hadn’t given you any of that courtesy from the moment she returned.

“We should go, my lady.” Catelyn didn’t even look at him as she refused. Ser Rodrick leaning closer with more urgency, “My lady..” But horses were in the distance. And Catelyn would see them no matter what.

Hearing them gallop and neigh before beyond the treeline did they appear, dark ones all around the edges and two light ones up front. Was it a laugh or a sob that left her? Maybe both. But she smiled none the less.

You and Robb both rode next to the other. Grime, dirt, blood all covered him and you as your eyes trained harsh and forward. Your nerves had all but been shot out of their existence and your heart no longer pounding from your chest but weighing down inside of it. It was both everything you expected and yet none like it.

It was worse but not the nightmare you imagined somehow, and through it all the victory was with no question. The Lannisters had bigger numbers but were overrun like they were sparkling boys of summer unable to keep up. As you had been taught, you weren’t ever going to be strong like them. So you were quick, dodging all the lessons came back to you in many voices at once that blended together until you acted without them.

It was truly hell, but not one that you couldn’t do again. You’d only ever seen the Kingslayer almost overpowered once when he was up against Lord Stark and this time it seemed he had only become cockier for the worse. A man like him looked at Robb like a boy, young and inexperienced that was in over his head until blood was seeping from his face at Robb’s mercy.

Men trying him up with no care of how rough they handled him, Robb had looked to Grey Wind as his teeth bared and the blood pumped in his veins. Grey Wind snarling at the Kingslayer before running to where he had kept track of you.

Robb cared not who saw him stride up to his wife, and grab you by both sides of your face pulling you into a biting kiss before checking you over to see if you were hurt. If the men had anything to laugh about such a display, let them, he said.

Now as the man all surrounded the area, you climbed off your horse as Jaime Lannister was dumped onto the ground in front of Robb. Coming up to his side, you stared him down with nothing more then dark eye. Being jostled up onto his knees before you both, he looked up to you and had finally decided which house he saw fit you belonged too. “Lady Stark. I’d offer you my sword, but I’ve seemed to have lost it.”

His smug face and bright green eyes had once been described as handsome but they all painted him in a vile image as did the voice attached. “I’d take far more from you before that, Lannister.”

Theon stood behind him, the blood in his veins having not yet cooled he was loud and worked up as he spoke with vigor. “Kill him Robb. Send his head to his father, he cut down ten of our men. You saw him.”

Eyes now dark and glaring, Robb spoke low and calm as the eyed the once great fighter on his knees bloody and broken. “He’s more use to us alive then dead.” Standing there, he looked truly like the wolf he was meant to be.

Glancing up at Greatjon you nodded to him, “Put him in irons, feel free to make sure they’re tight.”

Grabbing him roughly, Greatjon yanked him up as Jaime just could not control that mouth of his. A flaw he never outgrew it seemed. Twice your ages and more of a patronizing child in the face of the Stark who beat him firsthand. “We could end this war right now, boy. Save thousands of lives.”

Call him a boy, you thought but he was more of a man then the Lannister had ever been in his entire life. Letting him spill out his little speech as he watched with no taste for the games. “You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, lances, teeth, nails choose your weapon, and let’s end this here and now.”

Robb didn’t hesitate against him. “If we do it your way, kingslayer. You’d win. We’re not doing it your way.”

You nodded at Greatjon to take him away, him snatching him up and dragging him along, “Come on, pretty man.”

The men around you and Robb cheered, smiles and yells for what they’d accomplished. But you and him looked not at them, not each other. His voice broke your heart as it was full of sorrow, “I sent two thousand men to their graves today.”

Theon trying his cheer, “The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice.”

Lannister called Robb a boy, but there was man beside you. One full of a painful responsibility that he felt in his bones, one that was no game or glory that he knew rested on him. “Aye, but the dead won’t hear them.” He stepped towards you, arms pressed up against the other as you both looked out to the men around.

Robb twisted his hand, grabbing your wrist and you did his. Both of you feeling the beating pulse of the other under their thumb, and pressing against it with harsher pressure in desperation. His voice was loud, cracks as he cared not to hide the weight of their losses. “One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the Queen?”

You held each other tighter as he pleaded the reality to his men. “Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?” There was quiet amongst them. “This war is far from over.”

Robb looked to you finally and you back, not letting go of the other for a while after. But he was right, this war was not yet over. Only, the war he set out towards burned in front of you when the raven arrived as hours turned to a passing day upon its landing.

Dragged away from the other as the slimy words of Janos Slynt coated your ears and his roughness scratched you up, the last you saw of him was the shocked, angry betrayal as you were forced from the other. The last you saw of him was the seconds after you both had put your lives on the line for the sake of the truth, and as it turned out it would be the final time.

Silence was painful in the camp that day. Defeat heavy in the hearts of men who all came together and just as they begun it was taken off of them. You heard not the quiet words of the soldiers you passed, and you didn’t know if they thought you cared. Face cold, staring forward with nothing but a shaking will power to stay stoned and together in front of them.

You felt no breathe leaving or entering your lungs, but they screamed at you as the world felt fuzzy and the sensations coming to you felt unreal. You had reached a clearing that was scarce by the edge of the camp as you collapsed with your back against a tree.

Kneeling over all alone you gasped, ragged breaths that stung and did nothing to settle you. The panic and gut churning anxiety of what you had done, left behind to such a fate made you feel sick and horrified. Someone on an island you once called home, Stannis Baratheon was alive and well.

So why did this feel like you lost a father? Why did the last thing you did, being smuggled out of the city without Eddard Stark feel like you were at fault and you had the sword in your own had that did it? Why was the world spinning and your breaths coming out in cries you hadn’t noticed?

For years you knew him, and now you felt as if you had been Joffery and you had cut his head off. But no, not even Joffery would do it, he’d leave the pain of being Eddard Stark’s killer to others and not get his hands dirty.

The senses around you only came too when the sound of another person was somewhere ahead of yourself. Yells followed by a thud, grunts that had a similar crying pain to them that called to you, the cool air revealing tears down your cheeks you didn’t know fell in such volume.

Coming up the hill in the brush of the woods did the sun peeking it’s final moments brighten the scene before you. And there was the now the only thing your heart could see. The slashes of his sword against the tree were harsh and violent, and the pain yelling out each time from Robb cut you as he did it.

Twice you tried calling his name, but the sob in your own throat fought with it. Forcing yourself up an edge to the flat ground he stood at you called to him once more, a waver in your voice. “Robb,”

The man he was, gone. Tears of his own, face twisted and broken as he heaved looking at you. Maybe you should be comforting, but he wouldn’t be fooled if you tried to ignore the tears of your own as you looked a the other. You had such little conviction in your tone, nothing but a weak softness that knew there was nothing you could say. “I-”

Head dropping down, his hands gave up. Letting his ruined sword fall to the dirt and leaves as he stepped towards you. He was no longer the man, the leader you saw, and you were not the woman his men watched stand by his side.

He collapsed into your arms, his wrapping around your waist as you both knelt down. You wrapped yours around his shoulders, and one cradling the back of his head to your neck as you perched in his lap. Trying to hold as much of the larger man as you could in your arms as he held onto you.

Robb spoke and it was nothing but pain, a growl in his tears that was a wolf too in pain to hold himself up. But there was such anger and pain in his voice that it pulled more tears from you, and you pulling him closer to you. “I’ll kill them all. Every single one of them. I’m going to kill them all.”

You ducked your head into his curls and kept him close, his arms tightening around you. Your voice was like a whisper in his hair only for him, and with a softness that was new to both. “My love,” He held you closer. “I’m with you, I promise. You and I, we stay together from now on, and I promise we will kill them all.”

Pulling his head up enough, he found the strength to cup your cheeks as his blue eyes found strength for one thing only to give you. Muttering close to you, you felt his breathe on your face as he spoke and his words only pulled tears more. “I love you, now and always.”

You pressed your forehead to his, feeling like the only two who existed anymore and your heart couldn’t find a way to be closer if you tried, you returning the gesture as you held the others face impossibly close. “And I love you now, and always will.”

You shared a kiss, gentle and both of you poured your heart into it. Pulling back, he fell into your neck and your face into his hair. Neither you nor Robb know how long you knelt there together, but there was only one thing you walked away with and it was the only one either of you needed.

Robb had made you his lady wolf, and in turn you gave him your heart and the young wolf gave you his.

The gods had punished you all, and now, they intended for one final test. Your heart was Robb’s, but your loyalty? Your sword? Your duty to the justice demanded from you?

Your heart was asked to choose between something and you made that choice to Robb. But you had another that you didn’t expect, and one you had no way of knowing was coming that same night.

Fitting in with this lot seemed to be of your nature. Neither you, nor Robb, or Catelyn displayed the sheer pain felt by Ned’s loss but as you looked at her, and her you? She saw the pain you could see in her and once more her doubt of you melted away. Robb sat you next to him with Grey Wind laying by his feet as the men gathered around.

His hand was on your thigh as he had you sit up against him with no shame for his display.

Roose Bolton had returned with the few straggling survivors to the news, and thus the fighting begun. A purpose you all came together to fight was taken from you. Now? There were three kings pulling in every direction. Three kings and no agreement.

From one end Galbert Glover had been fighting with the Blackwoods before he turned to Robb with confidence. “The proper course is clear. Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with him.”

Robb watched you shut your eyes in a frustration he knew was making your head pound. Grey Wind below him reached his head up to run against your leg as Robb yelled, “Renly is not the king.”

Glover for all his skill as a soldier, was not a man who could read the camp well. “You cannot mean to hold to Joffery, my lord. He put your father to death.”

You peeled your eyes to look up at the man with a fierce glare and gritted teeth, “That doesn’t make Renly King.” The camp had been growing to learn to listen to your quiet tones as they many times were laced with a surety that many of them did not have.

Robb shutting down that side of the debate, “He’s Robert’s youngest brother. If Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can’t be king before Stannis.” Someone in the crowd asking if this meant they were to declare for Stannis.

As he looked to you, and you to him there was a tightness in your face that screamed of a doubt that was difficult to explain and impossible in front of this lot. But Robb could read you easy, a hesitation about loyalty to your own father as something inside of you had been pulling away from what used to be your duty as just his heir.

Fighting continued before Greatjon started to yell. “My Lords,” repeating himself louder as he stood facing the crowd with his great stature. “Here is what I say to these two kings.” Spitting on the ground half of the crowd laughed, and you raised your eyebrows in wonder.

Continuing he seemed more confident then you’d ever seen and more passionate then the other men trying to lead the debate. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine fro some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Or the Wolfswood? Even their Gods are wrong.”

Pointing to you with a bit of a smirk as he said your name, “Well we know all too well she’s had more then enough Northern inside of her to make her one of us.” The crowd definitely laughed at that one, making you bit your tongue to fight back a fierce fluster as Robb gripped your thigh higher and rougher.

“Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, and now the dragons are dead.” Pulling out his sword, you stared with parted lips as he pointed to Robb who sat with a powerful respect. “There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee too. The King in the North!”

Shivers ran all the way down your spine, Robb didn’t look at you as he stood, but his hand on your waist ensured you stood with him. Another stood next, “I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castles, and their Iron chair too.” Coming before you both, he pulled his sword out kneeling down with his sword blade in the ground. “The King in the North.”

Theon next, no question in his voice as he looked at Robb. “As your brother, I swear to be yours to command. The King in the North.”

There was pause as some looked to you. You were his wife, rode into battle by his side and was seen by many as Northern as that like Catelyn was now. You also, were the daughter, a would be declared heir to the one man with the best claim to the Iron Throne.

You felt your insides shake, and your heart swell as you looked beside you. Robb finding your eyes with not a second of guess or question as you spoke to him. “Are we together, now and always?”

“Now and always.”

You felt you eyes sting and did nothing to hide the water wanting to glaze over as you looked at Robb, turning to face him as you stepped back to be right in front of his person. Pulling your sword out, you knelt down closer to him then the others, but knelt all the same. “My heart is yours, my sword is yours. In victory and defeat, from this day until our last day.”

The men of the camp erupted. Standing with their swords high in the air all yelled “King in the North” with a pride like a chant as no man there saw him as anything less.

Robb pulled you up as they yelled, arm around your waist as you both looked at the other as if this was only a fate he wanted if you are to be his at his side. Turning to the crowd, you both looked with a hesitation but awe.

Robb Stark did not choose his fate as King in the North, but the North itself decided he was the only one they would follow now and ever. You had chosen a wolf’s heart today, and now you had chosen your loyalty, your duty, the people who were as much yours to protect as your husbands.

You chose your side.

Miles away in either direction, your fate was known by two. One, hair dark and curls more wild as he heard none, but in his head was the vision of two. The sight of you by his brothers side with love in the eyes of both. Why he kept seeing you like this, why you would appear to him in the dark in foggy visions and dreams at all he didn’t know.

His heart did though, and it tightened a little more painfully as it did each time his dreams showed you with Robb. Jon Snow didn’t go to the wall thinking he would move on from you, he went there thinking he would eventually learn to accept the gods chose Robb for you instead. But it was getting harder and harder to accept that with every harsh blow, every new horror he slowly uncovered in the icy north.

Jon Snow did not understand why he was being shown dreams of you that seemed to come true.

On the other side of the continent on an equally dark place, only this was an island of more then just dim looks. This was the place you once called home, and the people who once called you family.

As news reached him, it would take someone with a keen eye to see the sheer amount of anger in his eyes. Stannis Baratheon, the one true King now stood a the painted table looking over the raven scroll for five times to many now. His firstborn daughter, the one he expected would come to him with the allegiance of the North, the one who would be his heir?

But the North had declared Robb Stark their King in the North, and the River Lords had joined them.

Renly took his men, Joffery took his throne, Robb Stark took two Kingdoms for himself and now had taken Stannis’s daughter and heir, as his Queen. Queen in the North those lot had named her, and oh did those words mock him as he read them over.

The woman in red, draped around the angered Stannis. “She will come to us, my King. Her and her wolf both, the flames have shown it to me. The Princess will return to you, and with her love beside her. The heart of the Great Wolf will stand by you too. That I promise you. The Lord of Light has shown it.”

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine #jon snow #robb stark #asoiaf imagine

299 notes · View notes

lavender-romancer · 8 months

Text

He's So Pretty

Jim Kirk x Reader CW: distress, angst, romance

Kirk had no idea you felt the same way for him as he did for you, as you plan to leave Starfleet. Is it all too little too late for the two of you?

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

He felt dead inside, Kirk wouldn't show it but he couldn't stand the fact you were leaving and it hurt even more that he'd never gained the courage to be honest with you. His plan was to have a meeting with you as a farewell in his Captain's quarters before you left the enterprise when they docked in Yorktown to refuel in a few weeks. But he didn't know if he could wait that long, he'd been holding this in for so long it felt like it was begging to be let out. You were too good for him and he knew that his feelings were real because he hardly ever bit his tongue but he was terrified you wouldn't feel the same as him. The only person to ever get his tongue tied, the only person who he would always be looking for in a crowd, it was unexplainable how much he cared about you. But now... now you were leaving and fuck, he wished you knew everything going on in his head.

"You're gonna kill yourself with guilt if you don't say something," Bones said in a matter of a fact way.

"I am aware, Bones." Jim grinned because he knew how dumb and high school it all was.

"Just tell the damn girl!" Bones exclaimed.

"Oooo. What girl is this!" Both the men jumped at the sound of your voice walking into the bar, they both went silent "Awh come on, is this a boys club conversation?" You put your hands on your hips and Kirk laughed.

"Something like that, dumbass," Kirk looked up at you and you rolled your eyes before punching his arm.

"You love me really, no matter how many times you insult me. You're gonna miss me!" You reached over the bar and grabbed some vodka making yourself a quick mixed drink.

"More than you know," Bones muttered so only Jim heard and gave him a look.

"Right, drink up Cap!" You cheers' with Jim and then both downed what was in your glasses.

"No cheers for the doctor I see," Bones rolled his eyes and you shook your head

"Absolutely not letting you run free! I'm just pouring another drink my dear doctor." You poured a vodka shot and looked at Bones who was regretting speaking up.

"Cheers to that I s'pose!" You and Bones clinked glasses before knocking your heads back. Kirk just looked at you in awe, his eyes looking up in adoration. Bones noticed it first and smiled to himself.

"What's with the puppy eyes, Kirk?" You teased and Jim very slightly blushed. He thought he hid it well but you couldn't help but think about how pretty he looked.

The following week, Kirk was mentally planning when to have that meeting with you, he had two weeks left till they docked. That wasn't that much pressure but he'd been holding in these feelings for nearly 6 years and didn't really know what to do if you didn't see him the same way. Kirk had absolutely no idea how you thought of him, he knew you were friends and maybe a bit flirty from time to time but nothing that couldn't be explained by being close friends. I mean Jim flirted with everyone, he was an Aries through and through so it didn't surprise him that regardless of gender he was going to be a bit playful. But with you, he had actual physical reactions and it was like being a teenager with a pathetic crush. You gave him butterflies, you made him nervous blush and hide his face and pretend he hadn't noticed your hand on his arm.

Kirk couldn't help but believe you knew what you were doing but it seemed so unlikely because you were so confident, you were afraid to tell someone how you felt. Why would you keep your feelings towards him hidden if they were there?

"Y/n, you've been asked to the Captain's quarters," Nyota told you with a friendly smile.

"Oh lordy, what kind of going away malarkey has been prepared, I wonder." You grinned at your friend and she raised her eyebrow.

"Oi you, get that mind out of the gutter," you rolled your eyes. "I'm sure it's sweet , he's always been very thoughtful when someone leaves the ship."

"Oh I'm sure it's very personal…" she winked and you covered your mouth so you didn't laugh.

"What merriment have you two clowns got into then?" Bones asked as he walked past with some new equipment he'd been testing.

"You have to be nice to me, Bones. Leaving orders say so," you narrowed your eyes at him, he stopped

"Oh is that so, Sunshine?" He raised an eyebrow "And on whose authority is that?"

"The Captains of course, I've been summoned to his quarters for what I can only hope is an attempt to celebrate my leaving without sounding too excited," you laughed and Bones said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?" Nyota asked Bones, folding her arms with a smile.

"Oh not at all, I'm just holding it so I don't gossip like some old woman." Bones raised an eyebrow and you looked at him, puzzled.

"Well what does that mean then?" You paused and he said nothing "Bones? What are you talking about?"

"I mean if I can get in on some gossip where Bones is involved then I'm all ears." Nyota let one side of her mouth turn up.

"You two are out for trouble, look it's not my secret to tell so you'll just have to find out eventually yourselves." Bones gave Nyota a knowing look and you looked between the two of them till Bones looked away.

"Well what the hell was that?" You exclaimed looking at Nyota.

"Well now I know you have to go and see Kirk right this second," Nyota leant against the corridor wall and had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"You," you pointed at Nyota, "you are a troublemaker." You laughed and headed off in the direction of Kirk's quarters.

You had no idea what Bones was on about but deep down you hoped. You'd been pining after Jim for so long it felt like an age, you had known each other for so long that you really didn't think there was any way Jim could've gone this long without revealing his feelings. You got drunk together so often and had never even kissed, he'd never revealed any secrets about his feelings whilst inebriated. Being realistic if Kirk hadn't revealed his feelings whilst being drunk it was unlikely he had those thoughts in his head, he was so easy to get secrets out of when drunk. But you couldn't help thinking about the weird interaction between the three of you a minute ago, what did they know that you didn't?

You knocked three times of Jims door and held the sides of your skirt with your thumbs pressing against your fingers through the fabric. It was so damn frustrating how nervous you were when you could just be walking into a normal and civil meeting. Getting your hopes up was a dangerous activity especially when it came to heartbreakers like Jim Kirk.

"Y/n!" Jim exclaimed, opening the door with a big smile, he stood back and let you step in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure." You looked around the room you'd been in often and considered that you might never see it again.

"Come sit," he gestured to the sofa with a bottle of wine on the table and two glasses. "Your departure has made me think about a lot of things." As you sat down Jim began pouring.

"What kind of things Kirk?" You narrowed your eyes.

"It's hard to determine, I mean definitely thinking of the past" Kirk carried on for a while, talking in what you would call filler but you weren't listening. He looked so fucking pretty, his eyebrows moving every now and then, his hair a bit ruffled after he had got changed. Jim was so so pretty and you didn't know how to focus on anything else, watching his lips move you just wanted to shut him up and kiss him.

"Y/n?" You snapped out of it "Do you know what I mean?" Kirk asked and you had to think for a moment about what would be a neutral reply so a question you hadn't heard any of.

"....yes?" You said in a curious tone and Jim laughed.

"You weren't listening were you," he smiled and you giggled.

"Not my fault you look so pretty," you mumbled into your glass as you took a drink, you thought it was quiet enough but Jim had heard and he almost choked on the wine in his own mouth.

"Was that a compliment I just heard?" Jim tried to play it cool but his voice cracked on the last word and you burst out laughing.

"Okay well now you deserve no explanation if you can't even get through puberty properly." You smiled at him and he raised an eyebrow.

"Well I'm not the one who thinks I'm pretty, am I. Hmm?" Jim teased.

"Well, I'M not the one who can't speak without sounding like a pre-teen." You shot back, jokingly narrowing your eyes at him.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Jim asked, placing his glass down.

"Well you won't have to put up with it for too much longer will you," you joked and a silence fell between the both of you, joking like this had made Kirk forget about that fact "Are you okay, Kirk?"

You looked deep into his eyes and it took all his willpower not to take your face in his hands and kiss you. Instead he stood up and walked around the room, hands on his hips he sighed.

"Well now I know you're not alright," you paused and stood up, there was a distance between you both and you were slowly closing it down "What's wrong?" You asked at almost a whisper.

Kirk turned around and you were only a few steps away from him, his eyes were unreadable but looked deep into yours. He closed off the gap between the two of you and took you into a deep hug, you were caught off guard but didn't stop him. Instead you wrapped your arms around him just as tightly and leant your head on his shoulder. Closing your eyes the moment felt like forever and you didn't want to let go because it would mean you leaving him was something real. Kirk's hand went up to the back of your neck and slowly stroked your hair. The affectionate action could have made you cry if you weren't so determined to not reveal to him how you felt.

"There's something I need to tell you, Y/n." Kirk said near your ear and you drew apart, still holding onto his arms

"What is it?" You looked into his eyes and tried to read them, glancing down at his lips you bit the inside of his cheek.

"I've loved you ever since I've known you, Y/n. I can't help it and- and I've tried to show it but fuck, you won't let me. I can't think straight when you're around me and I've been pining after you for so long it doesn't even feel real that you're leaving now," Kirk's eyes held so much emotion you feared you might fall into them. How…how was this real?

The silence had been considerable now and you didn't know what to do, your mouth slightly open and staring into his eyes. You couldn't find the words so you just hugged him again, closer than before. Jim held the back of your head, scared you'd slip away forever. You mumbled something against his shoulder and he perked up.

"What was that?" He whispered and you turned your head to lay your cheek on his shoulder.

"I can't believe this has happened, I- fuck. I wasn't expecting it," You whispered and it made Kirk so anxious that he just held you until you'd eventually slip away.

"You can leave whenever you want," Kirk told you and you really did feel like you could but you didn't want to. Kirk may have been holding you but only because you allowed it to be so.

"What if I don't want to?" You asked, slightly pulling away from his shoulder and looking into his eyes with a smile.

"What?" Jim whispered, not believing what you were saying.

"What if I don't think what you're saying is crazy," you let your hands run down his arms till you were holding his hands "I don't know what you know about how I feel o-or how I…" you trailed off trying to find your words "But my feelings aren't so far from yours."

"You're making me fucking hope for something now," Kirk grinned.

"Oh shut up, talk like the normal Jim, please. I'm not used to you being all soppy." You teased, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

"You mean say something like how fucking highschool this all is?" Jim gripped your hands before looking down at your lips and back to your eyes.

"I mean I'm not surprised you come neatly packaged up with some drama." You raised an eyebrow and he just rolled his eyes.

"Oh do shut up," he let go of your hands and put them on either side of your face before leaning forward and kissing you.

You rested your hands on his forearms, leaning into the kiss as a warmth spread into your stomach. It was almost unbelievable that this morning neither of you knew how the other really felt and honestly you found it extremely endearing how honest Jim was.

"All the planets, places and people to see but all I wanted was you," Jim whispered when you drew apart and leant your foreheads together. You smiled and looked at him, he looked so lovely, all happy and pink cheeked.

"You're so pretty," you paused and he laughed "No I mean it, just so pretty." You trailed off and looked into his eyes, you could only imagine what they would look like in between your thighs…

"Someone's getting distracted by a thought, you've got that glazed over look." Jim narrowed his eyes.

"Ohhhh, nothing…" you turned around and pulled his hand with you "Just how much prettier you'd look going down on me. You know, nothing that exciting." You sat down on the sofa and held your wine in your hand as you crossed your legs. Bringing the glass to your mouth you raised an eyebrow and Kirk ran his tongue along his top set of teeth, thinking.

"I mean I can't say what it would look like from your point of view, but seeing you like that would be angelic," he walked towards you and knelt down Infront of you.

"Guess you'll just have to prove it won't you," You were teasing him now but Jim didn't seem to mind.

Jim was running his hands up your thighs until he met the hem of your dress, moving his hands inwards till they met the crossover of your legs.

"We could test your theory, you know, for research." He gave you a shit eating grin and you uncrossed your legs, leaning down to be face to face with him.

"Come on then pretty boy, prove your worth to me." You whispered and he looked so damn excited he could burst, you always suspected Kirk had a submissive streak.

#jim kirk imagine #jim kirk imagines #jim kirk x reader #james t kirk x reader #james t kirk #jim kirk #star trek fic #star trek fanfic #jim kirk alternative reality #star trek alternative reality

74 notes · View notes

beautifulbuckys · 2 years

Text

Midnight Phone Call (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

Summary: You’re harboring feelings for close friend and classmate Peter Parker. But a few night time texts could possibly ruin the friendship.

Warnings: Some swearing, anxieties about unreciprocated feelings

A/N: Hi! This was a small blurb I wrote inspired by Can I Call You Tonight? by Dayglow! I watched NWH today and was in my Peter feels, so enjoy!

High school would be a drag if it wasn’t for Peter.

If Peter Parker weren’t sitting next to me in history, I’d forget to write my name on all my papers. He’s the one that saves me from hour-long chemistry homework. Peter Parker gives me charred brownies May made the night before because he thinks I needed them. He’d walk me to my classes even if he didn’t share the class with me.

But high school caused me to like Peter. High school causes me to have this overwhelming, full-blown crush on Peter. High school keeps Peter Parker around me almost all day 5 days a week. High school forces me to suffer because of my feelings.

It was exhausting.

For a while, I shoved the crush down. I wouldn’t let any of my happy, flirty thoughts reach my brain no matter how much I tried. I resisted reading into situations. Lately? If I don’t think of Peter at least once a minute I’d be worried my brain shut down. There have been so many different situations in the past week that have been too close for comfort. By that, I mean, too coincidental for the said situation to happen between friends.

Last week for instance.

During lunch period, the cafe was loud and rowdy. This was nothing new for Midtown. Except for the craziness this week was caused by the new cupcakes the lunch ladies were serving. Almost everyone in the school had purchased one. Who could blame them? The chocolate goodness frosted with rich cream cheese ice cream was too good to turn up. Both Peter and I got one. We’d heard good things from the previous lunch block!

Peter finished his cupcake almost instantly. He’d basically swallowed the whole cupcake in one bite. I, however, was a slower eater. I’d barely finished my regular lunch by the bell. Midtown has a strict rule, however, that you can’t eat outside of class. Although I paid 50 cents for the cupcake, I’d be damned if I was going to waste it. I shoved the rich, chocolatey goodness in my mouth and chewed it on my way to class with Peter.

However, once we got to calculus, Peter glanced over at me. A boyish grin spread across his face.

“Hey,” He nudged me with his elbow. The soft cotton of his long sleeve rubbed my bicep causing me to jump a little.

I looked at him, the bell ringing. “What?”

His smile never left his face. “You got a lil’ something,” Peter pointed to the right side of my face. His pointing was vague so I placed my hand on my cheek. “No. Not there. Here, I’ve got it.” Peter his hand to the corner of my lip and wiped off a smudge of bright pink frosting I had sitting on my face with his thumb. He then brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked the small bit of frosting off of it. Once he was satisfied, he removed the appendage from his mouth with a small pop.

“Oh…thanks,” The heat I felt on my face was unbearable. I couldn’t look at Peter for the rest of the class. Riddle me flustered.

Now, I lay staring at my calcium-stained ceiling at 12:30 in the morning with nothing other than my thoughts. That was too much to bear. It was a Friday night. Everyone with a social life from Midtown was out partying at Flash’s house. I was sure of it. It was almost a weekly routine at this point. Nobody talks to each other in class but once schools out…major parties happen and then the cops are called.

Not Peter though.

He’s always awake at this time. Not partying, that’s not really his scene. His reason was unexplained. Whenever I asked, he’d say he was studying for a quiz or test coming up. I knew he was lying though. We share most classes, so when there was a quiz I’d know. At this point, I’ve chalked it up to being something personal for him. I’m not going to force it out of him. Especially if he’s this adamant about not telling me.

12:37l Hey…you up?

A typing bubble on Peter’s behalf popped up immediately. He was a fast responder. If I ever needed anything, big or small, I could text him and count on him replying fast.

PI 12:37I Yeah. What’s up?

Well. Shit. I didn’t really think this through. I had no plan. I needed a plan for something like this. It’s sad that I do. Before I realized I had these feelings for Peter, I could talk to him about anything at any time. But now? I can’t get two sentences in without stuttering. He’ll reply to things I say and I’ll always, without fail, find a way to read into his response. Finding a hidden meaning. It’s a blessing and a curse.

12:39I Can I call you?

I throw my phone down and rapidly stand up once I press send. This shouldn’t be so stressful. Should it? I’ve never had a serious crush before. Let alone on a close friend. What if this ruins the entire friendship? What if May doesn’t like me? Well, she’s already met me. She seems to like me. Unless she secretly despises me. Does she secretly despise me? Is she using her kindness as a ruse? I’m pacing around my room, hands on my hips. My pajama shorts were falling down due to all the movement, despite them being tied. Was it kind of annoying? Yeah. But the butterflies in my stomach were trumping that slight annoyance.

Focus.

The calm facade of sirens and car honks in New York City was disturbed by the happy chirping of my phone. I froze in place from my pacing. I felt like a deer in headlights. Do I let it ring through? No. I shouldn’t. I’m the one that asked Peter to call. You did this to yourself. Follow through.

It took me a moment to find my phone. Due to me launching up from my bed, it was tangled in the jungle that was my comforter. I was only able to find it due to my phone screen turning on with each ring.

Don’t be a pussy.

I swipe the green ‘answer’ button on my cracked screen. “Hello?”

“Hi!” Peter’s voice boomed through the speakers. He was far too cheery and energetic for it being 12:40 in the morning. Or maybe I’m being far too critical and gloomy. Yet, I can’t be mad at his happy tone. Hearing his voice, even if we were just on a phone call, made me feel far less alone “Did you see the moon tonight? Look out your window. It’s gorgeous tonight.”

I obliged to Peter’s request. He was right. The large, white figure truly illuminated New York City’s skyline. The glow of the moon reflected off of the small stream by my house. It was a picture-perfect moment.

“Yeah, it is.”

Peter cleared his throat. “So, what’s got you up late? Something has gotta be on your mind if you asked to call.” Peter whispered. Besides his initial greeting, Peter kept quiet on our rare phone calls. May doesn’t like him up too late. She isn’t super strict about it. However, her room was right next to his and their walls were nearly paper thin. She valued her sleep and didn’t want it interrupted by Peter’s lousy conversation skills.

I took a deep breath. “Honestly, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Well, you’ve got me on the phone. I can read you a story if you’re struggling to sleep? I know you never finished the Harry Potter series. I could read you the books that you left off on?” Peter offered. Lord, if only Peter Parker knew how fluttery that offer made you feel. “Or maybe I can read you one of those freaky Edgar Allen Poe poems MJ loaned me. I’ve been too scared to get through them alone. You’re the person I need to push myself to read them.” “I love you.” I blurted.

And then hung up. Smart thinking! Go me!

Peter instantly tried to call me back. My phone screen turned on once more, showing the picture of Peter and I at NY Comic Con from last fall. His dorky smile paired with his lame Luke Skywalker cosplay was enough to have me immortalize the picture as my lock screen. I huffed. Was that a good idea? Probably not. Definitely not. Yet, I did it. With no thought about the consequences. Christ, school on Monday was going to be awkward. I waited around a minute, allowing the call to ring through. I didn’t touch my phone for another 5. I was mortified. Frozen in place, still standing where I was when I accepted Peter’s first call. I was staring at the wall, waiting for something crazy to happen. Maybe this was a dream? I’d wake up in 5…4…3…2..,1…I look down at my arms and see them still holding my phone. Shit. This is reality.

Maybe Doctor Strange can magic me out of this?

My phone buzzes once more. It’s not a phone call this time, though. It’s a text. Nobody else is awake, besides the Midtown partiers who I don’t talk to. I’m not making enough noise for it to be either one of my parents texting me to quiet down. That meant it must be Peter. Amazing! Being let down over text would be a nice memory to tell my 50 cats when I’m 90 and rotting away.

PI12:49I Don’t go and leave me so easy :(

My phone buzzed again.

PI12:50I You didn’t even let me reply dickhead.

I have to deal with the consequences. I open the texts, seeing the previous messages from the day we’ve shared. After a deep breath, I pressed the call button on the top right of the screen. The call rang once before Peter answered.

“I love you too, idiot.”

I smiled. “I’m glad I called you tonight.”

I heard a slight chuckle on the other end. “Me too,”

#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #reader #reader x peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fan fic

294 notes · View notes

theelvenhaven · 2 years

Text

Ghost Hunting with the Elves

Rivendell

Elrond

When it comes to ghost hunting, Elrond isn’t going to exactly be keen on the idea of wanting to go searching for any kind of trouble. So if he joins you, it is certainly going to be done with the expectations that you are either cleansing the space or helping spirits crossover to Mandos.

Elrond isn’t afraid of what it is lurking in the dark, but that doesn’t mean that his guard isn’t up. He’s not likely to react to anything strange that happens, or anything but seemingly he expects it. Elrond is also very conversative with the spirits that are lurking around- gentle with those benevolent and trying to help them find peace so they can move on. Firm and commanding with those not so much.

Elrond as much as he wasn’t keen on the idea originally, really enjoys doing this with you in his spare time. You’ll probably find that he will subtly ask you when you two can do such a thing again. Happy to tag along with you every time, and also showing you how to protect yourself and help those lonely spirits move on too.

Elladan

Unlike his brother, Elladan believes in both the bad and good kind of spirits, definitely seeing that there is a balance when it comes to the paranormal. For once mor like minded with his father than Elrohir who usually is. Elladan loves a good adrenaline rush, so when you invite him to go ghost hunting with you, he is all game for it.

Elladan certainly doesn’t go unprepared though for such an endeavor, making sure that he knows banishing techniques to be able to ward off negative entities as well as a few cleansing ones. That way neither of you are bringing anything back from these haunted places. You’ll find that you won’t need much to prove to Elladan that ghosts exist, he enjoys running through the what could’ve beens or whys especially when they lead to one conclusion: ghosts.

You’ll find that Elladan is really jumpy the whole entire time, and he finds it absolutely hilarious. That iron gate down the hall slammed shut really loudly? Jumps. Unexpected and sudden moaning? Jumps. Some loud unexplained noise? Jumps. You touching him without him expecting it? Jumps. He finds the whole ordeal hilarious and has a really great time being out in such a spooky setting.

Elrohir

When you invite Elrohir to go ghost hunting with you, Elrohir isn’t going because he believes in benevolent spirits and wants to see if you can find them. He’s going because he certainly believes in the malevolent kind, and doesn’t want you in harms way. Elrohir certainly goes in armed with techniques he’s learned from his father in dealing with them much like his brother.

Everything you discover, or make note of, or even witness with your own eyes that isn’t a danger to you or himself is completely and totally written off or explained away. It gets pretty comical with how hard he tries to explain away everything that happens. Eru forbid if you hear any voices speaking to you and no matter how gentle it is, Elrohir will in fact try and explain it away.

It’s best if you ignore any of his dismissal to your benevolent spirits. Though try as you might to present evidence and give him burdens of proof, there is just no convincing Elrohir that you are there for anything than banishing negative entities from the place. Though if you do encounter any malevolent spirits, for him it’s only proving his case and this is why he’s glad you didn’t come alone. Unlike his brother he doesn’t scare easy and is quick to handle the situation.

Arwen

When you tell Arwen that you are going to go ghost hunting and you want her to come with you she honestly finds that it is a horrible idea. Elrond has taught her many things about spirits- good and bad- and knows how dangerous things can get. While she knows you are less likely to run into anything bad, the risk is certainly there.

You’ll find that she is more likely to try and convince you not to go at all. She runs through a list of reasons as to why you shouldn’t do any ghost hunting because of things that can attach, what you can bring home, the danger you could be in both against spirits and just being a place by yourself. As much as she wants to go with you to her it’s just a no go.

She won’t like it if you decide to go without her, but she won’t stop you either. Arwen will thoroughly have her father look you over when you get back, making sure there is nothing attached to you and that you are safe. Before she will finally let you talk to her about what all you experienced and what all you saw while you were there.

Erestor

When you tell Erestor that you want to go ghost hunting, I think that you will find that he is surprisingly receptive to the whole ordeal. The little secret he has been keeping to himself? He’s pretty sure there may be one in the library, so it he is secretly curious about the supernatural and spirits, etc.

Erestor will do a lot of research ahead of the ghost hunting in an effort to make the ordeal easier to handle. He will learn about the history of the place, the proclaimed ghosts to haunt the area and their life story if he can find anything about them. He does a lot of in depth work to aid in your investigation.

Erestor does indeed scare, but he hides it deep down and very well at that. He doesn’t get jumpy or scream out, but he does get very tense and aggressive. If anything him being scared makes him really angry, though he won’t take it out on you just because he’s scared. Regardless though, ghost hunting with Erestor will certainly be a memorable experience.

Lindir

Try as you might to take Lindir ghost hunting with you, the very idea sends terror through him at having to indulge in such a thing. If Lindir worked up the courage to join you, you’ll find that you will quite literally be having to hold his hand the whole way through the haunted places.

Everything makes him really nervous- strange sounds, smells, hearing voices, or doors closing on their own. He grips your hand really tightly and stays right on top of you as you two walk through the place. Lindir keeps quiet and really dislikes when you invite any ghosts to come and speak or interact with you. He’s nervous something bad would happen to you.

You’re really better off calling it a night early, or not taking him at all. It really puts him far more at ease when he’s not having to run around strange buildings in an effort to “look” for the spirits. Lindir very much likes being at home cozied up together as opposed to that.

Glorfindel

To be perfectly honest, when you bring up ghost hunting with Glorfindel, the first thing he is going to want to do is shield you and the spirits from one another. Knowing they are all tormented and lingering. Yet at your protests he takes your words into consideration before joining you on your endeavor, in the event that something happens to you.

Glorfindel, to the spirits, is like a big beaming beacon of wonderful energy for them to interact with. Every time you bring him you will probably find that they all flock to him and your investigation is chock full of spirit activity. Especially positive spirit activity, as the more malevolent beings are even afraid of him. Seeing that despite their spirit form, he probably could deal with them no matter what.

Glorfindel becomes very receptive to ghost hunting with you, and enjoys very much seeing how you and the spirits interact with one another. He gets highly amused when the spirits interact with him, and is just a big warm ball of sunshine interacting with them in return. Which is why the spirits would like him so much.

Bonus

Haldir

Haldir honestly isn’t keen on the idea of going ghost hunting, let alone you going ghost hunting. Especially alone. So it is mandatory, despite what you think, that he goes with you. Haldir is full of a lot of knowledge about the world, so you will find that he is giving you in depth history and lore lessons about the places that you are frequenting for these.

Haldir is on high alert the whole time that you are there, watching every dark corner to see what else might be lurking in the room. And soothing you when the dark corners seem a little too dark and frightening so you can keep your investigation going. He’s happy to hold your hand and let you drag him all through wherever you may be.

He certainly believes in spirits and the supernatural, but wants you to adhere to whenever he says something is dangerous. Haldir will absolutely put his foot down with you, he doesn’t care how interesting the investigation has gotten for you. If it’s dangerous and he says to bail, it’s time to bail.

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss

230 notes · View notes

noemitenshi · 5 months

Text

The moon bathes your face in gentle light

A Troy Otto post s8 Imagine/story of how Tracy and him started to heal after the events of that horrible season.

The idea came to me after a conversation with @marrecarandgi so many thanks for that! It wouldn't exist without you 🧡

Let's jump into it.

As per our agreement, Troy Otto definitely 100% survived the stabbing by Madison. I'm not gonna be thinking too much about how (taking a page out of canon's book - they never explained how he survived the hit to the head nor getting stabbed by Alicia either. Guess he's just *that good*). So, Troy survives, though I'm sure it's not pretty. By the skin of his teeth, in immense pain, and fearing for his daughter. Maybe not so much her survival because he gave his best didn't he. But what his lie will do to her. Now that this didn't kill him (again, again it didn't kill him). And every waking hour he imagines Tracy with Madison, imagines Madison turning Tracy against *him*. And he wishes it would be enough to know she survives but of course it's not. It's a father's pain he's bearing now (on top of the gaping gut wound, though he probably did something about that...), the loss of his daughter. Not the end of her life but the end of her love. And he has to be patient now, has to *heal* and it takes time, he knows it does (he's been through this before). He can't rush these things but god he wishes he could, he feels he's going crazy with this, waiting. Waiting never was his strong suite, he'd always preferred to act, however rashly. Preferred to *do* not think. And now thinking is the only thing that he *can* do. It takes weeks. Months, before he is halfway fit again (and probably a lot of sheer dumb luck, again, don't think too much about this). Anyway, the point is, he knows how to fight for things, how to go on despite, *how to survive* and he puts his all into it now. So he may get his daughter back (don't think about her, don't think about her, just get better). And once he is, better, he's putting everything into finding her. He *has to*. And of course he does. Probably sneaks into the camp at night and slits Madison's throat (like he should've done way back in s3...). If Alicia's there I don't think she survives this either. And then he takes his daughter and they leave. Off into the sunset they ride (or, I guess, sunrise. Since it was night). Now. Probably both of them will have some new trauma to deal with. Troy for, well, having been stabbed and losing his daughter (even for a bit) and losing his men and their kids and the safe place to call him he almost had in his hands... and Tracy for having lived with the killer of her dad - and thinking that her father had died. So, it's a lot for both of them. And I think both of them only start feeling these things when they have one another again (Tracy because she finally feels safe again and Troy because now his mind can finally stop thinking nonstop about getting Tracy back and uh starts processing all that other shit). So they aren't in the best place, emotionally speaking. Troy is bitter (though he really tries with Tracy. I do think he is still good with her, there's just now an edge in him that wasn't there before). And Tracy... Tracy probably has nightmares and panic/anxiety attacks - probably also bursts of anger at her dad. This is difficult on both of them... probably reminding Troy of his own childhood (the bursts of almost unexplained anger) and he's gonna have to work extra hard not to react like his parents (in high-stress situations it is very likely to fall back to well-known behaviorial patterns after all and what he knows *really well* is how his parents dealt with him when he behaved "badly"). So no wonder is he bitter/moody. On top of it all they still don't have a place to call home and maybe are just wandering around in search for... something. Not even sure he feels like he could built a new community since he lost his men - from the way they were it seemed like they were together for a while now. That has got to hurt. And maybe he feels safer, wandering around, not staying anywhere too long. (Maybe he is trying to run away, from these feelings - not that he can. he knows that. but the urge is still in him and so he gives into this, for a little. he's already stretched so very thin, he can't fight himself on this front now, too).

And one night when they've been scouting a bit too long, they stumble into another person's camp. or, well, it's not really a camp, not even a fire going, that's why they didn't avoid this spot, just a man curled on the ground, right by a tree. He woke, of course, when Troy stumbled over his feet. He didn't hesitate to give Tracy the signal to get out of sight, NOW, while he regained his footing, hand going to the pistol on his side while he eyed the stranger, who was slowly straightening into a sitting position, blinking slowly.

"you!"

They both spoke simultaneously and Troy's hand twitched with the need to draw his weapon when he saw who that man was. He *knew* him. And the second he'd recognized him, he felt like fate had slapped him. On both cheeks. That was...

"crazy dog"

That couldn't be true. But it was, he was here. What where all these ghosts from his past doing here?! When would he finally find peace from all of that!??!

"Troy Otto..." Crazy Dog replied. *He* didn't seem tense. Didn't seem alarmed. He looked - different, too, then back at the ranch. And Troy wasn't sure if it was just his missing anger or - something else? Haggard, he realized, Crazy Dog was haggard. Seemed tired too or was that because he'd leaned his head against the tree trunk and continued to look at Troy silently. Troy furrowed his brows. That was... not at all the reaction he had expected. It was so out of left field that he heard himself ask

"aren't you gonna draw your weapon?"

God, what was he doing?! Did he *want* a violent confrontation?

"No." Crazy Dog's answer was - not firm, not really. But it still had an air of finality to it. It had come faster than anything else he said (or did) before, too. Troy blinked. Mouthed 'no' uncomprehendingly. What was going on? The Crazy Dog he remembered had been dead set on killing him - had only waited for Troy to give him a reason, *any* reason. This, now, was the perfect opportunity to do so. But he seemed wholly uninterested in that. Not even bothered by Troy standing in front of him. Not *threatened*. Troy pulled his lips back into a snarl.

"I'm gonna be taking your things," he announced. Didn't even know why. Did he *want* to anger the other man?

"Don't have much anyway," Crazy Dog said mildly and - what was wrong with him!? Didn't he *care*?!

"Dad?"

Troy froze. Tracy apparently had figured there was no danger - no wonder, Crazy Dog hadn't even risen, still leaning almost relaxed against the tree trunk; both their voices were calm and Troy hadn't drawn his own weapon either.

"Dad?" Crazy Dog repeated and Troy swallowed uncomfrotably. *Afraid*. Would that tidbit finally compell the other man to be cruel? Was that what it would take to bring the Crazy Dog of old to the forefront? And without him even noticing he'd stepped in front of Tracy, blocking her from Crazy Dog's view, his face a stony mask.

"Take it."

Troy couldn't quite process what Crazy Dog had said to him, it didn't make sense. Not even a little. He must've looked confused, because Crazy Dog repeated, "My things" and nodded to the backpack, "Take them all." And it looked like - was that a slight smile tugging at Crazy Dog's lips? Was he having a stroke!? Or was Troy? Something wasn't right - but then again, why would he look a gift horse in the mouth? So he leaned down and took the backpack - somehow still expecting to be stabbed in the back. But no. Nothing like that was happening. *Nothing* was happening, actually. Just Crazy Dog looking at him, still with that almost smile. Even when he slung the backpack over his shoulder nothing changed.

"Thank you" that was Tracy, coming to stand right besides Troy, looking at Crazy Dog curiously. Her words were honest and Troy had the urge to pull her back behind himself again. Especially when Crazy Dog's gaze slid to her. That was it, wasn't it? He'd do what Troy had feared, attack them after all. Why did Tracy have to go and draw his attention like that---

But nothing like that happened. The only thing moving were the corners of Crazy Dog's mouth, deepening the slight smile a little - so it actually looked like a smile now. Somehow it made him appear even more tired. *Exhausted*. That's what it was. That was why he looked so different to how Troy remembered him. Not the years etched on his face, nor even the haggardness. It was the air of defeat around him. He *never once* had seemed defeated back then... He nodded at Tracy, kindly - again something that didn't fit with Troy's experience with that man. His daughter was smiling back and Troy stared. Seeing her smile, especially towards strangers, had become so seldom these days. So seldom after - Madison.

Tracy caught his gaze and raised her eyebrows demandingly. What was she--- oh.

"Thanks," he mumbled quickly, and watched his daughter smile at him now sweetly. He grinned back.

What he wouldn't do to have her smile like that.

Tracy looked suddenly around, searchingly. Troy enjoyed watching her when she got like this. Curious, inquisitive. About to solve some kind of puzzle in her mind. It was a delight, getting to see how her brain worked.

"Uhm...should we maybe stay here, dad? Until morning?"

Today was just full of unexpected things wasn't it? Never could he have predicted her saying exactly those words. 'No!' was his first impulse, he did not want to stay longer around Crazy Dog than he had to. Taking his things probably was already a mistake. Made them spend more time than necessary here... But then, this wasn't the kind of dad he was. Had made sure of it. Painstakingly. So, he asked,

"Why do you say that?"

"...it's not the safest spot..." she mumbled. Oh. She wanted to make sure Crazy Dog was ok. That was... Troy didn't know what that was.

"That's alright," Crazy Dog said before Troy could think of a reply, "I'll get home at first light. Don't you worry about me." His voice was still wrong. Different now though. Different now that he was talking to Tracy. Not as... devoid as before.

"We really should get going." Troy didn't waste time trying to hurry Tracy along. Especially since Crazy Dog seemed to be doing the same.

"Dad!" Tracy was tugging at his shirt "Dad, we can get him home right?" Then she turned to Crazy Dog "Our car isn't far from here, we-"

"Tracy." Troy's voice wasn't loud, nor especially harsh but she still stopped speaking. She knew it was his no-nonsense tone. The one that said she didn't have all information, didn't see all consequences of her actions. She didn't like when he used it and couldn't wait to ask him *what exactly* she hadn't thought through.

"Go along now, I'll be fine."

Troy was strangely thankful to the other man for insisting on this - and he didn't want to be.

"You heard him," he said, taking Tracy's hand in his and then they were walking.

"Be careful!" Tracy said as if it were an invocation, her serious eyes boring into Crazy Dog's.

"You too," he answered her immediately. But his gaze caught Troy's. Troy did not know what to make of this. This whole interaction feeling unreal. It had him on edge in a strange way and he couldn't wait to get as far away from this as possible.

Of course it wasn't that easy.

And so he found himself driving back to that spot, opening his door and hissing

"get in"

to crazy dog. Crazy Dog looked as perplexed as Troy himself felt over the whole thing - but then, Tracy always did have a way to get what she wanted. He didn't know why he'd thought it would be different this time. She'd been adamant about helping that person that had so selflessly given up his things. Troy had wanted to point out that he didn't seem to *care* one way or another, but really, that wouldn't accomplish anything but make her sad. or worried. he wasn't sure which one was worse. so he just bit his tongue. He *had* told her who he was - Crazy Dog. She knew that name from his tales. And - he'd thought it would make her back down. She had - hesitated (and that had hurt him unexpectedly, the sudden *curling into herself*. Of course, figures of his past would incite that reaction. After what the last group had done...!) But she hadn't backed down in the end, weighing Crazy Dog's behavior towards them *now* more than anything else that had happened in the past.

And so Troy agreed to do what she wanted because - he hadn't seen her as animated, as *invested* since - since! Her time away from him had done a number on her. On both of them, but he'd gladly shoulder whatever needed to, just so she could be spared. But that wasn't how it worked and so he had been helpless to watch her be this subdued, quiet child since he'd... recued her from Madison. Had watched her be so unlike herself. Had tried to bring her back, of course, anything and everything he could think of but---no need to keep thinking about that. His kid was back, at least for now.

And so he was now watching Crazy Dog hesitantly get into the back of the truck.

"Where am I going?" Troy asked him, and this was maybe the strangest thing to happen that night. Asking Crazy Dog for directions. But the way Tracy was beaming more than made up for him and when the other man didn't immediately answer Troy turned his head to him.

"Where to?" he asked again and somehow his voice had turned softer. Crazy Dog's gaze met Troy's. And after a little sigh he told him.

The drive was maybe half an hour at the most - and no one seemed to feel the desire to speak. Not even Tracy. Or maybe that was just Tracy retreating into herself again. Though she didn't look subdued, quite the opposite actually. Maybe she was just content. That thought made Troy smile a little. Maybe she really was. The road turned from asphalt to dirt and after a while Troy could see a farmhouse at the end of it.

"That it?" he asked. Crazy Dog nodded.

"You can just let me out he---"

"We said we'd get you home and we will," Troy interrupted. Honestly, they were almost there.

Crazy Dog nodded.

Then, slowly he said,

"You can.. come in if you want. Stay - the night. It's late." Almost reluctantly.

Troy still felt a sliver of irrational danger just imagining Crazy Dog near his daughter - but his daughter was looking at him with big big eyes and he thought a real bed would do her some good.

"It is," was all he said. Was as much as he allowed himself to agree.

"It's so nice here!" Tracy exclaimed once her large eyes had taken in as much as they could of the living area.

"Yeah," Crazy Dog said in that slow way of his, "it is..." Then he looked at her, brows furrowed. "I don't even know your name."

"Tracy," Tracy said. Crazy Dog repeated her name softly.

"I'm Lee," he said then.

"Not Crazy Dog?" Of course his daughter wouldn't let something like rest - and frankly, Troy wanted to know the answer to that, too.

"Just Lee," Crazy Dog - Lee? said mildly and without stopping asked, "Want something to eat? I've got food in the kitchen"- he nodded towards a door behind which Troy guessed was said kitchen-"though I'm not the best cook so... it's straight out of the can..."

"I can cook," Troy said and then let ...Lee show him around.

"It's not much," *Lee* said, almost apologetically. He was right, it wasn't the best stocked kitchen. But it was better than what Tracy and him had had the last few days. Weeks.

"I can work with this," Troy announced. *Lee* nodded at him.

"Take what you need. I'll leave you to it."

When Lee went back to the living room, he saw that Tracy had cozied up on the couch. It looked precious, in a way nothing had for... for a while now and the ghost of a smile was again tugging at his lips. He was strangely glad they had accepted his offer to stay. Or maybe not so strange, the house feeling more alive now than... for a while now. He sat down on the chair besides the couch and watched Tracy doze. How strange to think that Troy Otto had a child - a very sweet one at that. But then, years had passed. Years in which he'd assumed him dead. He... wasn't saddened to find he'd been wrong in that. Or maybe he was just glad to see how well Tracy had it with *him* as dad. Lee would not have guessed that Troy would turn into an indulgent dad. Would not have guessed he'd turn into a *good* dad, but from everything he'd seen today exactly this had happened.

"You *are* Crazy Dog though, aren't you?" Tracy was suddenly looking straight at him, sharp sharp eyes boring into his. Oh yes, she was her father's daughter.

"That's not a name I'm using anymore," Lee said.

"You know each other from ..back at the ranch," she continued without acknowledging what he'd said. Lee nodded.

"My dad told me you wanted him dead... why are you helping us now?"

Oh she was quite brave, this one. He'd have expected nothing less of Troy Otto's child. Whatever could be said about the man, a lack of bravery wasn't it. But where the bravery was almost scary in its intensity in Troy, it was endearing in Tracy.

"That was then. This is now."

Apparently this wasn't a good enough answer for her because she asked, sharply,

"You don't want him dead anymore?"

"I've got no reason to," Lee told her. He didn't. Who cared what had happened years ago. He'd moved on. he'd built a whole new life---

"He robbed you."

Oh, so she *had* heard that part, hm. Still he disagreed,

"I freely gave it to you"

"...why are you helping us?"

Lee closed his eyes, unwilling to think about this, to let his mind wander there...

"You have no reason to," she said, emphasizing the words almost mockingly. A challenge.

"...I do," Lee said softly. Oh, did he ever and his heart squeezed uncomfortably, his throat closed up and he tried to swallow against it.

"Food's done!" Troy had appeared in the kitchen doorway - just at the right time, it seemed. "Come." With one last look at Lee, Tracy went.

Lee breathed a sigh of relief, he hadn't been sure how much more of her questions he could take before... He shook his head and focused on his breathing. Slow and deliberate. In. Pause. Out. Pause. In. Pause. Out. Pause. And on and on until it was the only thing filling his mind. And then some more.

A sudden noise made him flinch and open his eyes. A plate of steaming food was placed in front of him.

"I meant you, too, you know?" Troy told him casually. Then he went back to the kitchen. Lee blinked at the food. It smelled - good. Much better than... He sighed. Then he slowly started eating. He figured they'd be more comfortable without him in the kitchen.

After they were done eating, Lee showed them the bathroom and the master bedroom. He knew how important it was to be able to stay together, especially during night, during sleep, the most vulnerable time. He took the couch - just like he'd done the days before. Somehow sleep came easier to him today.

The next day Troy woke early. Tracy was still sleeping and so he let her, softly moving out of the room and downstairs. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not to see *Lee* awake too. He was just sitting there, looking outside into the rain. Still like a statue.

"What's wrong with you?" slipped from Troy - no one could accuse him of having tact. (And honestly, he was about fed up with this version of Crazy Dog. With being on this strange edge the whole time. He'd rather have it out, he thought). Lee turned to him, eyes suddenly as cold and dark as he remembered.

"I'm not talking about that."

Well. That wasn't helpful at all. Made him angry in a petulant way. But then, *he* didn't want to be to start a fight. Didn't want to destroy this for Tracy. They'd leave here soon enough and then who cared what had happened to Crazy Dog. So he turned his attention to the outside, where Lee was staring. A beautiful garden. Flowers and vegetable patches filling it.

He wondered about the canned food.

"Quite a garden," he remarked.

"...Yeah."

Troy rolled his eyes and decided to go snoop a little. Was bound to be more interesting than a conversation with *him*. That unsettling version of Crazy Dog. He didn't want to be too obvious about it, so he didn't exactly rummage around in closets (though he itched to), instead looking at what was displayed. The books laying around (a suspicious lot of them *medical* though he supposed it made sense to learn as much as one could about these things - doctors were hard to come by these days..), the wide array of knick-knacks. He couldn't see a common thread there. Shells and necklaces, lighters and key chains, little toys and pens. Strewn all over the house from what Troy could see. Curious.

"Dad?!"

Tracy was awake, and from the sounds of it trying not to panic.

"I'm here!" Troy was quick to reply, already going for the stairs, taking two, three at a time, rushing to her. He should've thought of that! God damn, he really should've but then - this hadn't really been an issue until now, him not being near her when she woke up. Of course it made her panic. The moment he stepped foot on the second floor Tracy rushed into his arms and he picked her up, having to shift as to not tumble down the stairs with the force with which she'd thrown herself at him.

"I'm here," he murmured, stroking over her hair, "It's alright."

She clung to him and it didn't seem like she wanted to let go anytime soon. He just shrugged good-naturedly and decided to carry her downstairs. Breakfast would do her good.

The way she hid her face in the crook of his neck, the way she held on to him had him remember their days when she was a toddler. When they'd lost--- He'd thought they'd never get through that. He'd thought, without *her* he wouldn't be able to do this. To be a good parent. He'd clung to her just as much as she'd clung to him during those days. And they both had persevered. They would again. Even if the situation seemed impossible. They'd done it once before. They would again. She'd be fine, with time. She'd get over this. He fastened his hold around her.

After breakfast - which had been a somewhat strange and subdued affair (strange because Lee had again declined to eat with them and subdued because the panic still clung to Tracy it seemed. Not as immediate but Troy could still tell) - Tracy had wandered to the bookshelves, looking through them. Somehow that had made Lee move from his place on the chair, looking to the outside and he'd started a quiet conversation with her - from what Troy could tell, asking her what she liked to read, offering different things. He watched the two of them for a while and when he saw that Tracy was becoming more animated the more they spoke he felt a tenseness fall from him he hadn't been aware of holding. *She would be ok*. Of course she would be.

Just now the sun was peaking through the clouds, the rain finally having stopped. He was immediately drawn to the garden, wanting to take a closer look at the vegetables - maybe there was something he could use?

"I'll be outside," he announced to the other two. Those had now moved to the couch, both their noses inside a thick medical book. He had to smile. Tracy definitely had her thirst for knowledge from him - and he was proud of her for that. For asking questions, trying to figure out how everything worked. It was a good thing to be thirsty for in this world, where nothing was safe. Where you could not depend on others--- He stopped these thoughts cold, stepping into the garden, his sharp eyes taking everything in. Most plants were already withered - no wonder, it was late autumn. But he did spy a small pumpkin and - weren't those sweet potatoes? He sat to work.

Somehow he didn't only harvest the few sweet potatoes and the two pumpkins but had started to cut back the plants that needed it and take out the ones that wouldn't survive the winter - he hadn't even thought about it, his hands intimately knowing what to do. And once he realized what he was doing - late into his work - he stopped, breathless, blinking around and looking at his work. Then he shook his head at himself and couldn't stop an self-deprecating smile. He hadn't even made it half through the garden. So he straightened and walked through the rest of it - it was in need of tending too. Not that it was overgrown, clearly there was work put into it. Just - not for the last... weeks? And when his gaze caught by something shimmering almost silver-y he thought he understood why. He'd found the missing puzzle piece he hadn't even been aware he'd been searching for. There in the secluded corner of the garden stood a pale wooden cross, a name carved into it - Ri Ortego. And underneath it just one word. 'Beloved'. Troy's fingers traced the letters and he couldn't help himself, but he felt like whoever had carved them (*Lee*, who else) must've been shaking. That explained his strange behavior. It was grief. He pulled his hand back as if burned.

"You had a wife." Troy hadn't even fully entered the house that those words left his mouth. Lee flinched. It wasn't enough for Troy, so he spoke her name. "Ri, right?"

Lee stood abruptly and stomped into the kitchen. Troy took that to mean he was right - why else would Lee be upset. And it was clear that he was.

"Da~ad!" Apparently he wasn't the only one to get that, Tracy was looking at him disapprovingly, her eyes glinting dangerously. He almost shrugged but then thought better of it. This was not the time to be flip with her. So he just blinked and pressed his lips together. He'd lost a wife too, after all. No need to be so dramatic over it. "You should apologize," he heard his daughter say. The same tone he used when he demanded the same of her. It almost made him smile. Though the prospect of doing *that* didn't let him. It wasn't like he'd *meant* to hurt the other man. He'd just been after answers. But Tracy kept staring at him - and both knew he'd give in, just as he'd had last night. He took every opportunity he had to make his daughter happy, after all. So he sighed and went to the kitchen, carefully opening the door.

"Hey," he whispered, somewhat uncomfortable, not wanting to startle the other man. Lee was sitting at the kitchen table, his back turned towards the door, hunched over. He looked like--- "Uh, that before," Troy started to explain, "listen, I, I didn't--- uhm..." There was no reaction and Troy swallowed. He had expected to get at least something from the other man. "I didn't mean anything by it." He finally settled on as an explanation. *That* had an effect; Lee turned his head slowly towards Troy and Troy was glad to be done speaking because otherwise the next word would've gotten stuck in his throat - the misery in Lee's eye, the devastation on his face felt like it was stopping his heart. It felt *so familiar*.

"I'm sorry." It was the easiest thing to say, suddenly. "*I'm sorry*, Lee."

***

And that is how it will begin. Of course Troy and Tracy will stay in Lee's house. Tracy is doing lots better there than before when they were driving around and though Troy does feel unbalanced by Lee's grief, he still feels alright staying. For Tracy, he's telling himself at first (and let's be honest, seeing the mirror of past him in Lee is difficult - maybe he didn't have enough space to grieve Serena what with having to raise a kid, so it's gonna be bringing things up for him too. But it'll be good for him overall) but he's gonna enjoy it, too. Being here with someone that is supposed to want him dead but very much *doesn't* is doing wonders for his trauma. And over time they're gonna become friends and raise Tracy together. Not sure how/when it'll turn romantic - maybe I'll add to this once I have an idea.

#troy otto #tracy otto #ftwd #fear the walking dead #fanfic #imagine #beginning of a story #crazy dog #fluff #bittersweet #more sweet than bitter #hopeful #healing #beginning of the rest of their lives #my fic

12 notes · View notes

rhapsodiq · 2 months

Text

* ◟ : 〔 PARK HYUNG-SIK , NON BINARY + HE/THEM 〕 SIWOO KIM , some say you’re a THIRTY-FIVE YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both OPTIMISTIC and GULLIBLE, one can’t help but think of FOSSA by DAUGHTER when you walk by. are you still a REPLICANT / COMPUTER SCIENTIST at STONEAGE INDUSTRIES , even with your reputation as THE FOOL ? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and LATE NIGHTS SPEND AT THE LAB, FINGERS TAPPING AWAY AT THE KEYBOARD, HEADACHE STRAINING BEHIND THE TEMPLES; UNEXPLAINABLE GAPS IN THE MEMORY, ANYTHING THAT POINTS AT THE TRUTH BEING DISCARDED AWAY; MEMORIES OF SHARING EVERYTHING, YET FEELING SAFER THAN EVER, although we can’t help but think of SAM ( SUPERNATURAL ) , ALPHONSE 'AL' ELRIC ( FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST ) , ALICE ( DETROIT BECOME HUMAN ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

BIOGRAPHY

general tws: violence, death mention, murder, child neglect, voluntary human / replicant testing

THE FOOL: represents beginnings, leap of faith, spontaneity, innocence

the wastelands are his home, the barren land, the nothingness. they live off of scraps and the overwhelming heat seeps into their bones. despite it all, as the youngest, he is the lucky one, naively unaware that he gets the bigger portions, the nicer books they find here and there. gets to sleep safe and sound when many like him fear if they will make it through the day.

he grows accustomed to the comfort; grows gentle and hopeful in the face of the horrid reality they live in. the broken machines his father brings home from work are his toys, and the younger boy grows around bits and pieces of broken technology, an empty battery there, a radio that only lets out static here, he learns how they work and how to make them work. despite the heat, the hunger, and the danger looming on the horizon, the wastelands become his home.

he's almost twelve when they lose their parents. at one point he cannot believe he thought it used to be difficult before. he's still lucky, he reminds himself, he's not alone, and with his brother next to him, siwoo feels nothing but safe, regardless of the peril that looms outside their car, regardless of the sounds he has to shield his ears from at the middle of the night. they take shifts, he learns how to shoot before he learns how to ride a bike — but it's fine, he's fine, he will be fine. as he looks into his brother's eyes and feels the warmth, he is convinced they aren't alone, they'll never be alone, as long as they have each other.

siwoo doesn't know how much time they spend in that purgatory. there is no difference between day and night, today and tomorrow. all of his thoughts morph into something akin to pure survival, they need to watch their backs, scavenge for food — survive, just survive, be better than the rest so that they can just exist. it wears down on siwoo's soul quick, quicker than it would have if he were a better man, he's sure.

when the offer comes from stoneage, it is almost too good to be true ( foolish boy, it certainly is ). — but siwoo, ever the optimist, is convinced it's the turn in their life they were looking for. future is coming, it's here, it's bionic, and the fact that they are asking siwoo, the odd boy from the wastelands to be a part of it, is a once in a lifetime chance he simply cannot turn down. he jumps for the opportunity, yet the only thing that makes him falter is that daniel's not coming. he convinces himself that it's the right thing to do, that finally, with this, he will go into the city, become his own person, and finally be strong enough to protect daniel instead after all these years. it will be fine, it will, it has to be.

THE FOOL REVERSED: represents chaos, lack of direction, poor judgement, folly, naivety

it turns out just fine. ň̵̵̴̡̛̙̟̰͍̭̜̮̼̯̘̖̬̺̹̱̄̀̀̀ͤ͌ͬͬͩ̚͘͜o̷̵̡͙̦̥̥̙̣̙̠͕̦̹̖̯̬̹̫̳ͭ͛ͧ͌ͯ̇͂̊̎ͣ͐̂͘ͅt̶̢̢̢̼̘̩͇̞̼̙̎͌ͧ͐ͦ̊̂͜ḥ̴̺̤̲̒́́ͪ̐͌͜͞i̗̅ͬ́͒͊͑ͥ̃͊́͠͞ņ̺̲̟̼̪̻̼̯̼̦̀ͩͦ͋ͦ͂ͬ̈́ͬ̌̀͑̾̈̚͘͟͡͡g̸̸̢̪͙̖̟̟͚͇̤͙͖̗̰͙͓̣͍̮̐́ͥͯ̇ͣͪ͗ͣ̄ͤ̚̚͟͞͡͠ iͤ͛ͪ͝ͅs̷͎͎̞̰̞̠̠̣̫͓ͧ̑ͭ͐̾͆ͬ̏ͫͦ̉̄͋͛̑ͯ̾̚̕͜͝ w̸̷̧̻̫͙͉̬̳̻̟ͯͯ̔̃͛̒̏̍̏̌̉͒͋ͮ̀͗́̅͗̋́͑̂ͣͬͩ̚͘͡ŗ̸̵̸̯̬̻̖̠͈͍͇͈̩̼͚̪̖͔̩͚͇̻͔̲ͨͪ͆ͮ̂ͫ̀ͫ̌ͤ́̆͑ͥ͐̈ͭ̑̋͘̚͟on̷̢̰͓̠̦͔̣̣͛̏̓ͦͣ̌̓͊̀͐̆g̴̙̹̮̤ͬ̂̀̊̇ͧ̇̿͡͝͠

years later, siwoo, the odd boy from the wastelands, makes his name as a computer scientist for the stoneage industries. he's well off now, with a little condo of his own and a reasonable amount of savings — it's everything he dreamed of and more. [ is it? are you not missing something foolish child? at nights when he cannot sleep, he dreams of a pair of eyes filled with warmth, and a promise he failed to keep. he needs to find him, he will, he has to, he misses him like a part of himself is missing. then that thought is replaced by a dream filled with static, amidst type of a pitch-black darkness he has never seen before— ]

at the industries, pinnacle of technology, where they write the future together, he's good at what he does, and he loves it. he has his hands on technology he never could have dreamed of back at the wastelands. as part of the initial offer, he was one of the first people on the project, and years down the line, when their hard work is coming finally into fruition, siwoo feels part of it more than ever. this is his home now, the city, with its ups and downs, he plants his flowers in the soil with careful hands and treats them with gentle care. it's home — he has made it so.

[ a divine entity cackles at that, a nasty, unseemly sound. you should have been careful about what you wish for, you foolish child. with a gap in your memories you deliberately try not to fill, you'll never be human again. in place of your veins, there's wires, in place of your heart, there's an artifice, it's fake, all of it's fake — i wonder when you'll realize you're further away from the truth than you've ever been. you've flown too close to the sun, you tried to bite the hand that feeds you- and at this rate, you'll never know what you've become ]

CONNECTION IDEAS:

people he knows from the wastelands: it has been a long time since he was there, but it would be very interesting if they knew eo when they were a kid etc.

The Mentor: the person who recruited him when he was in the wastelands, saw his potential with technology, and most of all, his desperation to have a better life!! the dynamics are up to interpretation but! i am hcing at this point that someone from the stoneage industries is the reason why he got murdered (which he Does not know, there is a gap in his memory and he still thinks he's human). after seeing something he shouldn't have (he was either going to leave the company or they think he might have whistleblown) he was put into his replicant body, his memories were already part of stoneage database since he was voluntarily testing for them for so long. — so the mentor would either have a hand in all of this, or at least know about it!

science friends: siwoo, is, through and through, a nerd. he has a plethora of science facts at his disposal, and he loves tinkering and learning more about technology. anyone to share that passion w would be very fun

cybernetics: while siwoo's official position has to do with coding, he is also a very good mechanic. as such, if your muse's path ever crossed that part of stoneage, siwoo could have been the person to help

coworkers: other people from the stoneage industry he gets along with or doesn't? siwoo is pretty cheery and friendly, but it could also annoy your muse when they are trying to focus and siwoo is all chatty

friends, neighbors, antagonistic connections, etc etc!!: any & all, let's plot! i will put more info here when i have further specific ideas <3

#— c: siwoo kim.#— about: siwoo kim.#lawlessintro

7 notes · View notes

strollthroughstars29 · 2 years

Text

My thoughts on

The Midnight Club (2022)

I just finished watching The Midnight Club last night and couldn't help feel how it was like a beautiful work of art left unfinished. When I started the show, I was really impressed by the way the foundation was laid but several things were left unexplained but we'll get there later.

First off, let's talk about the true essence of the show; the stories. While I absolutely loved the way the characters expressed their unconscious/concious desires through the stories knowing that they wouldn't come true, that the future they paint will continue to remain trapped behind words, I couldn't help but feel that we could've been introduced to this world in a better way.

By the time we learn about Natsuki's story regarding the Japanese myth, it's already progressed into a "frenzy of jump scares" which completely ruined the atmosphere for me and I found myself wanting it to be over as soon as possible.

The next thing I wish to address is Ilonka's character. She is a complex teen who is unable to accept the terminal nature of her life and that she cannot be saved. Initially, I liked her drive to survive but as the episodes carry on, we see her completely lose herself in the desperate attempt to grasp what's left of her life. Her character itself had multiple flaws which were further enhanced by the fact that so many things about her were left unexplained.

Why was Ilonka having visions?

Was it because of her medication? Maybe. But it could also, be due to her being most open to the spiritual aspect of the place. She openly sought to achieve wellness through the nature and was engrossed by the past which might've manifested in the form of visions. Maybe her sharing these thoughts with Kevin was the reason for his own visions.

Another aspect of the show I really wanted to see were the stories coming together in the end (as we had in the haunting series) but was really underwhelmed. There were too many plot holes which raised a lot of questions.

Who is Dr. Georgina Stanton?

In the final episode, her ties to the Paragon are hinted at. I personally found myself drawing ties between her and Regina Ballard (Aceso). Regina, upon performing the ritual had lost her hair which kinda made me think if Stanton had also tried to do the same for her son (resulting in the loss of her hair, being the only survivor).

Who are the old ghosts?

This really got me scratching my head finding answers. Maybe they're yet again manifestations of the negative emotions arising in the kids but I'm not sure. Also, how is Kevin connected to the old woman and why does Ilonka keep seeing her where Kevin is?

All these are left unanswered which really irks the viewers to know more.

(I have not read the books and all my interpretations are solely based on the show)

96 notes · View notes

jennycalendar · 10 months

Note

jenny/ethan?

(also, jenny/giles/ethan, but i am currently quietly going feral about jenny/ethan as i try to work out my massive AU project that may never be finished, so. i want to hear your thoughts on both because these are my favorite rare ships in this fandom.)

SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS. most of them spill over into my own personal complicated emotions about/writing ideas for this notion. not sure if this qualifies as a "brutally honest opinion" or if it's just word vomit but Oh Well. Can't Help It. Jenny And Ethan Create Feelings.

ok so like. jenny and ethan are my two favorite guys. ethan, however, is much more.... how do i put this? fic remembers that he's a human person. there is a solid subsection of calendiles fic that really just treats jenny as a lipsticked paper doll that makes giles happy, but when ethan is in fic, there's almost always this detailed, thoughtful portrayal of what's going on in his head and how he as an individual relates to giles, despite jenny being in more episodes than him. (it's the misogyny. and i hate it.) so i don't spend a lot of time writing ethan because, like, ethan is fine! he does not need my help! and if i wanna read gorgeous fic about ethan i can find it without scrounging! finding fic for jenny that goes into that kind of thought and detail is a little tougher.

so that is an important backdrop re: my very complicated feelings every time i think about jenny and ethan at the same time! but another component is this: i fucking love jenny and ethan. both of them as individuals say so much about giles (i.e. that he likes women who can throw him around and men who he can throw around) and both of them are SO smart and terrifying!!! i do have Opinions re: jenny perceiving giles as a complete individual vs. ethan's fixation with Turning Giles Back Into Ripper, but 1) that's another thing entirely and 2) i think that a timeline where jenny/ethan could happen is a timeline where ethan is so much more emotionally mature. so i shall leave it as a footnote and move along.

ANYWAY. i didn't realize this until i started writing this all up, but part of the reason i've never written anything for jenny/ethan is because of that aforementioned misogyny in the way fandom reads ethan vs. jenny. i have always been a little nervous that exploring jenny/ethan means i am a hop, skip, & a jump away from that corner of fandom full of giles stans who violently despise jenny, and every time i entertain the notion my brain is like "but celia, then you're spending time thinking about ethan, and everyone has done that to death. the dearth of jenny fic that explores and appreciates her as an individual even within her relationship with giles is so much more pressing a concern to you!!" and then i put that box down and go back to another jenny fic, because that makes me less sad.

but i do love jenny/ethan as a concept!!! a lot!!! despite my reticence to explore it in fic! i think so much of it is just -- i have been worried about writing smth and having to deal with chilly reception + disinterest from people who like ethan and don't like jenny. the dislike of jenny has waned in recent years (iiiiiiii have suspicions about why this is but they sound HORRIBLY arrogant so i will try to keep my head normal sized) but i am still a lil squirrelly about it because.

third reason and most important reason.

jenny/ethan would FUCKING SLAP. and i want it too much to be objective about it.

like, first of all, jenny and ethan connecting in the wake of giles's death is smth i have thought about so many times and in so many different ways. usually i tend to have it skew platonic/ambiguous simply because i think i like the idea of them having this Unexplainable Tragedy Bond after being impacted by this man for such a strange short moment (and also because, in my head, i often just see ethan as gay, because i think that creates a lot of interesting tension in the Bisexuality Metaphor that is the normative vs. non-normative internal conflict within giles + ethan's insistence that the non-normative is the Only Real Answer) but the fact remains that the connection is there!

i have thought a lot about ethan teaching jenny about chaos magic as a brand of magic that's accessible to her/makes sense to her, and i do think that he'd be deeply fascinated by her interest in computers for, hilariously, the exact same reason giles hates them, which would piss her off to the extreme. (he LOVES the "soulless numbers-running automaton" aspect of it all because there are SO MANY WAYS TO MAKE EVERYTHING BREAK. and now he gets to figure out NEW WAYS TO BREAK THINGS. this is GREAT. he is NOT listening to jenny's furious tirades re: how computers aren't soulless. he's going to bring down the mainframe.)

i also think that ethan and jenny would verbally spar in a way that would actually terrify giles. like, both of them are often much quicker than him (it's why he likes them!) and so against EACH OTHER??? TERRIFYING. but jenny would win, because jenny absolutely always wins, and i think she would take it as a BIG win when she manages to actually trip up ethan and get him flustered. she is probably the only person in the world who could manage to do that. (except for nora but i'm not legally allowed to say anything about what may or may not happen in future installments of potential fics.)

i can truly never decide whether i like ethan + jenny as friends or ethan/jenny in a way that skews romantic, tho, bc like i said, i like the notion of ethan as not attracted to women! creates a lot of interesting messiness about his insistence that giles needs to return to him to be truly happy, his determination that giles is living a lie, etc, and i love the level of misunderstanding and limited perspective that that adds to giles/ethan's relationship. BUT i also love ethan in general and i think ethan/jenny could be so fun? and also so unexpectedly tender?? jenny is exactly the kind of unhinged academic that ethan is a sucker for, and i do really love the idea of these two people who make GILES look emotionally vulnerable finding a way to let their guard down around each other. both of them are little wet cats trying to make themselves look big, after all.

mostly i am just like. i want this in a way that goes beyond logic to the point where i never talk about it on main because it feels TOO self-indulgent to justify & Cite My Sources About, especially when i have these pre-existing headcanons for ethan that would conflict with jenny/ethan's existence! but at the same time it would be SO FUN, and also the level of charged tender romance that jenny and ethan could manufacture as two people with BIG hearts who are DESPERATELY trying to hide that level of love.... like, WHOA.

jenny/giles/ethan is obvs elite tier, in any configuration, whether or not it involves jenny/ethan. giles has two hands. i don't have much else to say about that one bc i think we all know it's the best thing in the world.

(and also please please please tell me more about your massive au project that involves jenny/ethan. i will definitely give you an insider scoop on some secret fic in exchange....)

#asks #brutally honest asks #HM. should i give them a tag?#jenny x ethan #gje #there we go. :)

22 notes · View notes

that-disabled-princess · 9 months

Text

I don't believe in fate or destiny or "everything happens for a reason", or anything like that. I've been through too much and have too much PTSD and CPTSD for that. But I do believe we find books and movies when we need them most. When we're in our darkest places. It's just an unexplainable part of how books and movies work, I think.

I was in a dark place when I found Carry On. I was in my freshman year of high school when I first learned about it, but I didn't read it until several months later. It was Spring 2020, we were going into lockdown, my mom was divorcing her abusive ex, and I (as the oldest and family scapegoat) was caught between it all. I didn't think I was going to make it to my next birthday.

And then, by some miracle, I picked up Carry On and read it in October 2020. I read Wayward Son immediately after. Joined Tumblr a month later. (I still remember in excruciating detail the traumatic events of that year. It was more than a teenager should've ever had to go through.)

I found the Carry On fandom and made fandom friends--fandom friends that turned into more than just fandom friends. Friends.

I wouldn't have graduated high school, or even have made it to my eighteenth birthday, without fandom. I wouldn't be sitting here typing this post.

The beginning few months of this year was hard for me again. (Doesn't help that Februarys are always the worst for me.) I got hit with a betrayal and friend drama (and am still healing from both of them), several new medical issues, new mental health issues, my second semester of senior year. I was drowning in a pool I could touch the bottom of.

I didn't think I was going to make it to graduation.

But I somehow made it through, five months clean, healing that broken friendship and learning to live as a disabled person.

Or so I thought.

My family chooses to be willfully ignorant of my mental and physical disabilities and struggles, chooses to downplay them so they don't have to make so many accommodations for me. Verbal and physical assaults from my younger siblings because I "don't look disabled". I definitely didn't stay clean. I didn't want to keep going.

And then I somehow found Nimona.

A dystopian movie about a shape-shifter sidekick helping clear a villain's name? It sounded right up my ally. I went to watch it, assuming it was going to be a little cliche, not too much of a high rewatch value, etc... I hadn't heard much before jumping into the movie, but boy, was I wrong.

That movie... that movie was everything. I watched it nearly 20 damn times that week. The trans allegory, the disability rep... yeah, that movie became fucking everything.

I paused the movie and sobbed when I realized we were getting a disabled protagonist. A disabled protagonist who's prosthetic arm is allowed to make noise, who's allowed to exist, who's allowed to take up space, who's allowed to be loved! Not in spite of his disabilities, but because of them!

I damn near started crying on the spot when Nimona described what it feels like when she doesn't shift. If that isn't a reference to chronic pain, I don't know what is.

I found Nimona when I was in a very dark place struggling with being disabled; found Nimona during disability pride month. (Happy disability pride month, by the way!) I found it exactly when I needed it most.

This is getting longer than I intended it to, so I'll end it here. I definitely think books and movies find us when we need them most 💖

#i know nimona is a trans allegory please don't derail my post saying i can't see it as a disability metaphor as well #i am both trans and disabled #carry on and nimona changed my life for the better #internalized ableism #tw internalized ableism #tw suicidality #mental health

15 notes · View notes

jenyifer · 6 months

Text

Dangerous romance 7/10 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Lists I’d Put It In: So much potential, Sports, Slice of Life

Review: There is a lot of things I like about dangerous romance but the cons makes it so that I’d likely not watch it again.

Pros the actors main and side were fan fucking tastic. Perth can be so intimidating bratty sexy and on the other hand just a sweet little puppy. I love how funny he made Kang just adding flare. Chimon baby of OffGun of course I watched this show mainly for him. Sailom is basically a hop skip and jump away from Wave from the gifted Sassy Smart Secertly extremely caring and gushy. I’m hoping Chimon’s roles always involve sass it’s his signature. GIVE PAPANG AND PEPPER A BIGGER BL ROLE AND VIEWJUNE ALL OF MY MONEY. MarcPawin really surprised me as well I wasn’t expecting much because I just watched my gear your gown. The grandma was precious. Euro and JJ were great comic relief I wish there had been more of them. I wish there was more I made a post before this 12th ep saying how I’d fix the series in detail. So I’m gonna boil it down here. The ships should have been more interlocked with eachother. The editing made the show boring. Why did we have so many flashbacks and lingering shots. I love a pretty scene but they took so long and we needed extra interlocking scenes for all the ships. Ugh I can see how this show would have been great with just a few changes which makes it so frustrating. Anyways more about the ships after the break

First Perth and Chimon are not at fault for this I’m talking about editing and story. I adore KangSailom they had good potential but it felt like it got every trope imaginable enemies to lovers, poor boy rich boy, long standing unexplainable secret crush from childhood, tutor student, redemption arc, misunderstanding. AND YET IT FELT WEAK BECAUSE OF THE EDITING AND LACK OF OTHER CHARACTERS INTERACTION UNTIL THE VERY END.

Meanwhile audiences kept getting tiny precious glimpses of WONDERFUL side ships.

GuyNawa Idiot Sport boy for Idiot Sport boy with injury, enemies to lovers (really fully enemies), long standing crush was so incredibly beautiful and effective. I probably won’t have liked their plot too if it had been drawn out because I would have been missing the other side characters but what we got for them was perfect I’d rewatch their scenes again. I was much more impressed by MarcPawin this time I hope they get another series their kiss was thru the roof. They give me strong Sports Anime vibes made me miss Haikyuu.

Saifah and Name had the most potential to be a 10/10 ship. Papang and Pepper definitely need their flowers because the show didn’t give them a lot to work with. Their characters and storylines should have been worked in from the beginning. I wanted to want to cry for Saifah when he was taken away. I wanted to want Name to stay safe as he tried to protect Sailom and Saifah. But I felt like it was so rushed. We barely got to see what these characters had. But everything we did was leaning towards greatness a big brother who has done wrong in the past to get by trying to do ANYTHING for his brother even tho he’s in over his head and a bit of an idiot and mafia guy who sees his highschool friend again falls in love but is offered shit choices all around to his enviable conclusion and redemption. If only we had gotten them sooner and worked into Sailom’s plot more. I’m telling you it would have been stunning. I can see the vision.

I really love Pimfah. She is… a great female character. I talked about it already but great lesbian energy. I wish I had more. I wish Pimfah could have been worked more smoothly into Kang’s storyline after he decided to go after Sailom. The student teacher was precious. She is going to make a great teacher. I wish we got a spin off of what happens in London. But sadly the ship just didn’t have enough screen time.

I might rewatch the GuyNawa scenes again but the rest is probably a skip.

Bonus: Strangest kiss in the bathroom award goes to….

8 notes · View notes

selfundiagnosed · 5 months

Text

Ignore and disassemble childish mental mind game traps in front of you and go im sorry we are all these flawed human beings stuck like this. The bar is no longer right underneath me. i dont care about others flaws anymore. Its too complicated to justify putting energy into an emotional reaction. the emotional reaction is glaring compensation for a guilty conscious and being in denial of doing the exact same complicated, arguably bad thing in the past. dont burn someone at the stake because you will never live up to your own immeasurable standards and when you inevitably fuck up it will fuck you up and it becomes unhelpful to you, the people you love, the people who love you, and the people you have no choice but to be around every single day. It makes you a lot less miserable. come at every mistake you confront assuming the best possible lead up to the mistake; come from the perspective of how YOU could have made that exact same mistake under the right circumstances and ask yourself if you’d want to be given idk a Little grace to make mistakes? If you have ever made a mistake and been given that grace, while accepting full well that the other party had every right not to, it can be the most motivating unexplainable feeling of gratitude. if you can offer a little bit of relief with no sweat off your back, i think its worth it. i believe rejection and social isolation creates stagnancy in the growth of people who honestly just need to know the extent of the consequences of their actions on the world around them, because many people really just don’t understand why something is wrong until they see the full gravity of the situation. a lot of people, when left in the dark, have to use their own imagination to fill in the gaps and we as people tend to let ego do that for us! which NO ONE is above doing, irregardless. have some compassion for people exhibiting their flaws because we all hide our own until the perfect storm brews. i have watched myself read between the lines, jump to conclusions, assume the worst, and indulge in my cognitive distortions too many times in my life when in reality i wasnt as deeply effected as i wanted to be— i found things that justified my desire to be resentful and angry. imaginary shit. and when im out of it and i see other people doing it i can only feel compassion and sadness. it makes me sad. if it isnt so serious on you why make it so serious????

7 notes · View notes

apocalypticavolition · 3 months

Text

Film Thoughts

So in an effort to become more cultured and whatnot I figured I might as well get the streaming service for film nerds. Way too many essential films I haven't seen, so why not knock a bunch out? Here's what I watched in the last week.

The Graduate

It's rare for a romantic comedy (well, dramedy, but still, it's hilarious) to be aware that its male protagonist is a horrible person whose only virtue, if you can call it that, is an unrelenting persistence in getting what he wants. It's even rarer for those with incompatible romantic leads to be aware of exactly how miserable they're going to make each other once the honeymoon phase wears off. The Graduate is famous for its ending that makes it very clear exactly how badly its protagonists have torpedoed their lives. But I'd really like to highlight that delightfully horrible moment in the middle, when Dustin Hoffman's character drags Katharine Ross to the front row of a strip club and - for basically the only time in the film until the ending - feels something resembling the human emotion of regret as she is humiliated by the dancer and brought to tears. Anne Bancroft is a fantastic Mrs. Robinson, a woman whose initial affair with Hoffman and perpetually caustic attitude don't quite manage to hide how desperately depressed she really is. A+, should have seen it a lot sooner.

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

I've seen Time Bandits, so I'm honestly not sure why I expected anything different. Terry Gilliam adapts a German novel about a tall-tale-telling nobleman (played by John Neville) who fought in the Russo-Turkish War of the 1730s. It's... well, with just a little effort you could easily make it a sequel to Time Bandits. The big differences are that the Baron's obligatory child companion is a girl this time (Sarah Polley) and that he only has one dwarf (Jack Purvis) in the party instead of six, with his other companions being a variety of dudes with extraordinary abilities. Like the Bandits, the Baron jumps from fantastic location to location, visiting a city under siege, Greek myths, and a distant ocean. Finding Robin Williams as the King of Space on the moon is a new touch at least. But sadly, where Bandits's strange ending is almost entirely based on how its plot unfolded bar Sean Connery's unexplained presence in the present, Baron doubles down on the inexplicable at the last minute and deliberately muddles its own finale. I'm not sure Gilliam really ever knew how to end stories. Everything else was quite fun though.

The Delta

An obscure indie film about a young man (Shayne Gray) in Tennessee who embraces his queer leanings and goes boating with a black Vietnamese immigrant (Thang Chan). It's the kind of indie film I often find myself bouncing off of, avoiding a clear dramatic arc in favor of atmosphere and subtle characterization, but on the whole I was drawn in. Chan was a particular delight, demonstrating the difficulties his character had as a queer immigrant of unusual heritage navigating the south in the 90s. It's obvious their relationship is going to fall apart, but I rooted for it anyway. I also enjoyed an earlier scene in the film in which Gray hooks up with a middle-aged man with fetishes that end the encounter prematurely, despite the man's begging as Gray prepares to leave. Sadly, this is another film with ending problems, escalating to a violent conflict that feels more like it was about shocking the audience that anything else. It's still worth watching for Chan's performance.

Inside Llewyn Davis

I really enjoy the Coen Brothers. Oscar Isaac plays the titular character, the Coens' take on real folk singer Dave van Ronk, a talented musician whose impulsiveness and pride consistently prevent him from ever finding real success. Davis remains a more sympathetic character than the company he keeps in part because of the grief of his former musical (and romantic?) partner's death and in part because he does consistently try to do right by his friends even as he makes poor decision after poor decision. Other strong performances in the film include Carey Mulligan, who is almost completely unlikable but dominates every scene she's in, and of course John Goodman who could play a decayed corpse and still be nominated for several awards. In this case he plays a complete asshole of a jazz musician with a heroin problem. It's a fun look at a fictitious variant of the New York folk music scene, but honestly "Coen Brothers" should have already told you whether or not you'd like it.

The Lady Vanishes

Since the Criterion Channel cycles their roster monthly and Hitchcock is being kicked off the streams at the end of this month, I figured I'd give him a bit of attention. The Lady Vanishes offers up a simple enough story: bride-to-be Iris Henderson (Margaret Lockwood) crosses paths with Miss Froy (May Whitty) on a train, but Miss Froy vanishes and Iris has to team up with Gilbert (Michael Redgrave) when no one will admit to having seen the woman, some for merely selfish reasons and others for far more sinister ones. It's a bit too "civilized Brits keeping their chins up amid wicked foreigners" for my liking, but the mystery is a good one and the suspense keeps up even as the characters unravel it. Apparently side characters Charters and Caldicott (who were kinda gay for each other, just saying) were so popular that the BBC just kept using them, which I... do not understand at all. A fun movie, but not Hitchcock's best.

Rear Window

Okay I've already seen this one, but it's been years so it was time to watch it again dammit. I don't know if Rear Window is Hitchcock's best, but it's my favorite. A film that's as much about film as it is about spying on your neighbors, Rear Window is a technical marvel. James Stewart and *checks notes* future princess of Monaco, Grace Kelly-

*checks notes again*

Nope, that's what it says. Hell of a career move.

-star in this thriller about a man who tragically broke his leg about five years before TV became popular and so had to turn to voyeurism to pass the time instead. When he's not spying on the hot dancer or the lonely over-30 woman who is about ready to kill herself from the loneliness, he solves crime! Seriously, just watch it, unless you don't like movies where the dog doesn't live. (Spoiler alert: the dog does not live and its owners are fucking distraught.)

The Cat from Outer Space

Imagine crossing E.T. with Hocus Pocus and adding some of the cast of M*A*S*H, then carefully distilling all of that quality entertainment, tossing it in the trash, and turning the dregs into film. I cannot even begin to fathom why the Criterion Channel has this movie. Its individual scenes are blandly predictable while its overall plot veers wildly from concept to concept (the military reacts to an extraterrestrial probe! the heroes need to gamble on sports and then at a pool hall to get gold! there's an air rescue scene!) in a mishmash of ideas that are each almost but not quite interesting. Since it does predate the kids films it so strongly resembles I won't ding it for having a scene where our alien cat levitates a bike for our hero to ride to safety, but I was so uninterested in this movie that I still kind of want to. Show this to your young kids, ideally when you don't have to be in the same room, but otherwise skip.

Rope

So this was a Hitchcock that I thought I hadn't seen but realized very shortly that I definitely had back in high school. Struggling against the limitations of the era, it's a Hays Code movie starring John Dall and Farley Granger as a murderous gay couple and it's shot to look like a single take despite the fact that they literally couldn't fit more than ten minutes of film into the cameras back then. The title refers both to the literal murder weapon and to the metaphorical noose tightening around the main characters' necks as they try to flaunt their criminal genius by throwing a dinner party with all of their victim's family and friends while he's stuffed into the table they're eating off of. Dall, the sociopathic dom of the relationship, is all too pleased with himself and confident they have everyone (including James Stewart) fooled, while Granger, the obedient sub, slowly cracks under the guilt. You should definitely watch this, especially if you somehow didn't notice how gay it was.

#criterion channel #the graduate #the adventures of baron munchausen #the delta #inside llewyn davis #the lady vanishes #rear window #the cat from outer space #rope

4 notes · View notes

quietpagan · 8 days

Text

Trollhunters: What Falls and What Grows, Ch. 23

AO3

The hour’s delay was made up on the spot but it was a good idea, because Alexandra took that hour and ran.

“Vendel contacted the Dùnriya Heartstone in Wales to inquire about you. They sent a delegation; they’re asking for you now.”

Blinky’s phone call ricocheted inside her skull like the ringing of a church bell, chiming her doom. She teleported halfway down the hillside, stumbled, scraped her hand and face, and started running.

“Vendel contacted…”

Trees and boulders blurred into smudges of dull color, dirt and pebbles from the path down slipping under her boots. Run, run, run.

“…The Dùnriya Heartstone…”

She shed her trollish skin in a desperate burst of light, teleporting from the tree line to the narrow alleyway behind the electronics store, and then squeezed herself through the gap, and ran.

“…in Wales…”

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, not now, not now, oh God –

“…to inquire about you…”

Her lungs burned but everything felt cold, from the sweat rising from her skin to the teardrops spilling across her face. There were so many ways that it could all fall apart.

People on the sidewalk jumped out of her way; lunchtime traffic did not, and when she darted across the street a teal-colored car clipped her hip, knocking her into a fall that she rolled up from and she kept running, her right thigh aching down to the bone. She ignored the yells of alarm, and ran.

“…They sent a delegation…”

Blinky didn’t say how many, or who, but it didn’t matter. Her story had depended on nobody actually asking questions, on nobody investigating too deeply, on nobody from her goddamn birthstone showing up in Trollmarket to come and visit and ask her about her origins. It didn’t matter that she would look different than the last time they’d seen her - older and scarred. It didn’t matter that she was the Trollhunter now. She’d dug further; there were only three children from her clan that were listed dead between four and three-hundred years ago; one from sickness, one from sunlight, and one from an unexplained ‘accident’. Only the last was female; only the last had no interment record. It didn’t matter that she claimed to be born to clanless parents, bereft of a Heartstone - the whole story was mist; a mirage; baseless and unable to be proven. Any scrap of her birthstone would call to her, and she couldn’t physically hide which clan she hailed from. She’d spent her whole life running away from the things that threatened her and it came so naturally once more, but for the first time in her life, she could run as far as possible but she couldn’t outrun the weight of her lies finally falling down around her like so many dominos, like posts under the heavy hit of a mallet, like nails driving deeper, deeper, deeper into the coffin she’d built herself.

“…they’re asking for you now.”

Alexandra ran until she started to cough bloody phlegm; her eyes filled with static, and with one last push she teleported to the outside of the gyre chamber and collapsed against the wall, Changing as she fell.

There was another gyre there, older and smaller. It may as well have been the pale horse of Death. On the barest edge of her senses, she felt a faint humming, the same as she’d felt on their trip to Bath.

Alexandra shook against the wall for a while, trying to get some feeling back into her hands. The left one was covered in red, red blood and she angrily scrubbed at it with a handkerchief, spitting on it to wet it before attacking the cut on her face similarly; when both were cleaned of human scent and fluids she screwed up her eyes and swallowed the bloody rag. Alex pat herself down and ran a hand through her hair, dusting the debris from the tunnel off of her shorts and vest. She straightened up, and then her right leg crumpled under her.

Oh that’s right, minor vehicular injury.

Her claws gouged holes in the wall as she wrenched herself upright, paused to swallow a scream, and then teleported, appearing on the other side of the gyre entrance in full Trollhunter regalia.

The guards shied back from her sudden appearance and she offered them a playful smirk, hiding all four shaking hands behind her back.

“Sorry about that, fellas, I’m in a bit of a hurry. What’s this I’m hearing about a delegation?” The shorter of the two, Bolus, glanced at his companion before clearing his throat.

“Four representatives ofDùnriya Heartstone just showed up an hour ago, Trollhunter. They’re probably with Vendel now if you want to see them.” Alexandra pretended to listen. Teleporting three longer distances in a row was incredibly draining; running so hard for nearly an hour and then stopping without cooling down made the world feel like it was rushing away from her and she had to swallow back the instinct to throw up. Her head throbbed; her hearts beat like drums in her ears; her hair hid the injury to her face; the armor hid the cut on her arm but scraped it with every move and her hands would not. Stop. Shaking.

“I believe I do, thank you. Bolus, Tarlow – keep it up.”

The guards straightened and she left them to it, grinding her teeth to pebbles as she forced herself to walk toward the Heartstone without a trace of a limp. Her fucking hip felt like it was on fire.

Twenty feet from the gyre entrance and she had to give up; with a final wrench she summoned the last of her reserves and teleported to her rooms, deep within the residential areas. Her knees slammed on the cold ground, followed by her hands, followed by her elbows, and she vomited onto the floor.

They were going to know, they were going to find out, Blinky couldn’t lie to save his life, let alone hers. And she was too shaky and too hurt right now to fight.

Alex wiped her mouth and half-crawled to the tiny bathroom inside her quarters, the quarters that she’d taken from a dead troll, her deceased predecessor who was watching her from the damn netherworld as she shook, leaning against the sink to throw up again. She stood, hands gripping the stone basin, just working to control her breath. It was a fight, a true fight, to force away the black creeping into the edges of her vision.

It had been a very, very long time since Alexandra opened herself to prayer, but as she slid down the wall and puddled onto the floor she did, and she wept.

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

The Daylight Armor offered only minimal support for her hip and thigh, so Alexandra scarfed down two pain potions before heading off to the Heartstone, where Vendel most likely was keeping their guests. It felt like ground glass was coating her hip joint, but the half-hour she’d taken to pause and gather herself had helped her regain her composure enough to just fucking fake it. In a fit of paranoia Alexandra also silenced her phone and rigged it with duct-tape, ready to stick somewhere out of sight to record any discussions after she left whatever doomed meeting she was about to walk into.

It helped that Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, and Draal were waiting for her across the bridge. The three looked distinctly uncomfortable, Blinky wringing his hands together while the other two shifted on their feet.

“Ah, Master Alexandra,” said Blinky slowly. “I, er. I’m terribly sorry, this was a completely unexpected visitation – “ “I’m aware,” said Alexandra, somewhat hoarsely. She coughed, tasting something metallic in her mouth, then swallowed and continued. “We’ll just…go in. I don’t have a plan of action here, to be totally honest. I don’t think I can ask you to lie for me.” “I…truly did not intend for you to discuss certain issues with Vendel in this fashion.”

Alexandra turned away and began walking again, unable to bear the waiting any further, even though she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from Trollmarket as she possibly could. The humming under her skin felt louder now; it was pleasant and welcoming, but by God did it ache.

“It had to happen,” Alexandra said, eventually, as much as she didn’t want to mean it. “You were right about that. No circumstances would ever have been ideal or perfectly planned. Let’s just…go.”

Draal silently fell into step beside her. His presence jabbed a sharp spike of warmth into her hearts and she willed her hands to stay still enough to gently squeeze his elbow. Behind her, a gust of air alerted her to AAARRRGGHH’s wall of mass, steadily holding up the rear, not herding her forward but guarding her back. And on her other side, eyeing her with trepidation, Blinky quietly walked, and for the first time that Alexandra could remember she actually felt completely, utterly supported. It was heady enough to straighten her back, and she stepped into the Heartstone, ‘with heart and mind prepared’.

Vendel stood around his cleared workbench/torture table with four trolls of varying height, each sporting four arms and four eyes. The tallest was somber in appearance, hands clasped behind her as she stood still and calm, her eyes a stark black against the dusty violet of her arms and face. Alexandra’s eye clocked several neatly tucked-away knives on her belt; she was most likely a guard.

The shortest and clear eldest was a dark turquoise in color, with tufts of silvery hair emerging from his ears that matched his pointed sideburns. His horns were gnarled and dulled with age, and his top right hand was missing all but the pointer finger and thumb. His eyes were sharp, however, and Alexandra assessed him to be an archivist or historian, a job possibly shared by the other female of the group, a much-younger troll with her sheet of green hair pushed back behind an iron headband, her nose only just emerging from a scroll as the group entered.

The last troll gave Alexandra pause, because she felt the barest recognition at the haggard appearance of his mouth; unusually toothy even for a troll, with an overgrown canine pushing down even as the usual two tusks jutted from his lips. She knew him by the color of his hair, too, because it was the same shade of cobalt as her own. Her hearts, beating so wildly that she was sure her companions could hear them, sank. In his hand stood a staff of shining sea-green crystal, and by just looking at it Alexandra felt something inside of her clench like the ache of a phantom limb.

Vendel was looking somewhat aggrieved; he approached the coming group and gestured a hand toward Alex.

“My friends, may I introduce our burgeoning Trollhunter: Alexandra Velius, daughter of Asphodelus.”

The eldest of the delegation cracked a grin.

“Well met, Trollhunter,” he said in a light, papery voice. “No epithet yet? How unusual; these Arcadia trolls ordinarily assign one at the slightest provocation.”

Alexandra strode forward and bowed her head to him.

“I’ve tried to get them to use ‘Alexandra the Amazing’, but they simply won’t go for it,” she said. “As long as it’s not ‘Abysmal’, I’ll be happy.” The ancient troll, only as tall as the middle of her chest, laughed with the creak of old wood.

“From what old Vendel has said, I doubt that will be the moniker chosen. I have with me my assistant, Carrocaer, and I am Rollo, son of Seneca, Dùnriya Heartstone’s senior historian.”

Alexandra thought that Rollo calling Vendel ‘old’ was rather bold, given how frail he looked, and then her brain stumbled through the fog of panic in her mind to slap her in the face.

Rollo, son of Seneca, was her maternal grandfather.

She smiled kindly at the two historians as she tried not to throw up again.

The leader of the Dùnriya Heartstone pressed a gray hand to his chest as he stepped forward.

“I am Gruffudd, son of Drusus,” he said in a raspy, lilting accent. “With me is our finest warrior, Catorri.” He continued his approach and began to circle Alexandra, forcing her companions to move back a bit.

“When Vendel contacted us about a lost member of our clan, I was not sure of his claim; our record-keeping is unparalleled, as Rollo will inform you.” Alexandra refused to flinch, relaxing her hands by sheer force of will and standing in an easy lean.

“I don’t blame you for not having me on record,” she said quietly. “My parents, I believe, were paranoid and probably more than a little mad. They refused contact with the outside world whenever possible.”

“There is no record of an ‘Asphodelus’, I’ll mention. Was it just the two of you, in the human underground?”

Gruffudd’s voice was not accusatory, she noted, blinking spots from her eyes. That one tiny thing gave her a grain of hope; maybe, just maybe, she might actually pull this off. She took care to keep her lower hands, the five-fingered ones, clasped respectfully behind her back.

“Not when I was a very young child,” Alexandra said, walking over to the wall and pulling up a bench for Rollo to use. She palmed her phone and quietly stuck the duct-tape side to the bottom of the bench. Rollo settled onto it with the help of a black stone staff and his assistant, thanking them both with a chuckle.

“There was another family with us when I was very young: two adults and another child. They all faded and died as my father did, I must have been, oh, maybe twenty. I actually don’t remember their names.” “Did your mother ever say why she was keeping you in a sewer?”

Blinky’s wide eyes, she noticed, were ping-ponging back and forth between her and Gruffudd, hands twisting anxiously in front of his chest.

“I was discouraged from asking questions,” Alexandra replied, furiously trying to make up an entire childhood on the spot. “Any topic outside of daily survival was forbidden.”

Carrocaer was writing on the scroll with both her left hands. She tucked her pen behind her ear and showed the scroll to Rollo.

“Ah, thank you, yes. When Vendel contacted us, young Trollhunter, he mentioned that while in a feverish state you spoke in Welsh. Are you fluent?” Alexandra forced herself to nod calmly. Vendel was pushing himself to the very top of her shit-list.

“It was the primary language we used, English being the second. We rarely used Trollish.” Rollo nodded his head, tapping what was left of his fingers on his crystal staff.

“And what was your meaning when you said ‘Doeddwn i ddim yn golygu. Byddaf yn gwneud yn well. Peidiwch â gadael iddyn nhw fynd â fi i ffwrdd’. Was that the incentive to never ask questions?”

Behind them, Blinky softly translated for Draal and AAARRRGGHH. Vendel had shuffled over to them and was now murmuring something to Blinky. He’s dead, Alex thought viciously. Vendel is dead, dead, dead. She didn’t remember ever saying that but the words slipped an icy finger down her spine.

“It was,” she replied. “If I were too rowdy or disobedient, I was told that something or someone would take me away. If true, honestly, it probably would have been better, but as a child the notion was terrifying enough to make me behave.” Rollo shook his head with a grimace.

“What irresponsibility, to forbid a child from asking about their world. I suppose you left as soon as you could, then?”

Alexandra paused – the very picture of innocent hesitation.

“Not…immediately, I admit. I had begun sneaking out and exploring for a while, though I avoided contact when I possibly could. I was probably a bit past my two-hundredth year when I left for the last time, a bit after my mother died.”

“Your mother – she faded?” Alexandra nodded. “She had never been particularly healthy; as the others passed she took on more and more of the supply runs and the maintenance of our dwelling, but by the time I turned about fifty most of the chores fell to me. She didn’t have energy for much, beside singing or storytelling or checking the security of the tunnels. One evening she simply didn’t wake, and she passed a few days later.”

There was no damn way she was going to remember all of this later – she’d have to ask Blinky to help her write it down, for all the good it would do.

The archivist Carrocaer, she noticed, certainly was doing just that.

Gruffudd was watching her as she spoke; his face was impassive, unreadable.

“The Heartstone I carry – you can feel it, can’t you?”

Alexandra wasn’t able to answer before Gruffudd simply stepped into her space and held the staff out, nearly dropping it into Alexandra’s hands. She reached to catch it automatically, a bright pulse under her skin horrified at the notion of letting it fall. When it touched her gloves her hands ached like they’d been submerged in ice water and boiling lava at the same time, and yet it didn’t hurt. Her hearts lurched and, to her utmost horror, she couldn’t hold back the tears. A single wretched sob burbled from her throat as something pushed past her composure, grabbing her in a white-hot embrace; Gruffudd’s single hand steadying the staff was the only thing that kept her on her feet, as much as she wanted to just sink to the floor, hold the crystal against her face, and die of embarrassment.

There was no possible way for her to lie – he’d feel it, connected to the Heartstone as most leaders were.

“It aches,” she whispered. He was close enough that he heard the strangled words.

“No troll is meant to separate from their Heartstone,” said Gruffudd, not unkindly. “Or live so long away from one. They are what gives us life, a light in our hearts as in our eyes. Without one, most trolls will fade into cold stone, as if they had never been. For you to survive so long without its warmth…”

“Quite remarkable,” piped Rollo, where he watched pensively from his bench. “Vendel has said you have thrived here.” I’m going to murder Vendel. Alexandra spared a hand to wipe her face. Fucking honesty hour it was, she supposed.

“I, uh. Mmm. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d felt, before coming here. Vendel and the others have been exceedingly patient and kind to me as I’ve, uh. Learned.”

She finished rather lamely, but Gruffudd smiled gently as he finally pulled the Heartstone staff away. The humming in her chest only barely abated.

Behind her, AAARRRGGHH let out an enormous and extremely fake yawn, prompting Blinky to clear his throat. “Er, on that note, Vendel, Gruffudd – perhaps the remainder of this could wait until our Trollhunter has had time to rest and refresh herself? We have just gotten back from a rather lengthy expedition, you see, and I, for one, would like to discuss a few items with you, Rollo – after a brief respite, if you don’t mind.”

Blinky’s announcement brought with it a genuine yawn from AAARRRGGHH, who then spread it to Alexandra. The panic had abated slightly, and the further it slipped away the more she remembered that she was, in fact, exhausted as fuck, and in a certain amount of pain.

“Oh of course, Blinky,” Rollo said with a smile. He leaned forward and pat Alexandra’s hand oh god she had the lower ones in full view and motioned her toward the door. “We can continue this discussion tomorrow; I’m sure you have questions for us as well. For now let’s just rest – I know I wouldn’t mind turning in.”

Alexandra nodded absently and said polite goodbyes to all present, unable to judge if the ‘kindly grandfather’ vibe that rolled off of Rollo like mist was genuine or not. Blinky was already pulling her away and she allowed herself to be led, remembering only at the last moment to not limp and to carefully tuck her lower hands away from the myriad eyes behind her.

Vendel followed them out of the Heartstone only long enough to threaten Alexandra toward the Healing Dwell, having noticed, somehow, that she was injured. And then he left, and Alex was standing in the middle of the empty bridge with Draal, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH all staring at her with concern.

“I’ll…walk you to the Healing Dwell,” said Draal. He eyeballed the other two and they quietly retreated; AAARRRGGHH briefly pat her shoulder, which would be sweet if Alex was able to concentrate on anything.

A broad blue hand shoved up under her armpit and she was pressed to Draal’s side, content to let him support her. Her mind felt like it was filled with cotton and bees, heavy and stinging and clouded.

She wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t. Draal was a terrible liar and asking him to pretend that she wasn’t daughter and granddaughter to two of the Dùnriya delegation would be asking for trouble. But she wanted to tell him, and that was something, she supposed. The big emotions would have to wait until she was less tired and had a functional hip.

Pottlebot the healer was in a bad mood already, which thankfully expedited the process, since she was too crabby to worry about being gentle. Draal pocketed the healing potions they were given and limped Alexandra back to her room.

The part of her that wanted to be left alone was given absolutely no choice; Draal shut the door behind him as he nudged her off his shoulder. She lay down and her hip burst into pinpricks of flame to remind her again that, oh yeah, she’d gotten hit by a car. Wonderful.

Draal jumped when Alex dug sharp fingers in his pocket for a pain potion. She wanted to ask him what he’d been up to while she’d been gone, but as soon as she downed the potion a wave of exhaustion hit her like a train, and she fell back onto the bed, conscious just long enough to watch as Draal silently picked up a book and settled in.

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

“Is there anything better than pussy?” Waltolomew Stricklander asked with a grin, while Blinky waved A Brief Recapitulation of Troll Lore, Volume 16 in the air behind him, the only volume with a blue binding because Blinky had accidentally spilled a drink on it once.

“Yes, a really good book!” he said, as Stricklander played the synth piano.

Alexandra blinked in the darkness of the room, fully awake in an instant.

She was never taking three pain potions in a row again, if that was the quality of the medicated dreams they produced.

Draal was nowhere to be seen, though his book was still face-down on the chair. Alex flopped herself off of the nest until she could assume a vaguely upright position, and then chugged another healing potion, rubbing a very soothing ointment over her hip and thigh. She took a moment to transform her lower half to see the damage and, yes, her thigh was an angry mess of mottled red and purple. In troll form it was a darker shade, and just as swollen and stiff. Trying to get her phone out of the Heartstone was going to be difficult, until Alexandra realized, after twenty minutes of trying to figure out how to get across Trollmarket without visibly limping, that absolutely everyone and their pet gnome was more accustomed to seeing her injured than not, and at this point would probably take a hale, healthy Alexandra as an ill omen.

Her track record for injuries within the past several months was worse than the past centuries, and it would have been disheartening if only she didn’t find it useful in that exact moment.

She continued about her business as normal, stopping for a quick meal as the Heartstone began to wake up in the sunset hours. As a rule, trolls didn’t sleep as much as humans, but many still bedded down during the day. A location like Trollmarket, with its array of visitors and pilgrims coming at all hours, never truly slept, but from dawn to dusk it was just a little bit quieter.

Her hip ached as she puttered about, making inquiries and conversations.

The Dùnriya delegation were staying in the northern caves, she found out, and out of the four of them only Rollo and Catorri had ever visited, and neither of them for decades.

As she made her rounds she paid visit to Jaela’s body, which had been interred in the Silent Keep with the rest, waiting for final rites. Alexandra stopped by on her way to Vendel’s and performed them quietly, sending the woman’s spirit away with assurances that her death had been avenged, and her daughter was being cared for. Troll funeral rites were not dramatic nor extensive, even for community leaders or renowned warriors. Alex wasn’t sure how much of that had to do with trolls’ somewhat glorified view of death, or their sometimes morbid views on life. Both were considered grand adventures, and the ending of the first did not necessarily mean that the second was a tragedy, particularly if the ending was rather grand and honorable.

Alexandra did not expect to find Vendel in the Heartstone at such an ‘early’ hour, particularly since he had been up all day welcoming the delegation, but there he was, patiently describing the properties of the gigantic gemstone to Carrocaer, the junior archivist.

Both Vendel and Carrocaer looked up as Alexandra arrived, a bit worse for wear but better than when they’d last seen her. She greeted Vendel quietly and smiled at Carrocaer, who was looking at her with unabashed curiosity.

“It’s a magnificent Heartstone, I have to say,” Alexandra commented. “I’ve visited two others, and this one has been the brightest and most welcoming of them all.”

Vendel straightened from his slight hunch, preening a bit at the praise; as leader of Trollmarket, his duties included tending to the crystal and assuring its continued health and power. There was a strange look in his eye as Alexandra approached, but Alex ignored it to focus on Carrocaer, who was writing in her scroll.

She held the paper before Alexandra: What other Heartstones have you visited? What was most striking about them? What did they feel like?

Alexandra leaned against the table and considered her answer, trying to look as personable as possible while half her mind was figuring out how to get her damn phone back.

“The first I visited was the Isarnan Heartstone, up near the Great Lakes of this country. I don’t know what type of crystal it was, but it was a very deep red, and the effect it made in the cavern of black stone was what struck me the most. They produce thousands of iron totems and charms in that clan, and the glow of the crystal against the black stone and shining iron decorations made it seem like the cavern was glittering. I honestly didn’t feel much from that Heartstone.” Carrocaer nodded, watching Alex avidly as she scribbled everything down. Alexandra belatedly noticed that most of her green coloration was, in fact, a covering of soft, fine moss, including her hair.

Behind her, Vendel was eyeing Alexandra’s hip, and when she pushed herself off of the table and sank on to the bench with a muffled groan, he rolled his eyes and strolled away, no doubt to find her something for her injury, despite having bullied her to the Healing Dwell just hours before.

Alexandra leaned her top arms against her knees, letting the bottom ones hang freely. Once Carrocaer looked down, she’d grab the phone.

“The Chimeria Heartstone, which Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, and I just returned from, was even more beautiful; it’s a diaspore crystal, I think, and it changed color as we walked around it. The cavern itself was the most stunning; the stone was carved so beautifully, and in many places there are everlasting fires burning, so that the whole cavern seems to glow and move. The abundance of color and the glow of it all was the most striking to me but I didn’t really feel much from that crystal either, although there was a small feeling of welcome.”

The notebook was turned around: But you feel attachment to the Heartstone here?

Alexandra nodded tiredly and looked up as Vendel stomped his way toward the two; he delicately handed Alex a small sliver of amber crystal, which she swiftly pressed against her bruised hip. Vendel nodded, his milky eyes wandering across her limbs before snorting and retreating into the Heartstone once again.

Weird. Was he feeling guilty for narcing on her? Unlikely, but…

The piece of crystal was warm in her hand, and Alexandra drew enough strength from it to keep smiling.

“When I first arrived, it felt like a…like a broken part of me had been twisted loose, and then put back in the proper place. I had never felt anything more welcoming, deep in my hearts.” Until last night? The mention of her home crystal swelled a lump in Alexandra’s throat unexpectedly; she just nodded. Carrocaer had the grace to look away, and Alex took the opportunity to shuffle her feet and pick at the duct tape sticking to the phone.

A shuffle at the entrance of the Heartstone was her saving grace, and in the noise and distraction she pried the phone loose and stuffed it into her pocket. At the doorway trudged Blinky, who had so many papers and scrolls in his arms that he was making a tremendous racket trying to carry them all without dropping them.

He huffed in aggravation before spotting the two other trolls and stomping between them, unceremoniously dumping his documents onto the exam table.

“Ah, Master Alexandra, good to see you well, I trust? Carrocaer, although I applaud your drive for knowledge and research, I will encourage you in the future to simply write me and ask me to send you what you wish to read; there is no possible way that we will be able to sort through all of this by the time of your leaving!”

Alexandra took the opportunity for what it was a stood, holding out a hand for Carrocaer to grasp.

“I’d better be heading back, but if you ever want to chat, I’m always open for you,” she said gently. Carrocaer stared at her for a moment before firmly grasping her arm and smiling.

Vendel bustled back at that moment and began berating Blinky for the mess, which gave Alex the needed moment to extract herself. She walked calmly to the entrance, and set and easy pace to her rooms.

Alexandra forced herself not the clench her hand, where it was wrapped around the phone burning a hole in her pocket. She carefully dodged around the crowd, not stopping to chat and avoiding anybody who looked like they might want to stop her. She ducked into the residential hallways and quickly shut herself within her rooms, pausing for a moment to lean against the door. The phone felt like a brick against her leg.

The lamps were dim and Alex did not light them. As if the ghosts of her first life couldn’t find her in the dark – as if everything wouldn’t need to be faced, if only she couldn’t see it. She plugged the phone into its charger and settled into the corner of her bed, eyes closed against the darkness while she waited for the device to boot up.

Light tickled her eyelids and she opened the recording app, pressing play on the only file.

“There was another family with us when I was very young,” the recording began. Alexandra closed her eyes again and leaned back against the wall, listening to the story she had fabricated on the spot. For an impromptu performance by an injured woman doing her best not to vomit in terror it was reasonably decent, if a bit thin in some areas.

‘I didn't mean to. I will do better. Don't let them take me away' Alexandra had utterly no memory of saying that – it probably had happened in the middle of one of her fever-dreams, likely when Vendel had been keeping her prisoner in the Heartstone to heal. What a horrifying thing to say, to hear, to misinterpret.

The recording continued on.

“The Heartstone I carry – you can feel it, can’t you?”

There was a moment of soft sobbing – quite wretched to hear second-hand. In the tinny recording her distant, oblivious father sounded no less kind than he had originally. She listened to herself stumble through just a little bit more, before Blinky saved her from further embarrassment.

The sound of Vendel’s staff thudded into silence as he walked past-Alexandra and her companions out of the Heartstone, and Alex-in-the-present pricked her ears toward the phone.

“Well,” said Rollo quietly, with another creaky little laugh. “Either she’s missed a call in the performing arts or we’ve got an incredible series of mysteries to investigate. I’m not sure which I’d prefer.” “A liar is a liar, no matter how pitiable the circumstances.” That must have been Catorri, who had a higher voice than Alexandra would have anticipated. “Yes, but could you imagine the conspiracy if she actually were telling the truth? Blinkous must be having a fit.” “Mmm.” Gruffudd, there. “Still,” Rollo continued, damning Alex with every word he spoke. “The simplest answer is usually the most likely, and the simplest is that she’s falsified everything, for whatever purpose.” “Dare I ask what bloody human novel you ripped that saying from?” “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “I would not, actually. And this all bodes ill.” There was a moment of silence, presumably as they all contemplated the ill boding.

“Did…did you happen to notice her coloration?” Gruffudd again, this time. Another pause.

“Hard to see her hair beneath the helmet,” said Rollo, slowly, like he was chewing on the words. “You cannot possibly – “ “I can as much as you do. Vendel claimed her to be a little under four-hundred. What if…what if she weren’t…what if she was just taken? By some random madwoman to raise inside a sewer, instead of what we assumed.” Gruffudd apparently couldn’t say the words; could not admit out loud, that his eldest child had been stolen to become a Changeling. Alexandra ground her teeth, a sour taste in her mouth.

“She is the Trollhunter, I’ll grant,” Rollo replied. “In light of that, her claim may actually be honest.” It rankled – even though she’d thought the same, at first. Because of course a Changeling could never be allowed to ascend to such a sacred office. It was a petty and bitter thought, for all that Alexandra knew it to be a universal opinion, rather than a personal fault of Rollo’s. But still, it stung.

“We’ll be here a few days yet,” Rollo continued. “Perhaps we could meet more casually. You can have a closer look yourself, and Carrocaer and I can get to know her better. She seems like a polite young thing, in any case.”

Alexandra was never taking her armor off again, ever. There wasn’t anything short of pure bleach that would change a troll’s hair color, and the damage and smell that would remain would be too obvious. And then Vendel…

…Alexandra was going to murder Vendel…

…Vendel would probably point out the changes, the damned snitch.

So yeah, armor. Never removing it.

A gently increasing thunk-thunk-thunk indicated the return of the accursed Vendel.

“Well, my friends…I did warn you, though I now believe my previous suspicions to be irrelevant. She has proven herself a worthy protector in the time since I contacted you, Rollo.”

There was a rustle of paper. Alexandra briefly wondered over Carrocaer; did she not speak out of a physical infirmary, or had she taken an oath?

Rollo thanked his apprentice again and cleared his throat.

“In the matter of her true background we still are not certain; her story cannot be proven or disproven, except in one way: Vendel, has she handled a gaggletack?”

Oh God oh God oh God

The Daylight armor manifested in response to her distress, as if to shield her from what she was hearing. A cold stone still lodged itself under her breastbone. It was so heavy that she began to feel sick from panic, and she dug her claws into the quilts beneath her to ground herself.

Vendel paused and then cleared his throat.

“She has, as have we all in the wake of the Changelings’ attack on our home. She and the other three checked each and every troll here with gaggletacks in the days following. And her identity is always reassured by the summoning of the Trollhunter’s armor and amulet - even the polymorphic Changeling could not imitate the armor; no magics can.”

A beat, then –

“What are you thinking, Gruffudd.”

“You mentioned that Blinkous accused her outright of being a Changeling?” Vendel cleared his throat.

“Why yes, early in her training. He had taken her secrecy and oddities and made an assumption, as tends to happen when Blinky sets his mind on something. It was an assumption that was disproven before my eyes and his, and which greatly insulted our Trollhunter. I don’t blame her for her secrecy; I cannot imagine that her upbringing encouraged openness.” “This is a different opinion than what you held when you wrote me,” said Rollo.

The quiet pause would have sounded a awkward if Alexandra’s gut wasn’t churning with anxiety. There was a brief impression of abashed shuffling. When Vendel finally spoke, he sounded almost contrite.

“Our new Trollhunter’s care and dedication toward my people has indeed changed my mind about her, I suppose,” he said, slowly. “She risked her life to save her predecessor’s son from an anstramonstrum; after the Changeling’s attack, she spent every available moment helping the injured and comforting those who grieved. When entrusted with a whelp she gave it the utmost care and attention. Whatever her secrets are, be they foul or innocent, I believe that our Trollhunter will continue to do her best to protect those under her charge.”

It was the most Alexandra had heard Vendel speak in one go, and it was the most glowing recommendation she had ever received in her life.

It was also a most terrifying declaration of trust, and Alexandra had to wonder if he really meant it, if he’d really thought about what he was saying – and if he did…

“Do you have reason to suspect her of having foul secrets, Vendel?”

There was a terrible pause, made worse by the implications of it.

“I know nothing of her past beyond what she has spoken of. I believe there has been great pain. More than that is not mine to say or guess. I can only speak to what I have observed in her time serving as Trollhunter, and I cannot speak ill of that,” Vendel answered solemnly.

“Then I suppose we all shall have much to learn in the next few days, hmm?”

Another muffled ruffle of paper, a creak as Rollo leaned over to read.

“Ah, yes. Yes, I believe that will do quite nicely.”

There was another creak and then, with terrible clarity, the sound of stone fingers on a glass phone case.

Tap.

“Trollhunter,” said Rollo, “If you don’t mind, please come see us after you retrieve your device. An honest conversation will answer your questions better than simple eavesdropping.”

Alexandra crushed the phone.

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

A/N: LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO. I genuinely had no idea where this chapter was going. I’ve had a grand, horribly angsty reveal queued from the first chapter and honestly, I had utterly no idea what to do with this chapter or even if I like this decision. Do you? Was it too soon? You guys were the ones begging me to let Vendel in on it and well, here’s something, I suppose, read it and weep.

Stopping running and finally confronting her whole biggest issue may be out of character for Alexandra but gosh, this is going to open up a ton of possibilities. I had such a difficult time figuring out how I wanted this to go, it’s too much character interaction and not enough fight scenes lol. Should I have made parts of this chapter in another person’s perspective? Let me know.

Y’all don’t know how long it took me to come up with a name for that damn Heartstone. Hours upon hours of searching through articles on the Dinas Rock, Welsh language, Proto-Celtic words, oh my god. I finally settled on a mashup of the proto-celtic words for ‘waterfall’ and ‘stronghold’, so if you’re a language or mythology buff and have an objection or suggestion I’m happy to hear it.

The teal car that busted Alexandra’s leg was Barbara Lake’s, btw. Many thanks to my mother, for describing her own experience with a nasty hematoma in a similar spot.

Thank yall for sticking around so long. I don’t know quite where I’m going from here but it’s not totally abandoned, I’m just a bit stuck.

The dream came from a fanart by tench, because it's just too hilarious: https://www.tumblr.com/tench/156785795298/i-think-youre-starting-to-forget-that-im-in

#trollhunters #what falls and what grows #my writing #blinkous galadrigal #aaarrrgghh #trollhunters draal

2 notes · View notes