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thewulf · 10 months

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Strongly Dislike You || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Here is what I’m thinking and it was a dream so bare with me. but a little ways in the future two OC characters have a kid together.The reader is friends with one and jake/bradley are friends with the other. Unfortunately tragedy strikes and both ocs pass away... Read Rest Here

A/N: The three times your grew to love Jake Seresin and the one time you fell in love. LOVED writing this one! Hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 5.4k +

Slamming down the legal document you turned toward the lawyer who was divvying up your best friends assets with bulging eyes, “What the fuck?”

Before he could continue you turned towards Jake sitting in the seat across from you with downturned eyes. He’d been different since the accident. Since your best friend Holly and her husband Jared were snatched right from the world. Taken far too soon. Stripped from the pleasure of raising their daughter.

You’d been in a state of nothingness for the last week as you really processed what the hell happened. It honestly didn’t feel real. If felt like they just moved away. Like you could still call or text her when you needed to cry. When you needed to feel any emotion. She had been with you through life. Fast friends when you moved next to her family in the sixth grade. Two girls tied at the hip.

Holly had fallen in love with the local pilot boy five years ago. The two of you lived perhaps the most opposite lives than Jared did. He flew jets on a daily basis. The two of you worked as accountants at the same firm. You went to the same middle school, high school, college and now accounting firm. She was more of a sister to you. A sister that was killed. Killed senselessly. Who would’ve thought your friends would’ve been murdered in a bank robbery. It almost made you laugh when you were out of tears. Didn’t that shit only happened in movies? They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

And sweet Rosie. Rosie girl. Their beautiful two-year-old girl that had you wrapped around her little finger had lost her world. She was ripped of the opportunity to be raised by the two best people you knew.

“Did you know about this?” You asked Jake. He was so quiet, too quiet. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like the asshole you hated.

You’d met Jake when Holly had taken you to the Hard Deck to meet Derek. It was a trick double-date. It didn’t go that great. Even Jared had to admit that as he was driving you home. It frustrated you beyond belief. You usually found it pretty easy to get along with new people. Jake was an exception. He was cocky. Arrogant beyond belief. He reminded you of your local frat boys.

He shook his head slowly letting out a low sigh, “No. Not a clue.”

Your head slowly turned back to the bored looking lawyer sitting between the two of you, “So, we live together and take care of Rosie?” Your eyes closed not really believing the words you just spoke. Your mind was exploding with a thousand thoughts in a million different directions. Why wouldn’t Holly have told you about this? Were they planning to? Did you have to do this?

“If you wish to inherit all of Jared and Holly’s assets, yes.” He confirmed with a faint nod of his head not giving you an ounce of emotion.

A deep sigh ripped from your mouth, “But living together? That’s…”

He, rather rudely, cut you off before you could continue, “A clause.”

Jake eyed you. A small smile toying at the end of his lips. He knew you weren’t his biggest fan. You had to assume the feeling was mutual. It’s not like you treated him kindly over the last few years of having the pleasure of knowing him.

You shook your head, “Why?” You couldn’t get passed the whole ‘you must live in the same home’ statement.

The lawyer let out an anguished sigh letting you very clearly know you were wasting his time. He shuffled through the papers finding the line he needed. An almost impish look of self-satisfaction washed over him when he did before looking up at you with a stoic face, “In the event that I, Jared Wittaker, and my wife Holly Wittaker both pass away we leave everything with the Godparents, Jake Seresin and Y/N Y/L/N, should they reside in the Wittaker residence for the betterment of our daughter Rosie and her stability. Should they disagree all assets are forfeited.”

An incredulously dazed look sprang on your face as you realized, “Wait, we have to live in their home?”

“Yes.” The lawyer set the papers down holding his hands in a fist atop the shiny wooded table that sat in his office.

Giving yourself whiplash you turned back to Jake who just sat there smiling now. Looking right at you, “You’re being awfully quiet Seresin.” Eyes narrowed in on his, he couldn’t really be thinking about doing this, right?

He shrugged finding your mini-breakdown amusing, “I’m in.”

Playing with the hem of your shirt in your hands your nerves were starting to get the better of you, “What?”

Looking ever so nonchalant he kept smiling right at you, “I’m in if you are.”

“This isn’t a joke Jake. This is a baby. Rosie’s life.” If looks could kill, Jake would be slain on the floor right now. But alas, they could not.

His smile only seemed to flourish as he watched you squirm. Bastard. He got off on this kind of stuff, you’d convinced yourself of that.

“Oh darlin’. You don’t think I know that?” He leaned forward egging you on with that damn smile, “Look. It’s what they wanted. The home was paid off by his family years ago. It’s been in Jared’s family for forever. That means you get a free place to stay. I get a free place to stay. Rosie gets two people who love her to death taking care of her. I know you don’t like me Y/N, but the house is big enough

Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment you sat back in your seat. You’d normally been the rational one. Why was he being it today? Why were you so emotionally drained from the man already?

You hated caving into this deal, but he was right. It’s clearly what they wanted. Chewing on your bottom lip thinking of all the options you finally gave in, “Alright then.

The lawyer tossed you and Jake both a set of house keys unamused by the dialogue going on between the two of you. He looked tired. Probably dealt with this shit all day.

“Just like that?”

He nodded, “Just like that.”

Your hand hesitantly grabbed the key in front of you. Grabbing the cool metal, you twisted it under the light wondering. Wondering what this life could have been for that family. Rosie was horrifically lucky really. She’d never have to know the despair of losing her parents. The same despair you were fighting at that present moment.

“Are you sure?” Jake asked crossing his arms over his chest with a countenance of devilish delight dancing across his features.

Nodding quickly, you added the key to your key ring, signifying it’s permanence in your life, “Yes Jake. I’m positive. I’ll be the

Leaning forward even further so that his hands were touching yours he gave you a quick shake of his head, “Can’t be darlin’. I’ll be there too.” He tossed a wink in your direction before thanking the lawyer. He waltzed out that door with so much confidence you were sure you’d just dreamed the whole thing up. Except you didn’t. Your new reality began when you stepped through that front door once more.

Dislike

It was quarter end at work which meant you were pulling doubles trying to get all your work done. Accounting was fun all up until quarter end. Then it was your hellish nightmare as you switched between coffees and caffeine drinks to keep you going. It was only a few weeks out of the year, but it felt like a million years when you were in the thick of it.

Not only was it quarter end but you were catching up on all the work you missed. It’d been a month since you and Jake moved in together with Rosie as your almost adopted daughter. Your boss had been kind enough to get you some time off but not enough so to help with the work you’d missed. The month had been interesting, to say the least. Jake was not as bad as you made him out to be in your mind, but he still pissed you off to nearly no end. He was never wrong. Jake would quite literally argue until his face was blue. It was something you were just going to have to deal with now. You’d agree to it. You’d learn how to live with him.

You’d pulled into the driveway a little after six with your phone buzzing in your hand. Looking down you frowned seeing Rosie’s Daycare calling. That was odd.

“Hello, is this Y/N?” A female voice rung from the other end of the line.

“Yes. This is her.” You turned off your car juggling your phone, keys and bag while trying to make sure you hear her.

“Hi. We close in 15 minutes, and I just wanted to make sure somebody is coming to pick up Rosie?” She sounded nervous, like you’d explode on her or something. Quite the opposite. You sat there in silence as your heart dropped down to your ass.

Your eyes scrunched together. Today was Jake’s day to grab Rosie. You’d gone over it with him nearly a hundred times this weekend making sure he was on the same page as you. Spinning around on your heals you stopped when you spotted his car parked on the street. He was home and Rosie was not. He fucking forgot her.

“Oh, yes. I’m so sorry. Time just got away from me.” You gave her a breathy laugh trying to play it cool, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“No problem at all miss. Thank you.” She hung the phone up quickly. Daycare was only five minutes away. That gave you approximately three minutes to go yell at him and chew his forgetful ass out before you needed to get to Rosie.

Storming into the house you slammed the door open. Even you cringed a little when the door hit the wall. That wall would need a little love later.

“Jake Seresin!” You screeched like a banshee beside yourself. Your hands were shaking so bad your phone was at risk from flying right out of your hand.

“Would you cool it?” He gave you a sly smile while sauntering out of his bedroom. He leaned on the wall at the end of the hallway giving you a humorous look, “Broke the damn wall darlin’.” Normally you’d find his slow southern drawl at the end of the day semi-relaxing. Slowly growing used to this new lifestyle. But now? Now it sounded like nails on a chalk board.

Shaking your head, you were trying to reign the anger in, “Where the fuck is Rosie, Jake?” Biting your cheek from saying something overly nasty you simply flared your nostrils in rage. Rage that’d he forget the most important part of the plan. The toddler who was probably wondering where in the hell her sub parents are. She too was slowly getting used to it. She refused to call either you or Jake ‘mom’ or ‘dad’ but it didn’t bother you. You were new to her developing brain. She had to relearn everything. Her routines were shaken in an instant. How jarring that must be for such a little one you thought.

He looked at you, then the wall, then the floor, then back at you with wide eyes finally processing your words, “I’m on my way.” He knew he’d fucked up. You’d even reminded him that morning. That was strike number 89 against him. He only seemed to be fumbling this more and more. He was trying. He really was. It was just hard. Harder than he’d ever expected. Jared made it seem so easy. He has to take it up another level. Right now. For you and Rosie.

You’d never seen him move so fast almost flying out of the house. The bitter look on your face didn’t stop you from high tailing it right behind him throwing yourself in the passenger’s seat before he raced off.

“How could you forget?” The adrenaline had worn down now and you just felt depleted. Depleted and scared.

“I…” He looked over at you before quickly shifting his eyes on the road, “I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. It was a busy day at work and I… I let it get it me.”

You kept your stare straight forward willing the truck to get there a little bit faster.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. It won’t happen again. This is all so new. I’m trying here.”

Your eyes peaked over at him as your head turned slowly, “Try harder.” It was a little brutal. You knew it. But he also couldn’t forget your child at daycare. She was your child now. Your responsibly. And if anything happened to Holly’s daughter, to sweet little Rosie, you’d thought you just might end up with Holly up in heaven.

“Fuck.” He groaned gunning it through a nearly red light before sliding the truck into the parking spot in the front. You took a quick peak noticing the lack of cars in the parking lot before jumping out of the vehicle. You ran inside muttering a quick apology to the girl at the front. Scanning for Rosie you spotted her coloring in the corner.

Jake stayed back apologizing to the last employee there. You’d heard bits of the conversation before fully focusing your attention on the small girl, “Rosie, baby.” You squatted down opening your arms up for her, giving her a choice.

She looked up giving you a sweet smile, golden curls bouncing as she turned her head, “Hi Y/N.” She put the Crayon down before running over to hug you.

Squeezing her in your arms you picked her up giving her a soft kiss on the crown of her head, “How was your day cutie?” You placed her on your hip letting her get acclimated. She recently exploded in speech chatting you and Jake up constantly. It was adorable.

She nodded before yawning, “Good! Played Barbie.” She grinned pointing to the doll house in the corner with all sorts of different Barbie’s and dolls stacked inside.

“Did you? Was it fun?” You asked walking over to get her shoes on. Little did you know Jake was watching the entire interaction close to swooning at how gentle you were with her. How you were treating her like a human, a real person and not some little nuisance that didn’t have feelings. Your maternal instincts kicked in quick, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jake. That was partially why he’d felt so damn bad about failing left and right. Because you weren’t. It seemed to come so naturally to you it made him feel almost inadequate. You knew what to do in every situation.

You didn’t feel that way of course. And Jake wasn’t really as bad as he thought he was. This was his first big fuck up and you just wanted him to really feel it. When you turned around seeing the look of love written all over his face it sent a pang of guilt right to your heart. You offered him a small genuine smile before turning back to Rosie, tying up her little laces coated in rainbows and unicorns together. It was a gift from your mom after she’d learned of your new fate. She vehemently disagreed with your decision to do this. But you couldn’t let go of Rosie. She was too much like Holly to give her up. The colorful shoes were a peace offering you gladly accepted.

She giggled, “Fun!” Clapping her petite hands together her joy brought a bright smile upon your own face.

“That makes me so happy!” You gave her leg a light squeeze, “Are you ready to go home Rosie girl?”

She nodded, “Hungry.” Patting her belly, she kicked her legs into yours softly.

You let off a soft laugh. That never ceased to get rise out of you. It’ll be a sad day when she grows out of those gestures.

“Jake is going to make us dinner. Isn’t that right Jake?” You looked up seeing he moved closer not dropping that look. The look you’d literally only seen tonight from him. It felt foreign.

“That’s right. For my favorite girls.” He nodded softly.

“Alright. Let’s get going so we can eat.” You bent down to pick up the overtired toddler. A fun day of play for sure. She held onto you with all the strength she had left. Jake led the way opening the door and car door for you. You buckled her into the car seat with ease. Finally getting comfortable with the thing after a few weeks of triple checking your work.

You hopped in the passenger’s seat after Jake gave her a quick kiss giving her a quick hello. You thought about him for a second. His favorite girls? Was he just putting on a show or telling the truth? After a few moments of silent driving, he spoke up again.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I will try harder. I promise.” He sounded sincere. Your panic must’ve gotten through to him only twenty minutes prior.

You nodded accepting his words, “I believe you.”

A genuine smile crossed his face taking in your words. Satisfied.

Partial Dislike

Her crying woke you with a startle. Being woken up in the middle of deep dreamless sleep was shocking. It took you longer than normal to hobble on over to the baby girls room.

“Sweet girl.” You cooed before seeing Jake sitting there in the rocker holding her with a bottle of something. He cradled her head in between his bicep and chest as she sprawled across his lap. Tired and ornery, a dangerous combo. The terrible twos were striking hard for the little one. His other handheld the bottle steady to her chest so she could sip it out. Her eyes were already drooping by the time you’d walked into the room.

A wave of relief rushed over your own chest as you witnessed the sweet moment before you. You took a mental snapshot of the precious moment. A beautiful moment between the two newly found humans.

Jake looked up at you with a faint smile gracing his lips, “Got her.” He whispered stoking a gentle thumb down her arm. She was fading fast not even acknowledging your presence. You’d usually been the first one there, but it took an act of God himself to wake you tonight. But Jake was on it. He had been on it for a little while now. Another month had passed, and you hadn’t been on his throat for almost all of it. What a strange feeling. You’d been merely tolerating him, but Rosie had been bringing you closer unknowingly. She demanded both of you pay attention to her when you were both home… or else. Whatever that threat meant from a toddler.

You sent him a soft nod as you kept observing the precious scene before you. He took your statement to heart. He was trying harder. Stepping up in a way you’d never expected.

“Thank you.” You whispered taking a step closer to the duo, “I was knocked out.”

He nodded continuing to rock her, “Go back to sleep darlin’. I’ve got her. It’s been nice spending some time with her.” He urged you out of the room with a sweep of his head towards the door.

“You sure?” You took a step closer brushing a stray curl out of her face.

“Positive. She’d knocked out anyway. But I want to hold her for a little more. It’s nice” He looked down sheepishly at the small child cuddled right in his arms.

The moment was beyond anything you’d experienced in this lifetime. Who would’ve thought it’d come at 3 AM on a random Wednesday morning. Oh, how fascinating life was.

“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?” The sleeping girl had let go of the bottle as her head turned into Jake’s shoulder, nuzzling right up on him. She felt so comfortable in his arms. She was adapting quickly. Soon her parents would be a distant memory in that ever-expanding brain. It broke your heart. Holly didn’t get a chance to raise her. As much as you cherished the precious girl it still hurt knowing the consequence of it.

“She’s the most beautiful little girl in the world.” He continued brushing her arms whispering quietly careful not to wake the sleeping baby.

Your heart did a weird flutter at those words. He was growing on you, quickly. Scarily quickly. He’d morphed into a new man in front of yours eyes over the last two months. One that took words to heart and picked it up.

“She is.” You gave him a full-on smile as you took your last mental snapshot, “Night Jake. Sleep well.”

“You too, Y/N.” He gave you a gentle nod careful not to disturb her.

Kinda Liking Him

It wasn’t a bad day. It just sucked that you had to go in today, a Saturday. But your boss needed some extra work done and you were next up on the overtime docket. Jake was off taking Rosie for the day.

Things were going well. Almost too well. You were waiting on the shoe to drop but it was month four and the two of you were molding together quicker than ever. Finding an easy routine between the two of you. Rosie adapted better than you’d ever dreamed of. She blossomed after month three. Her short questions and answers were turning into full blown conversations.

You’d called out once you’d entered the house hearing it weirdly quiet. There was definitely no toddler in here. Your nerves began to bubble until you found yourself at your backdoor peeking out into the backyard.

The nerves died down when you saw Jake chasing Rosie around the small playground Jared had built for Rosie a year ago, even though she was still far too small to use it. He was just so excited he got a mega head start. Lucky for her it’d be here when she wanted it. Her daddy built it for her. Just for her.

You stood and watched her screaming laughter as Jake sped up and slow down. He’d tickle her for a second and she sprint off in laughter once more. Jake let her speed off before he slowly started chasing her once again.

All was good and well right up until she slipped on some wet grass and fell on the bricks that lined the garden bed skinning her knee. You winced as the sudden silence was met with a screaming crying toddler suddenly. Blood tricked down from the small cut.

Jake scooped her up in a hurry rocking her in his arms. When that was only left with more wails he hightailed it for the house knowing he needed to distract the weepy toddler before he’d be able to clean up the wound.

You opened the door for him as he got closer not wanting him to slow down trying to wrangle it open with a squirmy toddler in his hands.

He hopped through with a smile waving at you with his free hand, “Your home.” The harsh glares turned to softer looks as you got to know the real him more. You’d really never given him a chance to before and you were slowly starting to regret your actions. Brushed off the man for years based on a snap judgment made all those years ago. Oh well, at least you were learning the real him now.

“I am.” You smiled, “I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

He nodded, “I’ll distract her in the meantime.”

You’d handed him the kit after retrieving it from the bathroom. Taking a step back you watched him take over the situation. He’d gotten her a lollipop, her favorite. The tears almost instantly stopped once she spotted the sucker in his hand.

You watched as he cleaned it off with water in the sink before dabbing it dry and disinfecting it. He told her it would sting, and she needed to be a big girl.

You grinned in amazement as she clutched onto Jakes hand as he dabbed the wound clean with the alcohol making sure it wouldn’t get infected with her falling all the time still. She let out a soft sigh when he said, “All done, you’re so brave Rosie.”

She nodded along with him, “I am brave.”

“So strong too.” He smiled continuing to clean the wound with Neosporin before finishing off with a Barbie Band-Aid. Her favorite thing in the world.

“Strong?”

Jake grabbed her arm squeezing it softly, “So strong! You fall down sometimes but you get back up. We’re so proud of you for that.”

“I am strong.” She smiled agreeing with him. Giving him a flex of her bicep mimicking his action of ‘strong’. Your smile grew and grew as you watched him reinforce this into the girl. She was growing so quickly. She had to remember how strong she really was. Growing and adapting in the world and with new people at the same time.

“All done.” Jake tapped her nose.

She looked down squealing almost instantly, “It’s Barbie!” The cut hadn’t even phased the girl any longer. She was so excited to have Barbie on her leg it didn’t seem to matter anymore. You watched as he set her down on the floor. She took off going to go play with her toys in the room adjacent.

Jake turned to you, “Thank you.”

“No need. You did great there Jake. Looked like a natural.”

He raised a brow, “A rare compliment? What a day!”

“Oh, shove it up your ass Jake.” You rolled your eyes playfully beginning to walk to the room over wanting to play with Rosie.

“Only if you do it for me darlin’!” He grinned knowing that’d get a rise out of you.

You stifled a giggle not wanting to give him satisfaction, “Pig.”

“You love it.” His was grinning ear to ear. Happier than ever. He’d seemingly figured it out. Gotten into the routine of it. Gotten you to finally warm up to him. He’d never felt like this before. So whole. So, himself. He could only thank the two of you for completing him.

“Maybe I do.” You whispered before vanishing off leaving him to his thoughts.

Oh Shit, I Love Him

You walked downstairs finding Jake sitting at the kitchen table eating some eggs, “Rosie’s sick.” You sighed. You were surprised it hadn’t happened sooner honestly. Day care could be a brutal place.

He nodded, “Thought so, she seemed warm when I kissed her forehead this morning.”

“I’ll call in.” You sat down feeling the sleepiness take over secretly happy to take the day off.

He shook his head, “I don’t mind. I haven’t used a sick day yet this year.”

You shrugged, “Let’s both call off. There’s a bad flu going around anyway.”

He gave you a gorgeous shit eating grin. It’s been six months now and it was almost perfect. Your like for him was bubbling into love. He’d not only tried harder but kicked it into high gear. He’d taken on the role of father to the next level. He was her everything and she was his everything. Your love grew for him as you watched his bond with Rosie blossom into the most gorgeous relationship you’d ever seen. Seeing an almost three your old bring a grown man to his knees always brought a chuckle out of you.

“That’s a great idea darlin’.” He’d never dropped the term of endearment with you. However, it didn’t sound so condescending. It oozed honey as he filled it out with his southern drawl over time. He just knew how to suck you right on in.

The two of you sat there chatting casually while watching the discovery channel in the background. Things had gotten so easy with him. They’d gotten so natural between the two of you.

When the monitor started humming with her cries he was the first one up rushing to her crib before pulling her out gently, “It’s okay Rosie.” He held her in his arms.

You watched in awe as he cooled her down with a cold washcloth and some milk. She drunk it slowly unsure if it’d hurt her stomach or not. He didn’t ask for a lick of help as he poured the children’s Tylenol into syringe. He effortlessly gave her the medicine even getting a small smile from the sleepy sick girl.

It was at that moment you knew you loved him. You had love for him for a while now but seeing him so gentle with her sent you into orbit. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you watched him lay her down telling her a story until her heard her breathe even out.

Oh shit, you loved the damn man you swore you hated only six months ago. He’d weaseled his way in and carved and carved and he didn’t need to carve anymore. He had it. He had your heart wholly.

“What?” He asked as the two of you settled back on the couch ready to return back to conversation.

You shook your head suspiciously quick, “Nothing.”

“Bullshit darlin’. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.” He winked at you while biting his damn lip on the side revealing a set of gorgeously white teeth. He has to know what he was doing to you.

You laughed, “It’s sweet. Watching the two of you.”

“There’s more.” He pressed scooting a touch closer to you.

“You’re so good with her.” You whispered eyes looking anywhere but at his.

“Darlin’, look at me.” He wanted to touch your cheek, but he didn’t want to fuck it up already. He had an inkling you grew to like him as much as he’d always liked you. He’d of course grown to love you over the same amount of time. As much as he’d grown he’d watched as you blossomed and matured into a new woman. You’d become a mom over the last six months. Vowing to protect her over anything. You were beyond fierce and crazy loyal. He’d always known you were something special. Something different.

You’d listened. You’d always listen to him now. God damn, he had you wrapped around his finger. He’d admit to the same though. He’d do anything you ask. Anything in the world.

“I like you.” There it was. He’d put it out into the universe for you to take or reject. It was all up to you.

You turned your head. The last thing you were expecting from him, “You do?”

“A lot. I like you a lot.” He confirmed aching to touch you anywhere. But not until you confirmed. Not until he knew for sure.

Your smile brightened tenfold as you processed his words, “I like you too. A lot. I like you a lot Jake Seresin.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He cupped your face gently settling the urge down gently.

“Who would’ve thought.” You laughed softly putting a little pressure on his hand. Letting him know you really did like it, his touch.

He chucked scooting close to you now, “Certainly not me. I thought you hated me.”

You nodded considering your words, “I wouldn’t say hated. I’d say… strongly disliked.”

He threw his head back full of laughter bubbling out of his mouth. When he caught his breath he continued, “Strongly disliked it is. Look where we are now though.” He’s place a gentle hand on your thigh rubbing soft circles with his thumb. He’d enjoyed the goosebumps that erupted from your skin with his gentle touch.

You’d nodded your head looking into his eyes, “To liked. Strongly disliked to really strongly liked.” You’d confirmed once again.

He beamed, “I’m going to kiss you now.” He placed his other hand on your cheek holding your head in his hands.

You nodded eagerly feeling every emotion as he brought his hands to your face, holding you like you were made of glass, “Please do.” You whispered before his lips touched yours for the first of many times.

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seraphiism · 6 months

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

( i wish i could be everything for you. family, home, watchtower, lighthouse. i am sorry for every way i've ever hurt you, including this. )

chara : clive rosfield fandom : final fantasy 16 quote cr : mabel podcast a/n : ngl someone may have forgotten some of the plot in ff16. not me though

── IT WAS ONCE SAID THAT THERE ARE THREE UNIVERSAL TRUTHS IN THIS WORLD :

ONE : GRIEF IS A DEAD MAN WALKING. it will overcome you, destroy you, devour you, drown you beneath the waves of sorrow. IT WILL HURT. it always will. but it is ultimately you who deems your survival. do not forget that.

TWO : YOU WILL KNOW LONELINESS LIKE IT IS YOUR DEEPEST COMPANION. you will find familiarity with the emptiness, and it will turn into nostalgia turned to mourning twisted into an anguish. in the end, you won't know the difference between friend or foe in the coexistence of your own solitude.

THREE : THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD IS A TERRIBLY HEAVY THING, DEAREST. make sure you do not carry it alone.

it is almost amusing, you think, gaze boring into the dying embers before you, how convenient it is to forget said truths. how it slips from the mind in the most foolish of times when the truth is spoken to you ; how obnoxiously it echoes into memory when you speak of it to someone as means of lessons learned.

the truth is a very miserable thing sometimes, this sobering reminder of humanity, but it is also something so excruciatingly tender.

you shiver. the air is cold and unwelcoming. the embers burn bright, then nearly fade into nothingness : a distant flux and flow, the reignition of something that wants to survive.

what a profound sight it is, clive thinks, almost breathless at your beauty beneath the moonlight, it is a mere glimpse to the serenity that settles in the depths of your heart, almost forgotten, and in the weariness of your features, it serves as something hopeful. you must be searching for a shooting star ; you always are, and maybe he's searching for one tonight, too. how lucky you would both be if granted a wish fulfilled. perhaps it would spare you from the pain to come on this endless journey, this path to redemption and salvation.

he looks to the sky, too, hopes to remember this moment for a long while, this time in which you find repose beneath the stars.

it is not long before you feel him shift beside you, his hands gentle as he drapes his cloak over your shoulders. you do not say anything, but you smile in silent thanks, and he wonders how he can do this. how he can say this. the destruction of oneself is much easier than the destruction of another. he returns the smile, but it does not reach his eyes, and you know that something is wrong.

he averts his gaze, focuses on the fire. dying, dying, dead. fire is such a horrific being, he has learned, and what a tragic way he has discovered it so. how it burns and burns, consuming everything in its path. it is ruthless in nature-- a terror that seizes anything it can, burning it into damnation and ruin until there is nothing but ashes meant to be forgotten.

such fire runs in his blood, and with it, a quiet violence. he does not know why, doesn't know how, and he begs the question to the divine a thousand times over. there is no answer. there never is, never will be. the only thing he knows is that there is blood on his hands, and he cannot afford to shed yours. he will not.

even if it means going your separate ways, even if he means breaking your heart, even if it means carrying out an act of betrayal to the trust that has bound you to each other.

"i..." he cannot even bring himself to speak. what a coward he is. "there is something i wish to discuss with you."

you still look to the sky. the subtle curve of your lips does not falter, even with the words he does not expect to hear.

"you plan to leave, don't you?" you wonder if there is a shooting star somewhere out there, wonder if it will be kind enough to visit in times of despair. "you think this is all your fault, that you were the one who killed what you thought to be most precious."

the smile has faded. your gaze shifts to the ashes, then to him, seeing that heartache in those blue eyes. something feels like it's tightening around your throat. you suspect it is grief. you speak again, anyway.

"you think... that your existence should be void, that you should be punished for what you believe you did. that if you stay-- if you stay here, if you stay with me, then it'll happen all over again."

he does not speak for a long while. what can you even say to that? how can he tell you that you're right, that he's afraid he could hurt you to the point of no return and not know it? that he's going to leave you because he loves you?

you turn towards him, your hands reaching for his. your hold is tender, careful, but he feels the way you tremble ever so slightly. it is his fault.

"the things i've done back then--" he pauses, uncertainty in his eyes, a grief of some sort, "i didn't know it was me. i thought i had been chasing after the one responsible for my pain, but i've been chasing a ghost all along." his hands squeeze yours, and maybe they're shaking, too. "i failed my duty. there's only one path that lies ahead of me, and that is one where you are safe."

he doesn't know what to expect-- your anger, your fury. that's what he almost wants, because it is much easier to end things that way. but he doesn't expect your expression to soften, doesn't expect to feel the way your hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing over his scar. he is already on the verge of break, but this may be the one thing that pushes him over the edge, and a sorrowful smile finds its way to your lips at the tears that threaten to trail down his face.

"you don't want to go, clive." your voice is barely above a whisper, quiet, almost forgotten in the wind.

no, he doesn't. he doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to leave you, doesn't want to lose you. he wants to stay. he wants to think that there's hope somewhere, but the truth of it all is that there's just not.

"no, i don't." he places his hand over yours, instinctively leans into your touch. "i don't."

"so stay. stay with me. i know you are in despair. i know. but the truth runs deeper than any of us suspect. you can't give up, not yet." this time, your voice almost breaks. you lean forward, your forehead pressed against his. you are afraid to speak. "we are not meant for solitude, you know. the path you take is the only one i know. i will not leave you, clive. not now, not ever."

he doesn't--

he feels his heart waver, feels like his thoughts are a mess, mind a haze in the midst of mourning. he cannot help but close his eyes at your words, at your warmth. he doesn't know if he can believe you, not yet. to grant himself forgiveness is an act of selfishness, and it is not one that is deserved. not now, maybe not ever.

"you've always bested me, haven't you?" even now, he's unsure of what to say, what to do. you've always been right, always known the best course of action. even in the darkest nights of ruin, you've always managed to find the light. for that, he is grateful. "...you have my heart, always. thank you."

you smile, but this time, it is a quiet sadness, yet almost hopeful. your lips meet his-- brief, but more than enough.

the journey ahead is a long one. it will be difficult. it will be harsh, cruel, and it will push both of you to the point of break. but so long as you have each other, you will make it.

"of course." you answer, and you kiss him once more. "you have my heart, too. our paths will always be intertwined, clive."

he laces his fingers with yours, lips ghosting against the back of your hand in an act of reverence.

"yes," he murmurs, and maybe there is something holy in the way he speaks to you, looks at you, "always."

#final fantasy x reader #clive rosfield x reader #clive x reader #final fantasy 16 x reader #my brain while i wrote this . she was gone. evaporated into thin air #.: writing

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ilariyalavorowrites · 1 year

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Good Enough (9-1-1) Part Nine

Imagine: Imagine leaving LA after feeling like an outsider in your relationship with Bobby and Athena as they seem to pull away and distance themselves from you. Only to find that it is almost impossible to actually walk away.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, AU, Bisexual Athena, BDSM

Pairings: Bobby Nash x Reader x Athena Grant

Word count: 2,434 words

Universe: 9-1-1

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @graniairish @madhatter-crazyasahatter-blog @4everflowercore @blueskyredrosegrey @agathaharknessfan96 @ljej95 @yoshinorecommends @horsedragonllama @forever2ne1 @clayzayden @multifandomlesbianic @thepotatoislost @purpl3-menac3

Previous/ Next

Part: 9/10

DENIAL

REGRET

ANGER

DEPRESSION

ACCEPTANCE

The five stages of grief could be seen as a series of rooms that all would pass through one day. Yet here the three of you were, stuck in different rooms with the doors thrown open. Staring through the passage, trying to make sense of this new world that emerged and encompassed you in a blink of an eye.

You stood in acceptance, a warm and homely space with its eggshell white walls decorated to the nines like a log cabin from your youth. With a crackling log fire in the furthest corner from the entrance. It was as if this room was a perpetual state of your favourite memory of Christmas morning. One that brimmed with joy and childish delight, where anything was possible. A point to step off from into a new beginning.

Athena stood firmly a few rooms back, in the dark red shades of burgundy, scarlet and sangria with veins of oranges and purples dancing through. Sharp edges filled the space, reflecting the pain that lay at the heart of it. The walls pulsated like a heart skipping a beat before cracking creating a unique jigsaw. This room was Athena, her anguish and fury. This was every argument at 3 am, every screaming match over the small detail. That sudden rush of betrayal that came when discovering that you had been wronged, that desire to have the answers to the questions regardless of the pain that would inevitably follow.

Bobby, he was starting on the outside looking inwards. Trying to make sense of what was playing out between his two lovers. He held none of the cards, and had no real answers to thousand or more whirling and desperate questions piling up. More appeared with every new facial expression or slight change in non verbal cues that were missed by most. He himself would readily admit that they would slip right past his gaze if he wasn’t completely laser focused but here was, gaze fixed flicking from one to the other. He noticed, he saw but at the same time, Bobby knew that he was missing vital information. There was more to the situation than a simple hit and run. He had been left out of the bigger picture and that Athena had discovered.

As the penny began to drop, he edged closer into Denial. That bland void of a room where the dusky grey walls gleaned. The furnished by a small moth eaten patchwork chair. The once thick foam had seen better days and the worn down barely brown carpet badly needing replacing. It felt foreign, disconcerting almost as if you had entered the wrong room but yet this was where you were meant to be? A room that easily generates follow on questions and what if statement at the drop of hat. That can of worms had been opened, stomped on to the point of obliteration. Nothing remained. For now there was no way for Pandora to now close that box and stuff back in all the horrors that had been unleashed.

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

This was a moment that he had never fully considered. Medical emergencies were given in his and Athena’s line of work but not hers. No, this had barely crossed his mind. He worried for sure, that was a daily occurrence. In those times when he was home alone, the darkness would encroach into his apartment. A heaviness would settle in like a fine mist blowing in from the sea and that inner doubtful voice would return.

Bobby could not deny that such abhorrent negative thoughts had passed through his mind at his lowest. Hitting rock bottom staring down at that bottle of liquor tempting him to drink away all his woes and simply forget. Forget that they were going to leave him, it was inevitable. Just over the horizon, there was someone better, someone young and not so broken as he. Yet here he was facing it down. His face paled, all whilst hiding by his mask but god was he scared for what came next.

Athena’s rage burnt hot, fast and was all-consuming. It was comparable to flash fire, that sudden chemical reaction that created an intense flame. It was there one moment then gone once it had rushed through the source of combustion. Right now, you were that primary source at the heart of the chemical mixture.

The spark that had ignited her ire, whipping it until it had exploded. Once it had drawn you in, like a moth to a flame but now you had to stand strong as you walked into the bowels of hell. The intense heat biting at your flesh, daring you to keep your distance. This was not the time to keep yourself at arms lengths, for that time had long since passed. This was a moment to remain as cool as ice, you were riddled with a multiple of negative emotions, each fighting to burst through. Guilt by far, was one of the strongest, second to acceptance which led the charge.

This was your internal struggle, one that could wait until you were by your lonesome self, grieving this loss in a darkened room miles away from this place. Full well knowing that you had haphazardly chosen the cowardly way, thinking it was the best option at the time. In the back of your mind you had never considered that all your running would lead you straight here directly into the heart of the furnace, into the very depths of your own personal hell.

As you stood there, growing ever more anxious as each passing second ticked by. It echoed loudly in your ears, a constant reminder of the passage of time grinding to any of an almost standstill. Each second felt like an hour, an hour felt as if a lifetime had passed you by. Yet here you were standing still almost as if you were made of marble, frozen in time.

Even though this was the true heart of the storm, as the fast, razor sharp winds whirled around you cutting off any thoughts of escape. There was no way back, only forward. This would be far from an easy conversation. One that most feared as relationships formed, flourishing before obstacles presented themselves.

There were many moments that peppered each lifetime that were difficult to face. They had to be faced one way or another. You had chosen to take the easy path as you stood at the fork in the road but ultimately it had looped around, rejoining the harder path. A road unwalked, unpaved and full of tough choices. Ones that you wished and pleaded like a desperate coward stood in front of their executor crying out for mercy, but falling upon deaf ears.

Oh where to begin? As an impossible stream of starts to an inconceivable number of sentences and statements whizzed through your mind. It was a dizzying reality to beyond but this was yours and yours alone. Your anxiety creeps higher and higher with each silent moment. Soon one of you would have to break through, for it was palpable enough that it might be cut with a knife.

“Ideally, this isn’t the best place for the three of us to talk but this can’t wait” Bobby steely and more serious than you had ever seen him before. The point of no return had truly been crossed. For now, you were standing face to face with Captain Nash and Sergeant Grant not your lovers. The mere experience was both terrifying but yet pleasing. As a redness began to blossom upon your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment to lust. God, you should not be turned on by but it was so damn difficult not to be.

With your lower lip rotating in your mouth, tentatively biting down each time that the soft flesh made contact with your teeth. You needed to remain calm, level and completely neutral if you were going to smoothly navigate through the murky waters that you were sinking deeper into.

You need to think before speaking, treat this like an interrogation. The world melted away as you imagined yourself seated on a cold steel chair, with arms resting upon the smooth metal top of a table bolted down to the floor. You were in her wheelhouse now. As the stern and unwavering eyes of Sergeant Grant met your own, nervously flitting from one spot to another. You catch sight of Fire Captain Nash just beyond, with his back firmly pressed against the wall silently observing the room.

“You hold all the cards, it’s time to show your hand” The Sergeant firmly spoke, edging closer as she leant forward no more than an inch. It was hardly enough to be noticeable but yet your mind briefly wandered, removing you from your own perfectly constructed fantasy for a fraction of second longer than you desired.

“Then ask your burning questions Sergeant Grant'' You shot back as you fell right back in, unpausing the overly dramatic scene as you leant back into the chair, feeling its sharp edges start to dig in. It was truly the most uncomfortable seat that you had the displeasure of being forced to use. Silence followed, with only the steady beat of your own heart to keep you company as you waited for the next question to arrive.

“I’m waiting” You teased, prodded the quietly fuming Officer to see if she would take the bait and bite back. She remained silent, as the cogs within her mind churned, creating and then breaking now the questions that formed. As she worked through until she found the perfect opening line of enquiry. You would wait but he wouldn’t be the silent partner for a second more than necessary. It was hard to miss the rage circling within, fighting to break free and scorch the ground beneath his feet.

In the way, he clenched his fists so tightly that the tips of his fingers blanched or how the facial muscles tightened as he barely held back his tongue lashing out with the strength of his conviction fought back, lashing out with the intensity of the tempest that lay within. God, he was ready to break. Captain Nash was dancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong move in either direction then all hell would break loose.

The very thoughts of being on the receiving end of that explosion shook your world three inches to the left. It wasn’t something you had considered until this very moment. You were reaping what you had sown. With your focus fixed upon him, you had failed to notice her watching you watching him.

It was only for a fraction of a second, the briefest of moments before you pulled your gaze away from his. Just add another string to your bow, staring at one of your interrogators. This was far more awkward that you would have considered it to be but then again, you never thought that a situation like this would occur. Yet here you were.

“I didn’t wake up one particularly grim morning and say to myself let’s cut my losses and get out of this town as I lay there alone in my bed. You spoke with a waiving confidence that you feared would soon break but you needed this. To get what weighed heavily upon your heart off your chest. You continued on.

“Daring to hope that my phone would surge into life. For I knew what I was getting into when this all began but this went well beyond that” You paused to gather your thoughts before speaking once more. Athena however beat you to the punch, finding her voice. Her frustration is more prevalent than ever before. It was in the way she sat, back firmly pressed against the back of the chair.

"Yet, there is no clear example of you reaching out, trying to raise the issue with either parties" She said through gritted teeth, biting back. Her words awash with razor sharp accusations. For she had one firm goal in the forefront of her mind. That was to cut down to the core of it, get the accused to confess and admit the wrongdoings that lined with the story the evidence told. To see that bleeding heart and reach the truth that was desperately required for peace of mind, to move forward from here. Throughout, her face remained neutral, a blank slate that revealed nothing of storm brewing rapidly within.

The trap had been set, the bait firmly in place. All Sergeant Grant needed to do was to be patient and wait. The temptation to react, to bite back would be too much to completely resist. How long would it take? A few minutes or maybe as long as an hour? She simply could not say or predict when the cracks would start to form as your resolve chipped away. She was waiting with bated breath for your mask to finally drop then she would have what she was after but would it be truly worth it?

For that was the one question that she could not predict what. It twisted like a knife to the gut would as she lingered upon it longer than she necessarily needed to. She pushed aside but would not go away so easily, haunting her like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Ready to spoil the mood at a moment's notice. Was she really ready for the next words to fall from your lips?

Athena held steadfast to the belief that she was but a sliver of doubt remained within, tainted this burst of certainty. Captain Nash noticed this momentary blip, this slight hesitation that fell over the surefast and confident Sergeant as her body language altered just enough to reveal her broken heart. It was only for a split second, there one moment but gone in the next but he noticed.

The Fire Captain abided by his promise, keeping silent in the background as Sergeant Grant conducted the integration. However there would come a time when he would enter the fray and say his piece. This was not the right moment, not quite yet but soon. His frustration weighed heavily upon his chest, his confusion at what he had missed. Professional pulled at core pushing back the overwhelming emotional centre of his being that bleed through the seams of stitches that held him together. Would this be the moment when his broken heart shattered upon the cement floor beneath his feet? He hoped that it wasn’t. Once had been more than enough.

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crushedgraham · 7 months

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Fic where Widowmaker’s girlfriend secretly learns a love song in French for her because she’s shy and bad at expressing her feelings 🫶?

Suns and Stars

FICS ARE COMINGGG ive been busy with projects and tests BUT IM GONNA LOCK IN FOR KINKTOBER REQUESTS but enjoy this fluff :)

It's been 6 months. 6 damn months in you and Amélie's relationship and you still hadn't said the three big words: I love you. You've tried. But every time you get even remotely close, the words die on your tongue. God, you can't even kiss her without your body temperature skyrocketing - so how the hell were you supposed to express how much you loved her?

Everyday at exactly 8 AM, Amélie does her morning stretches, yoga and cardio sessions. You've been using this to your advantage - sneaking out of bed a few minutes after her to practice your French in an abandoned music room on the far side of the castle, then slipping back in before she comes back to take a shower. This morning followed the routine.

Soft padding from your fluffy slippers shuffling against the tile floor echoes against the stone walls, the sounds barely registering in your groggy mind. Your eye lids still felt heavy from sleep - a soft huff of a yawn escaping from your lips. The room is spacious yet empty, forgotten pieces of furniture scattered amongst the dust but a grand piano remaining in the middle. Faintly you can just barely make out on the body of the piano, a neatly carved heart with the cheesy "A+G" initials in the center - a testament of the history now long gone.

The squeak from the rusty hinges of the fallboard causes you to cringe while lowering yourself to the cold leather bench. From your pocket, you unfold the sheet music to "Je l'aime à mourir", small notes and lines scribbled across the paper. By now you know the song by heart but every time you hear even the slightest noise you lose concentration and forget the notes.

In a practiced motion, your fingers draw towards the correct keys. Time seems to stop with everything in your mind fading with it except for one name: Amélie.

The lyrics begin as a soft hum, gradually increasing with the piano in crescendo. Melodies flutter throughout the room, carrying the harmonies deep into the rest of the castle - unbeknownst to you.

A pair of golden eyes stare at the back of your head, a far off look present in the irises. The overwhelming rush of emotions is almost painful, her heart defying the countless hours spent to repress any and all traces of soul left in the shell of the French woman. Distantly Amélie can feel the mourning, the grief, the utter anguish squeezing at her heart. Memories of her past life - the life that she could never have - glimmers like twinkling stars; Thousands of miles away yet shining ever so brightly.

But bittersweetly, the only happy ending she can envision is a life with you. Gerard may have been her stars but you are her sun. The warmth and light of her life - the very reason for her existence.

"Je l'aime à mourir" (I love her to death)

The French rolls off your tongue perfectly and raw, unadulterated love floods through her veins. Amélie believes that no experiment or torture can take this feeling away.

As the final note fades out, you nearly jump out of your skin as cool air brushes against your ear.

"You play beautifully Chérie, such a talented girl," Amélie's voice lacks the usual teasing undertone, sounding unusually vulnerable. You move to turn your body but her strength outmatches yours. Her forehead rests against your shoulder, a worrying dampness sinking into the fabric down to your skin. Instinctively your hands reach behind you to stroke her purple tresses, a small attempt at comforting your lover.

"Do you mean it?" Amélie's voice is hushed and muffled against your body, quivering ever so slightly.

The question makes you hesitate but not because of your love for her. No, you knew with every atom in your body that you loved Amélie - but saying it out loud had your body tensing. Though your silence sends the wrong message. Amélie begins pulling away from you, off put and disappointed by the lack of a response.

"Je t'aime! I- I love you so much." The words stumble out clumsily in one breath - desperately trying to make up for your silence.

Amélie pauses and you swing your legs over the bench to face her. She leans closer, her eyebrows pushed together - traces of fear and vulnerability lingering in her orbs.

"Truly?" Right now, she was just Amélie, not Widowmaker, not the emotionless assassin - right now she's just your Amélie.

"Yes! God - I'm so stupid. I should've told you sooner but I just couldn't get it out! I...I really do love you though, Amé"

In a flash, her lips surge to capture yours. The force slams your back into the keys creating an ugly shrill, piercing sound, akin to a noise in a horror movie. But you pay no attention to it, hell, you don't even notice it when Amélie's lips are devouring yours. The kiss is bruising and your chest burns from the lack of air but it didn't matter, no only Amélie mattered right now.

Sharp, black nails dig into your soft robe, pulling your body impossibly closer. Her lips trail up to your ear, a fanged canine catching the lobe as she whispers:

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that Mon Amour, je t'aime aussi"

Je l'aime à mourir - I love her to death

Chérie - Darling

Mon Amour - My love

Je t'aime - I love you

Je t'aime aussi - I love you too

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #widowmaker x reader #widowmaker #widowmaker ow #overwatch 2 #amelie lacroix #amelie lacroix x reader

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itsbenedict · 16 days

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okay fine i played Fire Emblem Engage

That's where I've been for the past, like, week. It wasn't a great decision. I would call it a purchase made in a moment of weakness.

The conventional wisdom I've heard is "yeah the story and characters are Bad and Nothing, but the gameplay is really good", and that was kind of accurate to my experience. But it was... weirdly not as bad as I was expecting? It had some redeeming qualities, narratively! I enjoyed it more than, say, Fates by a mile.

It was still extremely stupid, though. Wow. It's not as actively infuriating as some recent FE has been, but it's certainly a completely braindead narrative.

You can open this readmore if you want to hear all about that.

So the plot of the game: there's an evil dragon man who wants to take over the world. He got sealed away a thousand years ago but now he's back and wants to take over the world. You Have To Stop Him. (There are epicycles to this, but all of them are dumb and very few of them matter.)

Toothpaste Lord, Alear, is the [son/daughter, in my game daughter] of the Divine Dragon, a very nice queen lady who the people of [setting] worship as a goddess. A thousand years ago she got mortally wounded sealing away the evil dragon man, and went to sleep for a thousand years to recover. Fast forward to now, and she wakes up, except she has amnesia and doesn't remember jack shit including her mother. This is concealing one (1) twist, which doesn't really affect anything, and mainly the amnesia is so that there's a reason for people to be constantly introducing concepts to her. Standard fare.

So she wakes up, and almost immediately, evil dragon man's zombie army is inexplicably invading the palace. He kills Divine Dragon queen mom in a very tragic scene where Healing Doesn't Work (at least they bother having the healer try, so points there) and she dies in your arms and there's like five solid minutes of poorly-paced anguish and angst over this character you've known for all of five minutes.

I want to stop and note- this is a beat this game fucking loves. The scene where a loved one dies tragically in someone's arms while delivering some inspiring last words happens- if my count is right- eight times in this god damn game, sometimes for the same character twice. They do it constantly, for characters that do not matter and you do not have any investment in. I'm halfway to thinking this is someone's fetish somehow- but more realistically it's just hack writing.

After that, the Prince of Somewhere shows up to save you, and you escape the palace and go on a journey to recruit allies and stop the evil dragon man. The journey involves traveling across four continents, each of which has a kingdom in it, which have two princes/princesses apiece, each of which have two loyal retainers apiece. Add the player and their own three loyal retainers for a total of 28 playable characters who are just there because they're On Your Side and otherwise have no investment in the conflict besides not wanting to get killed by zombie armies. There's eight other playable characters that have any other motivation at all, and most of them are bad.

(Actually that's not true. Two of the princesses have other motivations- they're princesses of Evil Cultistopia, which starts the game on evil dragon man's side, and they have a sort of journey to a face turn that would be kind of interesting if either of them were good characters. Evil Cultistopia's state religion is the worship of evil dragon man, except it's been a thousand years since he was sealed away so they're sort of just a normal country with a normal religion now. The idea of a country suddenly face-to-face with their god, who's asking them to wage war on the entire world with zombie armies, and it being politically impossible to not do that despite no one really wanting to do that? Cool idea! If only they fucking used or explored it in the slightest.)

Anyway, the big bad's evil plan is to gather the 12 Emblem Rings, macguffins that if collected together will grant INFINITE POWER. Again, standard stuff. But the rings in question are the central mechanical gimmick of the game, and the focus of the plot in and of themselves, and I have to talk about them because they're so dumb.

Each ring has the spirit of a protagonist of a previous Fire Emblem game in it!

Why? What are they doing here? How did they end up in magic rings? Do Not Ask Questions. They're here for fanservice reasons and we will be exploring precisely zero of the implications of their existence.

None of them are characters even slightly. They're there, they follow people around as stando powerghosts, they can talk and stuff- but like... Fire Emblem protagonists struggle with having personalities even at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Every single one of them is reduced to vapid friendship speeches, even the ones that weren't already just a human collection of friendship speeches.

Most of the plot, such as it is, concerns the collection of these rings, and occasional dramatic turnabouts when the bad guys take the rings from you. Oh, shit!

Oh no! They took Marth! Y'know, Marth! That character, who had traits and stuff! Aren't you horrified that the bad guys have Marth now? Isn't it so sad that his hair is red? Please buy it when Alear is so, so crying about Marth getting kidnapped! They had such a close friendship, which you can tell from how the only thing they ever talked about was how close their friendship was!

(Also, every single one of these twelve non-characters has their own Paralogue chapter, where they encounter a random ancient ruin or fort or something on the map, and they're like "whoa! this random location looks weirdly like a fan-favorite plot-important map from my game! Let me spend eight seconds recapping its plot, and then challenge you to a duel here to Strengthen Our Bonds somehow!". They're all exactly the same and drag out the game way longer than it needs to be.)

It's all very stupid! I hate it terribly.

Which is why it's a shame that the Emblem Rings are the coolest fucking mechanic that's ever been in Fire Emblem.

You equip a ring to a unit- any unit- and they confer fucking busted abilities, like teleporting halfway across the map and nuking something, or making seven consecutive attacks, or getting tons of extra movement and movement actions so you can be anywhere when you need to be there.

One lets you do the "give four adjacent allies an extra turn" thing that Reyson let you do in FE9/10, except you can put it on anyone and not just a frail bird-man you have to keep out of danger. And since there's another actual Dancer in the game, you can bust the action economy wide open.

Here's this overpowered tanky flier who can't just divebomb enemy back ranks because she dies in one hit to arrows or wind magic! Oh, but she has the ring equipped that makes sure she survives attacks that would kill her unless her health is already low! Bye, giant wall of enemy mages!

Here's my armor knight who's an unstoppable brick wall! He's balanced by being so slow that you can't get him in position to use him reliably, but- oh, hey, here's the ring that just puts him on a fucking horse!

One just lets the unit equip healing staves even if they weren't magic at all before. You can staple utility roles that are normally balanced by making the unit itself shitty and fragile... to units that already kick ass normally. My assassin can heal people now! I am become the master of both life and death!

It's so goofy and lets you have so much fun with it. You can also inherit skills from Emblems to keep them after you swap the ring from someone else- so if you want someone to get the mounted unit post-combat reposition thing, just have 'em hang out with Sigurd a bit!

It's also, like... an effective bit of fanservice, because they put an inordinate amount of work into fleshing out the system. Every character gets a unique insane magic superhero outfit and color scheme and combat voice lines for when they merge with each of the twelve emblems. You can make anyone say "I fight for my friends" and "You'll get no sympathy from me!" by equipping Ike. It's bizarrely high-effort.

That's the good part, mechanically. The bad part, mechanically, is this thing called the Somniel- a magical floating island in the sky you can fast-travel to, which is just Garreg Mach again.

Run around the same too-big 3D environment doing pointless bullshit between every map! Don't you want to go to every glowing spot on the minimap to collect the free items that spawned there? You might miss out on some Rare Fruit, which you can add as an extra ingredient in the fucking cooking system to increase the odds the dish will be higher-rarity! Surely you want to collect random wildlife from maps after you beat them so they can hang out in a pasture and generate random drops for you to collect between maps! Do the fishing minigame, which has two more steps than last time for no reason, in order to get Minced Fish and Bond Fragments! Spend the Bond Fragments to pull from the Bond Rings gachapon, to get jpegs of old-ass art assets of Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Game that you can equip for incredibly marginal stat bonuses! Watch your horribly-designed anime soldiers in their swimsuits going back and forth in the pool for extra support progress! Cram your inventory with literal horseshit because it looks exactly the same sparkling on the ground as the stuff you want! Play a rail shooter! Do some push-ups! Feed this stupid-looking dog thing to max out its affection meter for no benefit whatsoever! I hate you! I HATE you! I HATE YOU! 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔! DON'T DESIGN YOUR VIDEOGAME THIS WAY!! IT'S BORING AND SUCKS SHIT!!! I'LL PUNCH OFF YOUR LEGS!!!!!!!!!

...haaaaah. I need to calm down. It's just- it's so bad. It's so much extra development effort to create all these extraneous systems that you could've just not had and it would've been better. So many wasted manhours of effort put into building and polishing unfun time-wasting garbage because some suit thought "more features = more sales". I feel sorry for the devs that were forced to work on that!

...

Okay. Okay I think that's the end of the review. What else is there to say that I didn't say?

No, wait, right. I said the plot had redeeming qualities. I said it didn't piss me off as much as Fates. Okay. What are those redeeming qualities?

Well... first off, while the plot is braindead and tropey and nothing, it at the very least passes the bare minimum bar of the characters' actions making sense. It's not hard for their actions to make sense, since it's a dead simple goodguys-versus-badguys situation where the main villain is an evil dragon man with a zombie army, but so many things fail to clear this bar. The characters are almost never interesting, but rarely do they make me go "what the fuck are you talking about? why would you make that decision?", and after Fates and Three Houses that is a breath of fresh air.

Secondly: they're kind of smart about their antagonists. Evil dragon man is so obviously not a compelling character, just a force in the plot, that they don't bother putting him onscreen more than necessary. We mostly follow his Four Elite Generals that Fire Emblem big bads always have, except instead of elite generals they're just a bunch of fuckin' weirdos who've been tasked with babysitting his split-personality daughter. They get up to some infighting and have approximately believable motives and you get to kind of care about what's going on with them! The writer gave at least half a shit about what motivates the villains as people, despite the overarching villain being a stock evil demon king guy.

(In particular, there's this one really good death scene after you beat a couple of them- one of them has a heel face turn when they're dying, complete with yet another tragic dying-in-your-arms inspiring speech... and then after the heroes leave and pledge to always remember them, you get a scene where another one, who also got fatally wounded in the same battle, goes "so what was that all about. that sappy stuff was obviously bullshit. what gives, why betray the boss right at the end?" And they're like "yeah, no, i mainly did that to say fuck you to the boss for sending me on this suicide mission instead of rewarding me for my loyal service. but i figured if i was doing that i'd make up something more noble-sounding so they remember me fondly instead of as a petty asshole." Then they have a truly fucked-up conversation about their mommy issues before dying. It's a good scene!)

Thirdly, they do this really fun thing in the big climax before the final gauntlet, where... I mean, a lot of it is nonsense, but they're doing a fairly standard fakeout bit where the protagonist gets killed by the big bad but some kind of deus ex machina brings them back to life, right? But the way they do that, specifically, is... there's this character who did the zombie-army raising who eventually turns good and joins you, and while the protagonist is dying, she's like "hey, I have an idea- how about use your dark magics to bind my soul to my corpse as a zombie, and then just don't suborn my will?" And then they do that, and it works and it's kind of fucked up and makes everyone uncomfortable! A very cool moment. (Then a different deus ex machina brings you back as a ghost instead of a zombie and your hair turns completely blue, which I was hyped about purely for color scheme reasons since it's otherwise pretty stupid.)

I should probably also say something about the characters? They're usually a pretty big draw for Fire Emblem, and this game does go whole hog on having a large cast with lots and lots of support conversations. But, uh... they're mostly bad. The character designs are over-the-top and anime in a way that doesn't convey anything useful about them, and they tend to just be "character trait A meets incongruous character trait B and we will do the bare minimum to reconcile this". Pretty bad voice direction and dialogue pacing sucks a lot of the charm out of it, too. The fact that most characters are just there to Be A Character You Get and don't organically get involved in your quest doesn't help.

(There are a few that are functional- Yunaka's a good one, as one of the few that isn't just some prince's retainer and has a motive to be with the party. I like her "dark superassassin past but embarrassed about it" shtick, and her VA manages to make her cutesy catchphrases not annoying somehow. I don't know that anyone in the cast is above like a B-tier character, though.)

So... that's Engage. It wasn't ambitious, but it basically worked. It's not a game that has anything to say beyond "it is virtuous to be a really big fan of Fire Emblem, please go whale in the gacha", and it didn't have two brain cells to rub together- but it was pretty and fun and mostly didn't piss me off.

#game review #there's spoilers under the cut but you're not missing anything getting spoiled on this game

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ihavenocluedude · 2 years

Text

Lost in admiration

Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral!reader

Link to reading this on Ao3 Link to my main masterlist

A/N - I don’t mention any pronouns as far as I know so I think I can call this gender neutral but what the heck do I know. Title sort of taken from the song Head over Heels by Tears For Fears. Although not really inspired by it. Except maybe the vibes?? I’ve seriously been working on this for days now and my brain is beat. I am so in love with Eddie Munson though so it’s worth it.

Sort of inspired by these two tags I wrote in a reblog of an Eddie Gifset :

Warnings - Swearing (a lot of internal anxious swearing especially I guess but also in dialogue, which is also mostly in the anxious dialogues), crushing on someone for years, mentions of drugs and alcohol, drinking, I’m kind of scared this is OOC... so like hoping it isn’t but warning that it might be

Word Count - 5.7k

”So, you’re having a party on Friday?” This had been going on for 3 days now, the near-constant questioning.

Several people coming up to you at any time they themselves figured was a good time to ask this very question. And now even fucking popular douchebag star of the basketball team Jason Carver was speaking to you. Seemingly trying to work some sort of charm that you bet several of the cheerleaders had fallen victim to.

”There’s no party.”

”That’s not what the entire school is saying y’know? Parents gone, a whole house to yourself, don’t be selfish.” As if any of that would change your mind to actually liking parties and wanting to have a bunch of strangers in your home.

”I know.” You chuckled sarcastically before continuing ”But, y’know… no one in this school except for me actually lives there so, it’s my right to decide. No party.”

”So… no party?”

”Exactly. Spread the word, jock.” Thankfully, he stepped away from your lunch table after that. ”I hate this.”

”You don’t hate this.”

”Robin. I hate this. Someone literally almost stopped me in the grocery store yesterday, with my mom next to me! They’re not even away yet. And it wasn’t even me who told the masses that I’d be home alone this weekend.” You ranted in anguish before letting out a small groan, your volume rising slightly during your rant, making several of the students in the cafeteria look over at the two of you.

”I am sorry for telling Steve…”

”I know.”

”I didn’t think he’d-”

”Robin, it’s okay. It’s fine. It would’ve spread around anyway. Apparently, Steve was not the first to start spreading the word. Someone heard us talking the other day and didn’t hear all of it, so they assumed, like they always do.”

Your parents had told you the weekend before they were going to be away. Told you that they trusted you not to do anything stupid, have at most just three friends over, and to try not to mess up the house whilst they were gone. They hadn’t told and taught you the wise lesson that it’s wise not to mention this information in school or to tell your best friend not to tell anyone including her still somewhat new friend Steve Harrington.

Formerly known as King Steve. More recently known as the guy who had a thousand dates lined up but nowhere to take them to. Hawkins wasn’t exactly the most… eventful place unless you count the horrifying events that you’d thankfully and unthankfully gotten to know about through Robin’s rants to you about it after she got pulled into it all.

And Steve couldn’t possibly bring all his dates to the makeout spots like Lovers’ Lake or Skull Rock. No no no, that would be completely ridiculous. So when he heard Robin mentioning you being home alone for the weekend, aka a possibility for a party he could take a date to, he’d just ran off to the phone to start calling numbers. He isn’t the guy to force a party upon you but… he ’accidentally’ was anyhow.

”Would it be that bad if you had a party?”

”Are you offering to clean up the house with me the day after?” You asked mostly sarcastically. Even with trying to turn everyone and anyone away from the idea that you were having a party… It was sort of starting to grow on you anyway.

The ’classic’ high school experience was just there right in front of you, why not appreciate it? Besides if you didn’t you’d have to open your door every five minutes on Friday and tell them ’no, there isn’t a party here, listen for a second… you hear that? complete silence’ anyway by the way this had spread… so why not instead actually just let them in.

”Sure.”

”Really?”

”Why not?”

”Am I really going to have a party just because of group pressure?” Robin’s smile was ridiculously infectious and even as you said it you felt your lips quirking up into a small smile.

”Not just. He would totally come.” AND she’d won you over completely. You knew exactly who she was talking about, because who else would she be talking about with such inflection in her voice.

Before you knew it you had stood up on the lunch table dramatically as he himself has done before. Clearing your voice in a showy way before almost screaming to the cafeteria ”I CHANGED MY MIND! MY HOUSE THIS FRIDAY, PEOPLE!”

You should’ve known to regret those sentences by the way the basketball team table started cheering. Fuck. But then whilst you were getting down off the table, desperately averting your eyes from the popular table, your eyes just quickly locked on him for a second. The usual jean vest & leather jacket duo, and the Hellfire club shirt proudly presented under them. But more importantly, his eyes on you too.

”Well, that was nice.”

”Do you think he’ll still come if Jason and his league of basketball douchebags come?”

You knew that he wasn’t that into parties in general. But he showed up sometimes. You weren’t really a party person yourself but if Eddie ’The Freak’ Munson came to the party, you’d hear about it the day after usually. Some of them he just attended because he knew he could sell a lot, bringing along his little lunch box-y thingy.

But… in this situation, you also sort of had a contact that could perhaps convince him to come. Hopefully.

The video store wasn’t necessarily your favorite place in Hawkins, but it wasn’t all that bad. You’d hang out with Robin whilst she worked sometimes, which led to actually getting to know Harrington a bit. There were movies galore, you had a pretty good friend discount, and Robin would tell you when something you’d maybe want to rent or buy would come in. But none of those reasons were why you entered the video store along with Robin right after school that afternoon. Almost rushing up to Steve Harrington, a somewhat pleading look in your eyes already.

”I need you to pass on a message. Well, not a message per se… I just-”

”Out with it.”

”I want you to make Dustin convince Eddie Munson to go to my party. Without making it all- fucking- obvious.” You were jittery, nervous, and still just a tad on edge from your earlier announcement at lunch. And Steve’s immediate reaction to start laughing at what you just said did not help your on edge behavior. ”Steve, I’m serious.”

”Eddie ’The Freak’ Munson?” He scoffed once he’d calmed down his laughing enough to get words out, but then turned quiet for a few seconds as he saw your anxiousness. ”Are you… No way! You’re into Freaky Eddie?”

”Steve! Shut up!” You muttered with wide eyes, quickly glancing around the store to thankfully see no customers your age in the store at the moment. ”Can you do it?”

”It’s up to Dustin but I can ask him.”

— ~~~ —

All in all… it wasn’t a big deal. The thing about Eddie, your thing for Eddie. But it had started years ago.

It could all be traced back to middle school. But you wouldn’t call what you felt back then a crush. It was more like… an admiring kind of intimidation and jealousy.

He was just so himself.

You felt like you were still deciding if you were an actual person and there he was so… fully formed. He’d already started his rock band with his friends, been so passionate about music it almost made you sick, and had a sick buzzcut at the time. And he was older. He seemed so mature and grown sometimes although he was probably nothing of the kind.

It wasn’t like you ever talked to him, the intimidation was just… too much. He went off to high school whilst you were stuck in middle school for two more years without him and by then he’d slipped away from your mind a little. Well until you saw him again at least.

Once you caught up to high school with him he was in his junior year. Just two more years until you’d probably never see him again, at least that’s what you thought.

Freshman year was… easy. It wasn’t quite the same awestruck admiration you’d had for him when you were younger. And you hadn’t yet quite seen him like you would come to see him the year after. Once entering your sophomore year, the year of his first senior year, you realized that the feelings you felt towards him had definitely developed more… romantically?

Without ever speaking to the guy, without ever actually interacting with him, it had still developed.

He had started growing out his hair from the buzzcut the year before, the shaggy curly hair growing quickly and just almost reaching his shoulders at that point. And you noticed that you’d never really noticed his eyes before. For a guy who seemed so unreserved and called a freak, his eyes were just really calm in a way. Yet so expressive, warm, and just beautiful. And although you’d never really mention it to anyone, not even Robin, he was adorable. And hot.

But you had to be honest with yourself after all. That was his senior year. He’d leave Hawkins and probably never come back after that, at least that’s what you’d heard the plan was. And you were… glad.

Maybe you could stop feeling like some school girl with a silly crush on the ’bad boy’ of the school. Maybe you could stop feeling as if he was just everywhere you went in Hawkins, just because your brain seemed to feel like it meant more seeing him than seeing any other schmuck in this school or person in this world. Maybe you could stop fantasizing about joining his club just to get the courage to actually talk to him.

Then he was held back.

And it all just snowballed. The feelings grew more intense and testified to the fact that you really never were going to speak to him out of your own volition. Not even if you tried joining The Hellfire club, because how on earth were you going to speak to him whilst under the pressure of the game too?

And now you had agreed to host a party partially because Robin told you he’d come. It wasn’t even guaranteed. It was just speculation and your heart jumped out of your chest and told your brain it was a good idea, even when in afterthought it felt like the most stupid thing you’d ever done.

— ~~~ —

You’d thought about if you’d actually get the courage to speak to Eddie at the party. Would what people call ’liquid courage’ actually give you courage? You weren’t a party person yourself, you didn’t know the proper etiquette, and you definitely didn’t feel like you had whatever you thought you needed to speak to Eddie Munson. Which felt silly considering Freshmen speak to him daily.

You hadn’t ever talked to him thus far, why would it happen at the party?

This was the question you were both asking yourself as much as you also were protesting it. You obviously wanted to speak to him. And hey, why not? It would be more casual at the party, perhaps liquid courage is actually courage, and hey maybe unicorns do exist?

It all just felt so ridiculous that you questioned why you were thinking about it this much anyway. A loop in your head with the intermittent ’you should think about all the other great things about this party!’. And still, it was on your mind the whole Thursday school day.

”Hey!-shit. Hello?” The question had been clouding your mind enough to first not even notice the person who’d called after you. ”Can you stop walking please?” Or at least seemed to be calling for you. You turned around before answering, hoping to see that it wasn’t yet another person asking about the party and instead someone calling after someone else.

And there he was. Seemingly actually calling for you.

Taking a breath and clearing your throat before answering, ”Y-Yeah?” if you hadn’t it probably would’ve sounded more like a whisper.

”You’re having a party tomorrow right?” A quick nod in response as you don’t fully trust your words, barely even trusting your facial expressions in this moment. ”Could we talk for a minute?”

”Yeah sure absolutely.” You were talking to him. What the fuck was going on.

”Not… in school preferably.” He clarified, hoping that you’d get what he was signifying. You gave a slower nod before gesturing with your thumb over your shoulder towards the way you were headed out of school, him giving you a nod back to say that he’d follow you. Walking up beside you as you then walked side by side through the halls.

”I could… I could drive you home or something and we could talk about it on the way?” He suggested sort of stumbling through the sentence, your shy and quiet demeanor because of being flustered evidently being somewhat contagious.

”Uhm… well, my friend is supposed to pick me up. But… yeah sure?

”Oh, I should’ve known, you can still go with… them. We could just talk tomorrow?”

”No, it’s fine, really.” You insisted whilst simultaneously trying as hard as possible not to constantly look up at him. To get to see his eyes up close or see if he had that smile you’d only get to truly see when he was making a spectacle of himself somewhere in the school. Instead, you allowed yourself a few short glances before averting your eyes to the way you were going.

Whispers from other people in the hall somehow already started going around about the two of you as they saw you. But soon enough Eddie’s voice cut through them as he spoke to you again.

”So, Steve right?”

”Huh?”

”The friend picking you up?”

”How’d you know?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in response although quickly trying to unfurrow them to not seem as desperate for the answer as you actually felt. Running your fingers anxiously over your forehead lightly before running your hand over your hair and then dropping it to your side again.

”Well he picks you up sometimes right?”

”Well yeah but-”

”And I know Dustin who knows Steve so…”

”Right. Of course.” Somehow it had never truly come up in your mind that Eddie could know who you were. That he had heard about you from Dustin or others, that he could’ve had thought about you too whenever you two saw each other around Hawkins the last couple of years. ”I just have to tell Robin that I’m going with you instead and then we can go I guess.” You sort of sighed out when the two of you stepped out of the school, trying to take deep breaths but still feeling like you were somehow failing.

Once outside Robin was thankfully the first thing you saw. Not that she was close by but rather that your eyes knew just as well as your brain to seek her out when anxious. Your safe person.

”I’ll just go wait in my van.”

”I- I don’t know which one’s yours.” It wasn’t completely true, but it wasn’t false either. You’d seen him arrive at school once or twice at the same time that you did and although you had picked up that it was a van… you’d mostly been focused on the driver rather than the car or really trying not to look.

But even though you knew you’d embarrass yourself more by trying to find it later without knowing what it looks like… you found yourself regretting saying that anyway. Because right after you said it, he got closer to you, made sure he was on the same eye-level as you, and then pointed it out before noting; ”It’s… that one.”

Shivers. down. your. spine. Mouth slacking slightly open before quickly snapping it shut. Breathing in deeply through your nose, although regretting that instantly as well.

He was barely doing anything but being somewhat close to you, body heat radiating from him, his arm pointing over one of your shoulders towards the van that sat just a small distance away, his head lingering quite closely by yours on your other side.

But considering you’d pined for him for over two years, been admiring him, and been intimidated by him for even longer, it felt like… nothing else. Not to talk about the fact that you got a heavy dose of what he smells like, heavenly by the way, when you breathed in through your nose.

”I- I see it. I think. I’ll be right over. I just- see you later.” You managed to get out before directing your eyes back to Robin and walking quickly towards her. Her eyes were wide and already looking at you, definitely having seen what just happened, your eyes instantly shooting daggers back at her as you knew that Eddie would be able to see her expression if he looked over.

And although she was your safe person you once again couldn’t stop the incessant overthinking going on in your head as you walked towards her.

Eddie must think that you’re terrified of him or something by the way you’ve averted your eyes, stumbled and stuttered your way through the conversation, and the anxious behavior overall. OR he knows, he’s noticed and he knows. Either way; Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

”So, what the hell was that?” Robin asked a teasing grin on her face that probably wouldn’t stop even if you begged her not to smile like that ’because it’s making it obvious’.

”I- uhm… he wants… Eddie- he wants to talk about the party, I think. He’s sort of driving me home.”

”What?”

”You can literally not make a big deal out of this right now, I’m freaking out and he’s probably looking at us or something. I can’t look-” You started ranting, your last few words catching Robin’s attention as she decided to glance his way instead, your hand immediately going up to her jaw to push her eyes back to you ”Robin! You can’t either, are you crazy?”

”Somewhat.”

”What the fuck do I do.”

”You think I know anything about that?”

”I don’t know! Where the fuck is Steve when we need him?” And almost as if summoning a demon, you apparently summoned Steve by just saying his name, his car rolling into the nearest parking spot to you and Robin before quickly half getting out one foot in the car and the other on the asphalt. ”Oh, thank fuck.”

”How did you do that?” Robin chuckled before looking over at Steve. ”Hi Dingus. Look like it’s just going to be the two of us.”

”Really? You don’t need a ride?” Steve asked, directing the first question to Robin before looking at you and tilting his head the way it feels like he always does when asking something.

”Getting a ride by Eddie Munson.” Robin answered, louder than needed and with the same teasing grin as earlier. Throwing her stuff in the back seat before assuming the Steve Harrington Position of one foot in and one foot out.

”I thought you’d never spoken to him before?” Steve questioned, thankfully much softer and not as loud as Robin. You walked closer to the car hoping that fewer people might be interested in the talk the three of you were having and not having to talk as loudly. Or at least not as loudly as Robin thought she needed to for you to hear from that small distance away.

”I haven’t. Not until today, he was sort of waiting on me outside the classroom by the end of my lesson I guess?” And it still felt like one of your dreams or fantasies, although with a lot more anxiety.

”And you’re getting in a car with him?”

”I trust him. I mean hasn’t he like driven Dustin sometime or something? He trusts him too! But uhm… I need… Like- What the hell do I do? Like how do I act?”

”Why are you asking me?”

”Because you know about these sorts of things! I’ve seen you at the video store. C’mon now Harrington, lay it on me, tell me how I’m supposed to act.”

”Haven’t you been there during all the talks we’ve had with Robin about her crush? Be yourself!”

”Yeah fine whatever, but you can’t just do that, right?” The former king of Hawkins High had to have some sort of advice other than the totally cliché thing that Robin had said first.

”What, do you mean flirting?”

”I guess?” Although the nervous feelings from before weren’t gone, you found yourself a lot calmer around Robin and Steve. Eyes not averting as much except looking over at Robin from time to time and once or twice glancing over at the van to see that it’s still there. Just looking at the hulk of the van though and not even daring to look through the front window of the car in fear that you’ll lose all your calm within just a microsecond or something.

”Listen. Calm down. Go sit down in his van and just talk for now. You can save the flirting for when you’re drunk, it’s easier.”

”That last bit sounds sort of like bad advice, but what the hell.”

Robin and Steve drove off and you made your way over to the car, sparing one single glance through the front window to make sure it was Eddie sitting there, which thankfully it was. And thankfully you didn’t lose your complete cool by just looking at him, progress.

”Hi. Sorry that took a while.”

”It’s okay.” Eddie’s answer was short and simple, his voice as smooth in tone as you’d always thought it was. ”That conversation looked intense?” shit

”Uhm… yeah, no. It was nothing.”

”So, not about me?” Eddie questioned that wonderful smile on his face, obviously lightly teasing you. Testing the waters.

”No, no. About the party.” You chuckled back in response with a shake of your head, it wasn’t technically a lie, the party was sort of mentioned. Steve had told you to leave the flirting to the party. Eddie still hadn’t started the car. The two of you talking in the quiet of his van although with the echo of the conversations of students getting out of school just outside.

”I know Harrington doesn’t like me.”

”Harrington doesn’t know you.” It came rushed out before you could even stop yourself, ”Not that- not that I do… I just-”

”No, I get it. That’s… sweet.” Finally, albeit your feelings were a bit mixed over it, he started the car and started getting out of the parking lot, driving out into Hawkins. ”So, about the party. I was thinking that I’m gonna go.”

”Great.”

”Yeah?”

”Do you want to come?”

”Do you want me to come?”

”Yeah. Sure.”

”Could I- You do know about my ’part-time job’, right?” You didn’t know where to look but looking over at him, you found your eyes meeting his just as he was gesturing the quotation marks with his right hand, nodding in response once again. ”Can I sell at your party?”

”Why not? I won’t be- But I don’t mind.” You explained with a shrug and a shake of your head, once again stumbling through your words. Kept your eyes on him for a little while, appreciating the moment whilst you could, and finding out that he glanced over ever so often. But when looking out the front window you realized you were getting pretty close to home. ”Do you know where I live?”

”Everyone’s sort of been shouting your address all over the school the last few days. It would be hard not to.”

”That’s really… uncomfortable honestly. The whole thing of everyone knowing where you live? I felt pretty much invisible before all of this.” You winced, had people at school really been that vocal about a party? ”I won’t get like… weird shit happening to me right?”

”They’ll probably forget as soon as they’re there.”

”Really?”

”Absolutely, you’ll be safe.”

— ~~~ —

”So this is going well so far, right?” You asked with your back leaned up against a wall in the entry hallway next to Robin, drink in your hand. The door stood wide open and ready for the next horde of teenagers to come in and crowd your living room, kitchen, and whatever else they wanted it seemed. ”I mean… we’ve got a crowd, Steve seems pretty happy over there with Heidi or whoever, they all seem to enjoy the music? And I’m like… tipsy for the first time in a long time.”

”You’re past tipsy, but yes. Everything seems pretty good. Except for one thing. You haven’t talked to him.”

”I said hi?” You defended yourself. But you couldn’t even defend yourself that much cause you knew you wanted to, you needed to. If you had been sober you would’ve felt completely ready to go somewhere else and hide from the situation, but the drinks had pulled something out of you. Neediness, something you had both sort of hoped for and dreaded.

Neediness that made your eyes linger on him every time you peeked around the party, neediness that felt like it was pulling at your heart, neediness that felt like it was pulsing through your blood.

”Dude, go and talk to him.”

”Sure, fuck it. Wish me luck.”

”Good luck!” Robin chuckled and gently pushed your shoulder as you separated yourself from the wall.

The living room was completely crowded, just as expected. What you hadn’t expected, however, was the way most of the people in the living room still hung out in their cliques. Sure they weren’t all in their separate little groups, some were on what had become the dance floor not giving a shit, some were playing drinking games whilst sitting on the couch, and all in all, it wasn’t that bad.

But the basketball team was almost standing in a line, all in their letterman jackets as if the jacket was a uniform. Stood all together as if they were trying to intimidate the whole party. Meanwhilst, the seniors of the group they call freaks were all spread across the room, none of them in their hellfire shirts.

”That looks weird, right?” An icebreaker was always a reliable way to enter a conversation. At least that’s what you hoped for when you came up to Eddie, gesturing towards the team. ”It looks almost horror movie-esque.”

”Yeah definitely.” He laughed out, and just like you and Robin had leaned against a wall in the hallway, you leaned against a wall with Eddie Munson. What you hoped was one of the normal positions at a party that wasn’t sitting or being in the way of others. ”You’re okay with them being here though?”

”Yeah it’s fine. At least I know who they are, if any of them breaks a lamp… I know whose parents to call.” Popping the ’p’ and sighing a little before averting your eyes from the team and instead to Eddie who definitely seemed to be in a laughing mood. Looking away from him a second later though when you realized that you currently couldn’t look at his eyes this closely without your mouth just slightly opening. ”I’m not like that uncomfortable with it but… there are a lot of people here that I feel like I don’t know.”

”You know me.”

”Do I?” It felt like it was just minutes ago when you had sort of excused yourself by saying that you didn’t know him in his car.

”Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High. Nice to meet you.” He stretched out his hand with a smug grin on his face. With a playful tone in his voice and expressing a demeanor you’d only seen from afar before. You took his hand without much of a second thought but almost froze up when you could feel the rings on his fingers. The rings almost shocked you as if something knocked on your brain and just reminded you that this was Eddie Munson. The Eddie Munson.

”Oh, you’re that guy, well of course.” You teased with a chuckle, playing along.

”Told you that you knew me!” He chuckled and clapped his hands together once after your little shake. ”Y’know Dustin was talking so much about the party I thought he was gonna come here. That he was dropping hints that he wanted me to chaperone him to his first party or something.”

”Really?” You might have to smack the back of Dustin’s head a little next time you see him… ”Is that why you came?”

”No… Not at all.” Eddie remarked calmly, holding eye contact with you whilst he said it but then moved his eyes to look over the party around the two of you. ”Could we get away from this for a while?”

”For sure.”

You tried going outside at first but there were a lot of people outside too. People who’d probably had the same thought as Eddie. To get some air or just get away from being surrounded by people for a second or two at least.

”I have an idea.” You said before without a thought taking his hand in yours and leading him to the kitchen. Opened one of the drawers, and there they were; the key you’d locked the bedrooms with and a bag of snacks you’d saved for either when everyone left or for when you felt you needed to retreat to your bedroom. Almost like this moment turned out. Except you’d thought it would just be you, going up into your room, changing clothes and eating snacks, and then falling asleep.

Took the key, took the snacks, filled up your drink, and walked upstairs with Eddie in tow. As soon as Eddie made it into the room as well you shut the door as quickly as possible, set down your things and walked over to the windows, and opened them. Letting the fresh air in, but also thankfully some background noise. Took your things again and slumped down next to your bed, using it as a backrest.

”Better?”

”Much.” Eddie chuckled, his also refilled drink stretched out to toast with yours, ”Cheers.”

”Cheers.” He was sitting close enough for you to feel the heat of him radiating off of him once again. If he was so warm all the time you had no clue how the hell he constantly had on that leather jacket and jean vest combo. But you weren’t going to complain about any of that.

”I didn’t bring my stash.”

”Huh?”

”The… I asked if I could sell, y’know the other day. But… I didn’t bring it.”

”I don’t want to buy or anything-”

”No, you’re- I just… I didn’t want to sell. I just wanted to be here.” Eddie admitted with a sigh as if he absolutely needed to tell you that. His ’here’ sounded as if he really meant here, alone with you.

”That’s… sweet.” You chuckled as you heard yourself practically quoting him from the other day. Your heart felt as if it was going to beat its way out of you. And as a distraction… you decided to make it so much harder on yourself. Pulling your legs closer to yourself before picking up his closest arm and resting it on your angled lap as you decided to get a closer look at the tattoo near his elbow. Angling your knees slightly more in towards him as you stroked your fingers over the bats that decorated his skin.

You knew his eyes were on you as you started to trace them with one of your hands, whilst the one closest to him sort of just supported his arm. Or at least that’s only what it was doing until he took that hand in his own. However, you still didn’t dare look at him just yet. But you could still feel how close his head was to yours, how close you truly were now.

Your breathing had become kind of heavy, mostly in anticipation. This certainly felt like something was about to happen. And surprisingly you found yourself being the one to make it happen. Looked at him and took a deep breath in before you picked up your hand that had now just rested over his tattoo and guided it to his jaw instead. And then guided him to you.

Turns out, that having a crush on Eddie Munson leads to pretty amazing things. Like seeing the way he looked at you before you kissed. Feeling his free hand rest on one of your knees and guide them even closer to him. And the harsh feeling of several years of crushing on him, being intimidated by him, and admiring him softened severely.

”I’ve been wanting that for… too long.” Eddie sighed out dreamily once the two of you parted, which almost made you laugh in his face.

”You? I’ve been-” You started before your eyes widened and started over, ”Yeah no… way too long.” Your head bumped gently down on his shoulder forehead first and rested it there.

”What were you going to say?” His voice was quite hushed still but you could hear the smug and happy tone in it so clearly. Although he seemed to try not to sound so obvious.

”I uhm… I’ve sort of had this crush on you… for a while.”

”Really?”

”Yep.”

”Dustin trying to convince me to go makes a lot more sense now.” Eddie chuckled although his voice sounded more confused than enlightened. ”I sort of… figured out it was something behind it but I didn’t believe it when he said it was Steve who’d asked him to. I never figured out that there was a chain of command.”

”Oh god. Sorry. I was just… I didn’t think you’d come with the way the basketball team pretty much yelled their acceptance of the invite. And… y’know, crush. So I figured it was worth a try.” You shrugged lightly and placed your chin on his shoulder instead so you could look at him. Those big soft brown eyes looked right back at you.

”I was gonna come anyway.”

”Well I didn’t know that.”

”But now you do.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things x reader #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #Joseph Quinn x reader #eddie munson fic

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anxso · 6 months

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@ygoc-week Day 7 - AU

YU-GI-OH! 5D’S — RAIN ORICHALCUM

Clear Skies is a story that involves multiple timelines and a version of Z-ONE trapped, trying to find a solution to a time loop. This VERY mucH revolves around Rain and Kalin.

One timeline we get to see is a brief snapshot of an attempt where Z-ONE defeats Roman and is able to restore Rain’s memory prior to her awakening in the Satellite, so during the Team Satisfaction era she’s instead a murderer-menace.

Yet stilllll ends up in a relationship anyway and is facing a firing squad for the things she and Kalin have done. He sets off an explosion, and they manage to escape.

It gets cut off there in the main story BUT I honestly was so enamored with this timeline that I wrote out how they ended up warming up to each other. This one-shot is prettttty long, almost 4k words! but I’m happy I get to share it for OC Week! I originally wrote this for the Angstober prompt “Crimes of Passion” because oh, doesn’t that fit them perfectly?

WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE-SHOT: alcohol use, gun violence, a drinking game that gets. hot n heavy. implied/offscreen nsfw (nothing that would be an E rating on AO3, don’t worry~!)

full fic under the cut :3c

————————

Soft beeps filled the hospital room. Kalin Kessler had fallen asleep on his knees, his hand in Rain Orichalcum’s; she lay comatose on the bed. Z-ONE appeared in the visitation seats in a green flash wearing a blank expression.

“Again. Again,” Z-ONE whispered. “How many times have I been here?”

A swirl of violet flames birthed the figure of a Dark Signer, Ccapac Apu wearing Rain’s skin. Its black robes lined with blue drank in the noonday sunshine. Its drawn hood casted shadows over its dark eyes, but its grin was free and bright. “If it isn’t the worthless machine back again! What are we at now? Should I be celebrating three thousand?”

“When you are snuffed out,” Z-ONE said, “those taunts will vanish with you along with all the anguish you have woven into the universe.”

“Little old me?” It feigned surprise. “But I was happy to eat up one timeline! Here you are creating ever more for me to feast. Tell me, rusty bucket of bolts, do you ever consider how those timelines end up? Ever had one stick in the old brain?”

“What? No. It doesn’t… matter.”

“Oh, but it does. A tree fallen in the forest may go unheard by humanity yet makes sound enough to scatter the birds, and a timeline abandoned by your sorry self continues to spiral until ending up in my wondrous arms. Or are you a depressed solipsist?”

Z-ONE stared. “I go on. It is what I do.”

“The weight of it all must eat you up.” The wicked god hovered over Z-ONE, spittle flying with its words. “The decisions you’ve made and the sheer agony they’ve resulted in. I know you lie to me. They’re lodged in your brain as much as I continue to experience them—every timeline continuing on, every light for me to consume! You should try godhood sometime, but oh, no machine could process it. You would fall to pieces. I suppose it wouldn’t matter, since you’re already a heap of junk!”

Z-ONE’s fists balled. “I am no god. Nor am I a machine. The probability exists. I merely have to find its branch. Your days have been numbered from the start. As for the other branches…”

Z-ONE stood. “A god such as you exists simultaneously on every timeline, and so you will be eradicated everywhere; everywhen.”

“Eradicated!” The wicked god laughed and slapped its knee. “Funny! You aaare funny. You don’t like to talk about them, but I have my favorites! Timelines you’ve screwed up, that is.”

“I’m done talking.” Z-ONE’s bracelet shone emerald. “I defy your ending.”

The wicked god rolled its eyes. “Whatever, whatever, see you next time around.” It cleaned beneath its grimy fingernails and studied Kalin and Rain.

Its smile curled up.

/\/\/\/\/\/

One thousand three hundred and seventy-seven.

Z-ONE tampered with the game of gods by defeating Roman Godwin, possessed by Earthbound Immortal Uru. Uru had snatched Rain Orichalcum’s memories. She was left as a complacent girl with childlike naïvete. A chance run-in with Kalin Kessler netted her an opportunity to join Team Satisfaction and survive in the post-fallout wasteland known as the Satellite, an island used as garbage disposal for the nearby New Domino City.

The Rain Orichalcum who had her memories returned before any such meeting took place, before growing close to humans who showed her kindness and empathy, was a very different person indeed.

Smog intermingled with the gray clouds blanketing the overcast sky. Kalin Kessler strolled the grimy Satellite streets whistling a tune. He kicked a can as he went and periodically glanced up at the rooftops. He passed a pair of stray dogs fighting over a scrap of rotten food and tossed them a fresh granola bar.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Wind swept through the streets, carrying litter and brushing the collar of his Team Satisfaction vest against his cheek. He spun on his heel, his focus locked on the rooftop of the building behind him.

A pale woman with long, black hair and blue eyes glared down at him. Her legs dangled over the building's edge. Kalin said, "Heyo, it's just the girl I'm looking for!"

She thinned her eyes.

"Oh, how I enjoy our long and eventful conversations. You know, they've started calling you the shadow. I don't think it fits so much. What about something more creative, like, Raven!"

She rolled her eyes.

"Not your name, then." He sighed and made a show of slumping sadly. "One of these days, I'll find it out! Eh, I have a more, uh, pressing priority today. You got a hard number on how many Securities you've killed?"

Her head tilted, expression unchanging. She held up both hands and lifted one finger, two fingers, all the way to ten. Then she curled her fingers and shrugged.

"So many you don't know?"

She confirmed with a nod.

"See! That's a problem for us. You, too. They're hiking up their numbers in the Satellite and making it worse for every one of us. It goes pretty counter to what I'm trying to do around here, which is to stay on the low to keep Security out of our hair. S'long as we got a nice, united Satellite, Security's the only fuckheads. Make sense?"

She stared.

"Come on. There's gotta be something I can do to convince you to leave them alone. Anything you want? I'll find it. Anything you wanna do to me? Hell, murder me instead for all I care. The rest of my team can take it from there."

"Your logic is flawed," she said, and he jumped. Words! From her mouth! "Every human is a fuckhead."

He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Ah, you got me there! Hey, you duel? How about a bet?"

"I'll take a bet," she said, "but we'll play my game."

"What game's that?"

She smiled in a very unpleasant way. "Drinking. You pass out first, and you never acknowledge my existence again. I pass out first, and you get your wish. I'll leave the guys in gray alone."

Very many a thought raced through Kalin's mind. If this was her game, she was surely better prepared than him. On the other hand, he had biology on his side considering his size over her. "You got yourself a deal."

She dropped onto the street before him, her boots stirring dust. Her loose-fitting black shirt, one arm missing the fabric, swayed with her stride. He followed her without word and with a wide berth. He'd heard enough stories to know even a perceived slight could end his life.

Yet there he went, following the Satellite's infamous murderer to who-knows-where. If he survived, Yusei and Crow would kill him. Jack would shoot him one of his more judgmental looks.

Perhaps he should rethink this.

Nahh. It was for the good of them all, so he had to. Plus, free drinks. They might end up being straight up poison, buuut-

"Here," she said.

Gray waves splashed up the high, craggy shoreline. Across the inlet, New Domino City caught rays of sunshine. The smog in this part of the Satellite, so close to the factories, blocked out the sun. She stood inside a control building connected to a now-defunct hydropower plant. The steel dam still stood, and trash floated on the disgusting green water behind it.

Kalin followed her inside. She wound down a steel staircase. Their clanging footsteps echoed, testaments to how deep the plant stretched. She stopped three stories down. The emergency generators kept on the lights, and select rations lay scattered on the many control panels. In the corner lay a sleeping bag, an unlit lantern, and scattered bottles.

She struck a match and lit the lantern. He studied the place. A few cockroach corpses rested here and there but nothing serious. He said, "Must stay pretty warm way down here in the winter."

She yanked down a large switch on the wall, and the humming overhead lights shut off. Screens and buttons provided minimal bright blue lighting. Most came from her lantern, a buttery orange glow. "Do you feel colder now?"

"Huh? Not really."

"The electricity here keeps the heat going," she said. "Since I don't need it, well. There it goes."

He kept a straight face, but it wasn't the greatest news to hear. They hadn't reached the snowy part of the year but the chill was enough to wake him up in the middle of the night. He'd worn only his typical red t-shirt, jeans, vest, and boots. His socks had more holes than he could count, so the cold found his feet first. "Not many places still get heat. How'd you find this?"

"I'm not here for small talk." She picked up two glass bottles of clear liquid and dropped into a rotating chair. I took the one beside her. The pair of tall bottles rested between various knobs and dials, and the lantern sat on the floor between us. The upward casting of shadows darkened her eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. She said, "Truth or dare's the game. If you pick truth, you drink."

The thought of what she might dare him to do skyrocketed his pulse. He said, "You should drink first. Y'know, so I'm sure you're not poisoning me."

She rolled her eyes and took a deep swig. "Guess I'm truth first."

"Your name!" he said. Uh. Surely there were better options, and yet.

"Rain," she answered. "Rain Orichalcum."

"Wow," he whispered. "Rain…"

"Don't- say it like that."

"Like what?"

She shook her head. "Your turn. Pick."

"Truth." He smelled the bottle. Fuck was it strong. He took a swig and coughed. Stuff almost came back up as vomit but he hit his fist against his chest and kept it down. The strength of it flooded his sinuses and lingered there. "Ugh, what the hell?"

She was laughing. He was too stunned to speak. She swiftly recovered her composure and swiped the bottle from him. "All the other stuff isn't strong enough."

"So you drink fucking rubbing alcohol?"

"Yes."

His brows shot up, and he studied the stuff with renewed interest. It'd hit him within seconds and he felt the urge to laugh even though nothing had happened. He rubbed his mouth and said, "Uh, your question?"

"What are you trying to do to this island? Conquer it?"

He blinked. "Kind of. I don't know. That doesn't sound like the right word. We're trying to, like- unite! Thaaat's the word. Yeah, so, right now it's split into a whole bunch of territories run by different gangs. They make life hell for anyone who's not in their gang, and lots of times, members of the gangs act like slaves to whoever the gang leader is. We're not like that. We wanna take them down and let everybody be free. We can make the Satellite as good a place to live as the City that way."

"Why do you believe that?" she said.

"Ha! I'm not drunk enough to fall for that. You gotta ask me next time."

"Fine." She drank. "Truth."

"Why do you keep killing people?"

She squinted and cleaned out her ear with a pinkie. "Do fuckheads deserve the lives they've been given if they use it only to abuse others? Take these other gangs, for example. Clearly you have a case of an individual with power who abuses it and takes advantage of those beneath the leader. Why should they continue to exist?"

He snorted. "Yeah, okay, they suck. Why does that mean you get to kill 'em? Like, why do you get to decide that?"

"I answered my question."

"Ugggh. How many in are we?"

"You've had two shots," she said.

"What? No. I'm gonna fall out of the fucking chair! Whatever. I'll take a dare!"

Rain struck a match. A single strip of smoke rose up between them. "Your tongue. Five seconds."

"What the fuck?"

She arched an eyebrow. Psycho. Kalin opened his mouth. The heat started at the tip and slowly moved back inside his mouth, her fingers touching his lips. "One. Two. Three."

He shut his eyes tight against the searing pain. He smelled something burning. She dragged out her vowels: "Fooour…"

He clamped down his teeth, snatching the match and smothering it with his tongue. Her fingers came away wet, and she gaped at them. He grinned with the blackened match as his toothpick. "Five!"

She scowled and took a swig. "Truth."

"So boring!" A corner of his mouth quirked up. "How many shots does it take to get you to pass out?"

"To be determined."

He threw up his hands. The fact it didn't throw off his center of gravity was a good sign insofar. "Lemme ask a real one since you can't answer that. It's only fair." She nodded, so he said, "Why d'you hate people so much?"

A corner of her lip jumped with her snarl. "Because of what they did to me."

Hangups, eh. He considered the bottle. "Meh, do your worst. Dare again."

She giggled. He about fell into the floor hearing it. He deeefinitely had the lead. She said, "Really?"

"Yeah, really! What's the torture gonna be this time?"

She leveled an even stare at him. "Take off your shirt."

He busted out a laugh. Her expression didn't change. He said, "Oh, so I've caught the shadow's eye, huh?"

The chair spun behind Rain as she shot to her feet and gripped a fistful of his shirt. He grinned and held up his empty hands. She dropped him and sniffed. "I hope you freeze to death."

"Mhmm, that's it." He was too far gone to fear her snarl. He tossed off his vest and peeled off his shirt, stretching to leave his broad shoulders. She sat with the chair backwards, her chin resting on its cushioned back. The bottle dangled from her fingers. She kept her eyes locked with his. The cold raised bumps on his skin but the thundering pump of his blood kept him plenty warm. He smiled, saying, "I can tell you're trying sooo hard to keep your eyes up there."

Her expression soured. She downed three massive gulps, finishing the bottle, and tossed it aside. "Truth."

"Do I get three?"

"I'll ssstab you," she said.

Her blinks were getting uneven, too. That with the slurring meant very good things for him. He nabbed the next bottle. "Are you really gonna follow through on our bet?"

She let her arms dangle over the chair, and her cheek pressed against the chair. "Mmm. I would still defend myshelf."

The lantern flickered yet the light was bright in his eyes–electric. "Myshelf?"

"Shut up. You take three. You slowed down too fast for it to be fun."

He swallowed a trio of the nasty stuff. He stumbled and had to find his chair with a probing hand. "That answer works for me. I get a truth now, right?"

"Yeah." She stood up and swayed. A firm hand on the chair kept her upright. "What the hell is with your interest in me? You're always talking to me and wanted my name and- you've heard about me. You know what I've done."

There was a tremble to her that could've come from any number of things. Kalin chalked it up to the alcohol. "Suuure. I've got connections. I know the witnesses. Funny thing about all the stories is how all those kills were for the purpose of protecting a victim. Crazy stuff! There's always someone who was in danger and got away."

"That's not true," she hissed.

"Okay, take your sip and lemme ask you for the truth."

She grit her teeth and growled. "Dare."

"I get mine now? Finally!" He crossed his arms over the back of his chair. "Shirt off."

"What?"

"Come on. You can't act that way when you made me do it."

Her inhale was sharp. Her focus rolled down his bare arms and abdomen. Her frown was a tight little thing as she threw off her black shirt. Loose gauze bound her chest. The lantern light caught on the light hairs surrounding her navel and trailing up her flat stomach to the white wrappings, the topmost loop of which was juuust open enough-

"Stop," she snapped.

"Yeah, yeah. The hell do I do? I think if I have another sip I'll, like, die."

There was also the curve of her hips, how the lantern's flicker played its soft and warm light over her skin disappearing into her waistband-

"Dare," he managed.

"I dare you to claw out your own fucking eyes."

He blinked and stared at his hands. "Shit."

Rain doubled over laughing. She stumbled, hit the floor, and lay on her back still busting a gut. He started in with her. She said, "Dumbass."

"How'd you know the nickname my friends gave me?"

They broke down into a new fit.

"I dare you to drink more," she said.

"Huh? That's gotta be against the rules!"

"Fuck your rules."

"Can't argue with that," he said, and he drank. He couldn't taste it anymore. Probably he was dying or something, but what a way to go. "Your turn."

She pushed up off the floor. "Dare."

The lantern was low and sputtering. He leaned into the dark and said, "Touch me."

Her eyes widened, the reflected spot of orange like a sunburst sky. He laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "No, that was stupid, I-"

But she was approaching him, cautious like a feral animal attracted to proffered food. He stood stock still. She studied him from his ice-blue locks long enough to fall in his face to his warm hazel eyes to his bare chest. Her fingertip pressed onto his sternum and traveled down, tracing the outline of his abs, leaving a hot touch in every trench. He realized he was hearing her breaths, loud and echoing, and he was holding his own without meaning to. She pressed her hand to his stomach, and he gasped, the incredible warmth of her enticing a shiver throughout all of him.

"You know," she whispered, her fingertips glancing up his chest to land on his shoulder, "I think it's your turn."

He could only remain upright and breathe.

"Kalin?" she said.

A shaky exhale left him. He laughed a little, and she squeezed his shoulder. "This is the greatest day of my life."

"Huh?"

"You said my name," he murmured, staring up at the ceiling. "And I've never heard it said better."

She clicked her tongue and turned away. "I can tell I'm drunk because that one kind of worked."

His arm looped around her waist. "How much?"

She shook him off, and he stepped back. She said, "Drink or don't. I'm still gonna win."

He took a swig. His vision went blurry for a few seconds but he managed to blink it away. "Ask away."

She met his eyes and said, "What do you want to do to me?"

His brows lifted and he had absolutely zero control over his stare landing on her chest, on the gauze-wrapped curves swelling and retreating with the rhythm of her breaths. She inched closer to him, licked her lips, and said, "Dare."

He pinched the end of the gauze above her cleavage and waited, the question in his eyes. Her fingers curled around his wrist and the smallest part of him, the still sober bit, expected his bones to snap. But she guided his hand to unwind the binding and free her bare skin. The white strips fell and curled around her feet. He stared at her and she at him, their exhales long and intermingling, the world silent outside the thrumming beats of their hearts.

She snuffed out the light with her bare fingertips and pressed her body to his. She kissed him and he tasted like bonfire smoke. He couldn't think beyond the need to be consumed by her heat like the damn match, left a burnt and useless nothing, and he didn't care. Her dark hair was silk through his fingers and he had to hold her ever closer. They fell onto the sleeping bag. The glow of the LED screens turned her eyes electric blue, and he grasped her face to brush his thumbs beneath them. She kissed him again and her fingers found his waistband.

It's dark outside–a seemingly abrupt state but one that occurred gradually, the sunset a fleeting and dying beauty to behold.

/\/\/\/\/\/

"We can't keep running forever. What do we do?" Kalin slammed his fist into the alley wall, and his knuckles bled. The pouring rain filled the open wounds. "I don't know what the fuck to do!"

Rain sat slumped on the opposite side. The white roots of her hair showed on the crown of her head. The drizzle dripped down her face like stray tears. Blood mixed in the liquid from the cut on her cheek, the graze of a bullet. "The clothes factory?"

"Fucking Security knows about it, and about your power plant. The hideout, too. Shit. That explosion got you away from the firing squad but brought more of those fuckers out of the woodworks. Where do we go?"

"If I turn myself in-"

"Don't give me that shit. We go down, we go down together."

"I wouldn't be anybody without you!" she said. "You have to keep going, even if I-"

He took her hand between his. "You're everything, whether I'm there or not. Let's get going. Hard to hear with the rain, so we gotta stay on the move."

They climbed the rooftops. Flashlights attached to assault rifles cut through the storm. Shouts rang out but the downpour drowned them. Rain and Kalin ran from building to building, offering minimal exposure. Bullets fired. Glass shattered by them. They hit the deck and scrambled outside the back exit.

A horde of Securities awaited them. A pair filtered in from behind and jabbed them forward with their barrels. Rain followed Kalin's lead by holding up her empty hands. The Securities surrounding them were all poised and ready to fire their uncountable weapons.

A voice crackled over their comms. The Security wearing a scarf clicked his radio, saying, "Roger."

All fronts fired at once. Rain screamed but the bullets whizzed past her and tore Kalin apart. The onslaught ceased. She dove to his side and gathered him in her arms but he was gone, gone. She roared and threw out her deck, touching every card. An army of monsters filled the sky. Dragons blasted Securities and blades stabbed clean through bulletproof vests. A panicked Security fired wildly, automatic weapon churning out bullet after bullet. Several Securities fell yet the attack of the enraged monsters did not end.

Scarlet blossomed from Rain's chest. She collapsed in a splash of water. The endless gray sky brought her back to that day so long ago it felt like decades past rather than months.

How love slows time.

Her breaths weakened, and her heartbeat slowed.

It doesn't have to end like this.

Violet blazed from both Rain and Kalin's forearms. The mark of the Giant glowed, and fuchsia flames ate away at their bodies until nothing remained.

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

(reminder I’m just a writer, artist credit in alt text!)

OC week has been so great!!! I’ve loved seeing and reading about all your blorbos <3 (and I’m in a few nice OC spaces if anyone wants in/ to add on discord, anx)

#yugioh oc week 23 #yugioh oc #5ds #yugioh 5ds #darkbondshipping #oneshot #ygo 5ds #mild spice #fade to black #gun violence #alcohol #oc x canon #flushed emoji

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nanahachikyuu · 2 years

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five-star hotel // modern!ivar x reader (part one of two)

Summary: sometimes, love results in heartbreak. That’s just life, and there was nothing she could do about it. But what if the reason for her anguish was also the very same one that brought her so much bliss?

Pairing: ivar x reader

Type: miniseries

Warnings: angst, heartbreak

Word count: 3.325

Music insp.: Hotel Caro by Baco Exu do Blues & Luísa Sonza (at this point, let’s just assume me picking Brazilian artists is the norm).

A/N:

This is the first time I’ve written for Ivar, but the moment I listened to this song I immediately related it to him. I guess my brain is just wired to connect anything angsty with our dear Ivar The Boneless. It’s very different from what I usually write, and I am aware that this trope has been done a thousand times, but I wanted to give it a try

Please, listen to the song! I know it’s in Portuguese, like most of the songs I pick, but I believe it’s possible to feel the heartbreak just from the rhythm. Nevertheless, I loosely translated some of the lyrics that inspired the fic.

Gentle reminder that English is not my first language, and this was not proofread.

I'm thinking of you smoking a cigarette An empty bathtub, an expensive hotel Honestly, I’m tired If it was you who made a mistake, why do I feel guilty? (hotel caro by baco exu do blues & luísa sonza)

Y/N was over-the-moon excited when Ivar shared his plans with her.

She had been invited by her boss to work with her for a trimester at another branch and had jumped at the opportunity. But, as amazing as it was for her career, it’d keep her away from Ivar for three whole months.

Altogether, they had been apart for two months now, and there was still one more to go. So, when Ivar called to share the news, how he had already booked a hotel room for them, the best available in town, she was over-the-moon excited with the possibility of seeing her boyfriend earlier than expected, and, better yet, have a romantic weekend away with him.

Y/N had gone all in on his idea, even spending more money than she normally would in a dress she just knew he’d love. She had spent the hours before they’d meet getting ready, choosing the lingerie he loved to see her in, putting on makeup that made the colours of her eyes stand out, even watching a YouTube tutorial to master the technique. When Y/N looked at herself in the mirror of her small temporary bathroom, she felt powerful. She was ready to slay, and Ivar Ragnarsson was her chosen victim.

It never crossed her mind the fact that Ivar hadn’t contacted her the whole day, neither to confirm or cancel their plans.

She arrived at the hotel room early, wanting to surprise him. She wanted to see the look on his face when he walked in the room and saw her already there, waiting for him. Also, she missed him like crazy and couldn’t wait to see him.

There was an armchair in a corner of the room, and she moved it, so it was facing the door. Grabbing a bottle of wine she found in the minibar, she sat on the chair, legs crossed, and a glass in hand. The clock on the wall told her it was almost eight pm. Ivar would be there at any moment.

So, she waited. And waited. And waited some more.

It was nearing midnight when Y/N finally accepted that he was not going to show up. By that time, she had finished almost two bottles of wine, still sitting on that same armchair, staring blankly at the door. By then, she had stopped listening to the elevator, no longer perking up to every noise out in the corridor. Was that the sound of his crutch hitting the floor? Well, if it was, she didn’t care anymore.

The one thing she could not believe was that she was, once again, in that situation. She had trusted him with her heart one more time, and he had stomped it to pieces. Again.

She knew Ivar. She knew him better than anyone else, even better than his overprotective mother. She knew that if there had been an emergency, he’d find a way to contact her. If he couldn’t reach out to her himself, he’d send one of his brothers, he’d find a way.

Y/N remembered a specific episode a couple of months into their relationship, when they were supposed to have dinner at their favourite Greek restaurant. But he was over an hour late and all her calls kept going straight to voice mail. That was the first time she thought he had abandoned her. However, just as she was about to leave the restaurant, hungry and desolate, she spotted Ubbe. Ivar had had a minor accident that afternoon, and was in the hospital ever since, just as a precaution, but since he didn’t have his phone and couldn’t contact his girl, he had sent his brother to find her.

But this, left stranded in a hotel room, in a foreign country, when he was supposed to meet her? She knew better. He had every intention of leaving her. This was part of a thought-out plan, a meticulously crafted one. Honestly, she couldn’t even blame him for this one. What was it people said? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

The first time Ivar pulled something like this, she had cried her heart out for days.

Y/N was telling her friends and family about this amazing guy she had met. All her friends noticed how smitten she was, walking around with heart eyes. Even her mother pointed it out when she brought him to a family festivity. Ivar had won over her mother and aunts the second he walked into her childhood home, carrying a small bouquet for each one of them. Y/N believed she was living the fairy tale she loved to read about as a teenager. Until she wasn’t.

One day, he simply disappeared. Ivar stopped answering her calls and replying to her texts. He had disappeared with the blink of an eye, as easy as that. When a week had gone by without any news from him, she decided enough was enough. After work, she went straight to his apartment. Y/N was going to make him talk, weather he wanted it or not. Civilized people had conversations and she was going to make him act like one for once in his life. However, when she got to his building, the doorman said he wasn’t home, and hadn’t been for the whole week. But he did leave a box for her to pick up, with all the stuff she had left at his place inside, she later found out.

That night, Y/N had gone back to her apartment and cried into the night. And the following days. She didn’t tell a soul about what had happened, how could she? How could she face her family and friends after everything she had told them about Ivar? She believed he was her very own Prince Charming, but it turned out he was just another jerk. Who believed in fairy tales, anyways?

For days, she regretted going by his place. She should’ve known better. If he wanted to talk, he’d come looking for her. All her life, she had judged her friends who always wanted to talk to their partners, to tell them how much they had hurt their feelings. Y/N never understood that need. She’d always argue that they knew that, they just didn’t care. Not receiving a message is also a message, right? Well, just look at how the tables have turned!

However, two weeks later, he came back. She had gone to the movies, her first outing since he left, and when she came back, he was sitting by her door, a huge bouquet of her favourite flowers in hand, one for each day they were apart. For hours, she let him apologise, beg her for forgiveness. He had gotten scared, he got cold feet. He loved her and didn’t realise how much he needed her until it was too late, how he couldn’t live without her. They could go away together, just the two of them and rekindle their relationship. But please, please, she had to forgive him, she had to accept him back!

It was the first time she had ever seen him cry, and the last one. That’s what had gotten to her, she had to admit. Seeing Ivar shed tears for her touched a place in her heart she thought he had damaged forever. So, she agreed. Y/N accepted him back into her life with the promise that he’d never do something like that ever again. If he had doubts about their relationship again, they’d talk it out, together, as a couple.

And just like that, they were back into their very own fairy tale. It was like they were never broken up at all. Their love was stronger than ever, and nothing could tear them apart. Or so she believed.

She just couldn't understand how they ended up here. Again. Y/N kept repeating the last months of their relationship in her head, trying to find the moment where things had changed. Trying to understand if she had done something wrong. However, she knew there wasn’t one. During their time together, Y/N hadn’t been anything but faithful. She knew Ivar had his own issues, even understood some of them; he also required attention, so much attention. Ivar needed someone who understood he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, but that would devote themselves to him, nevertheless.

So that’s what she did.

Y/N loved Ivar, and there was never a day that went by where she didn’t tell him that. She’d repeat it to him until he’d get embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning red. She’d point out every little detail about him that mesmerized her. Be it his looks, his intelligence, his devotion to her and others he cared about.

She loved it when he’d frown his eyebrows when reading a book. How he’d always pick her favourite movies for them to watch before she even said anything. The way he’d defend her against his brothers’ mocking, even though she was pretty well capable of doing so herself.

In return, she’d keep her fridge stocked with his favourite drinks. She’d send his favourite lunch to his work every time she sensed he was so deep in his work that he forgot to eat. When his legs were hurting too much, Y/N would have his medicine ready, his work brought to him, his bed, or her bed, if they were at her apartment, clean and comfortable. She’d do all that without acknowledging his condition, because she knew how much he hated to feel incapable.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she was sure of it. So, why did she still feel guilty?

What did he tell her once? Oh yeah, he might break a bone, but he could never break a promise. Oh, well. Apparently, she wasn’t included in such promise. Who would’ve thought? Not Y/N, for certain.

Lingerie the colour of late afternoon Who taught you the way to me? Lying is also hiding the truth Why didn't you take care of me? My darling, loving you so much is not good But it makes no difference I don't want your presence Don't trade me for anyone What is fighting good for? May you win

“Weren’t you going away this weekend?” Hvitserk asks his brother.

They were having their usual night out, just the brothers, and it wasn’t unusual for Ivar to tag along, even if he claimed to hate the city’s club life. But he was almost certain Ivar had mentioned something about travelling to meet his girlfriend.

Ivar takes a moment to realize his older brother was talking to him. But when he does, he just glares at the man.

“Trouble in paradise, I see”, Hvitserk remarks. Honestly, he was surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Ivar had the bad habit of pushing away everything that was good for him.

“Mind your own business, brother”, Ivar answers back, already regretting his decision to join his brothers at the bar.

“What did you do, Ivar?”, Hvitserk tries again.

“Why is it always me that does something wrong? Why couldn’t it have been her?”, the dark-haired brother rebuts back.

Hvitserk doesn’t bother with an answer, just stares at his little brother, one eyebrow raised. Sometimes he couldn’t believe the audacity of Ivar. The nerve!

The last thing Ivar wants is to talk about his relationship with Y/N, that being the very reason why he joined his brothers. Luckily for him, Björn got Hvitserk’s attention, distracting him from the matter momentarily.

The weight of what he’d done was heavy on his shoulders. He couldn’t shake off the image of her alone in that hotel room. When the hotel management had called him to let him know that his guest had arrived, like he had instructed them to do, Ivar wanted to cry. He wanted to get on the first flight, make up an excuse about his delay, and spend the rest of the weekend apologising to her.

But he couldn’t.

He was so sure what he was doing was for the best. Why postpone the inevitable? Just so he could have a few more memories to replay when he was laying by himself in bed, missing her warm body pressed up to his? No. Ivar wasn’t like that, he wasn’t one to avoid pain, life had built him like that. Thus, better than wait for his heart to be broken, he anticipated the result. He ended the relationship before it had the power to end him.

Ivar was about to open a bottle of whiskey to drown out his thoughts when he remembered his brothers were meeting up that night. At the time, anything seemed more appealing than spending the night by himself, thinking about her. So, he jumped at the opportunity. But now, sitting at a crowded bar, still nursing the same beer Björn had handed him when he arrived, and, worst of all, facing his brother’s scrutiny, he regretted his choice. He should have stayed home.

“What crawled up your ass?” Sigurd asks suddenly, noticing the sour look on Ivar’s face.

“Fuck off, Sigurd” Ivar snarks back. He was already at his tipping point, and if Sigurd wanted to start a fight with him, so be it. He needed a way to let out some steam anyways.

“I just asked a question, no need to get offended” his brother argues back, but the little smirk on his lips makes it clear that he knew what he was doing. He wanted to get a reaction out of Ivar, and he was about to get one.

“Come on, guys. Let’s chill, ok?” Ubbe, always the peacemaker, intrudes on their exchange.

Ivar could feel Hvitserk’s stare burning on the back of his head. He knew that his brother had not fallen for his bullshit attempts to distract him. He could never lie to his brother; he’d always see straight through him.

“Hey, Ivar” Hvitserk calls, “I’m not feeling too good. Think you can follow me home?”. It was clearly a lie. The man, being the designated driver, hadn’t touched a drink all night.

He debated his options for a second. It was already past midnight, and it would be next to impossible to get an Uber home. He could walk, but his legs were a bit sore from spending the day on his feet. But most of all, even though he didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he also didn’t want to stay at that bar a second longer.

“Yeah, sure” is all he responds, before standing up, gripping hard to his crutch.

The drive home is silent, and he’s thankful for that. Hvitserk had the habit of opining on his life whenever he got the chance. But, as they grew older and closer, he also learned when not to interfere, and Ivar would be forever thankful for that, especially on a night like this. Not that he’d ever tell his brother that.

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Hvitserk breaks the silence when they arrive at Ivar’s apartment building.

“No!” he answers abruptly. As much as he was thankful for the get away ride, he didn’t wish to spend anymore second with his brother, because if he did, he knew he’d cave and tell him exactly what had gone down that night, and he was not up for the speech that would follow. “I mean, no, but thanks”, he tries again, in a much gentler tone, one that surprised Hvitserk as much as his abrupt response, if not more.

“Hey, Ivar” he hears his brother call for him, just as he was about to leave the car. Standing by the passenger door, Ivar bends down so he can look at him.

“Whatever happened, between you and Y/N, I know you two can work it out. Just have a little faith in yourself, ok?”.

Ivar doesn’t answer, just closes the car door, and walks towards his apartment.

It was hours later when Ivar finally dragged himself to bed. After he had gotten home, he wandered around the apartment, purposely avoiding his bedroom, the one place he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep Y/N out of his thoughts. They shared so many good memories inside those four walls, and now it felt like they were all coming back to haunt him. How was it possible that a place where once he felt so much peace, now left him suffocated?

Now, laying in bed by himself, Ivar wondered if what he did was really the best choice. If he had followed through with his plans like he had initially planned, he’d be with her right now. They would’ve gone to dinner, where she’d share with him all the news about her job, and he’d complain about working with his family. Then, they’d make their way back to the room, where he’d show her just how much he had missed her. Finally, she’d put on his discarded shirt, and lay in bed with him; her hands running through his dark hair, softly lulling him to sleep. He never had a good night of sleep as good as the ones he spent with her.

The images were playing out so vividly in his head, it was like it was happening right in front of him. Ivar could feel the tears burning his eyes, so he finally let them go. He’d let himself cry, just for tonight. Tomorrow, he’d put his armour back on, and move on with his life.

The fact that he kept himself away from what would’ve been her side of the bed wasn’t helping. But Ivar couldn’t bring himself to lay on her side. He was sure the pillows would still smell like her, even though it had been months since they last shared the bed, and the sheets had been changed many times ever since. Reaching out, he touches one of the pillows, fingers running through the soft material.

He never understood how someone could sleep with so many pillows, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to put them away. It was like a part of him expected her to come back. As if one day he’d wake up and find her sleeping peacefully by his side, hands tucked beneath her head, lips parted, hair disheveled. Every time he woke up first, he’d stay in bed, admiring her features, imagining what would it be like to wake up next to her every single day, for the rest of his life.

He knew he had made the right decision. Loving someone as much as he loved her couldn’t be considered healthy, and he knew their tragic fate was just around the corner. One day, Y/N would realize the mistake she’s made. She’d finally understand that he wasn’t who she deserved. She’d get tired of putting up with his sorrow ass and leave.

Or worse.

She could be lying. What if all this time they were together she was lying to him? What if all the times she had said she loved him, she wasn’t being truthful? What if she had already met someone new? She had spent the past couple of months by herself in a different country… Weren’t there a million rom-com movies about that trope?

Honestly, the possibilities were infinite. So many things could happen. Just look at his father’s history. Ragnar married twice, had children, built a family. Both his wives devoted themselves to him, and still he wasn’t satisfied. Nowadays, he was just a shallow of the man he once was. He had so much and still couldn’t find happiness. What if that was his fate too?

No, he couldn’t end up like Ragnar. He was better than that. And that’s exactly why he did what he did, he had to remind himself. It was better to end things by his own terms than live by the volatility of other people's feelings. It was better to suffer now, when he was prepared, than be taken by surprise, be blindsided by her.

So, that was it.

Tonight, he’d let himself feel the pain of the breakup. He’d allow himself to remember all the reasons why he loved her so fiercely. All the little things that made her so unique in his eyes.

But tomorrow, it must come to an end.

Tomorrow, he was going to move on with his life, whatever it takes.

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

#vikings imagines #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar imagines #modern ivar #ivar's heathen army #vikings fanfiction #vikings history #vikings #ivar the boneless #nanahachikyuu

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 11 months

Text

Drowning in his gaze (part 3)

Elendil x reader

This is mainly inspired by this post by @the-haven-of-fiction about Lloyd Owen’s character in Monarch of the Glen.

This is part three of three. This part Is dedicated to the lovely @montyc, whose support is more important than they know.

*****

The ship had been sighted from the city a few hours before docking, and a small but excited crowd has gathered at the pier, waiting to welcome the first of the thousands of soldiers coming back from more than five years at the front. You wait in a corner, wondering what exactly are you feeling, either eagerness or the desire that the next minutes would never pass, and among the couples, the families and the groups of friends celebrating the return of their loved ones, you see him, a tall and imposing figure wearing armor and cape, directing the others and making sure docking operations are carried out as they should.

He sees you as well; it would be harder not to, since you are the only person present wearing a mourning dress, but even if you were not, in that very moment you know he would have found you all the same.

He slowly moves towards you, as you meet halfway, and as you stand in front of each other for the first time in five years, you both spend a minute taking each other in. He is as handsome as you remembered or even more so, because the young man, full of bravery and hope you said goodbye to, is now a veteran who knows blood and violence and death; his blue eyes are brighter than ever, his smile brave but fragile. He whispers your name, and then you are holding each other in a hug, desperate and anguished, you are caressing his hair as you would do to console a child and he sobs softly, as if he were too ashamed to express his sadness where his men could see him.

“Let us go.” you say in the end “There is food and a bath waiting for you at home, but if you want we can go to him first.”

He nods quietly, as you were sure he would have, and after he has retrieved his satchel you accompany him to the cemetery. You walk unhurriedly next to each other, and you would be curious to know whether Elendil still recognizes the city he has grown up in or five years were enough to make him forget the streets and the buildings, but there will be time for pleasantry.

“I am happy you are home.” you whisper in the end as you pass a small park the two of you often went playing in as children “I know it is for the saddest of reasons, but... I have missed you.”

“I have missed you as well, (name).” he is quick to answer, with a smile that can still make your heart beat twice as fast, even after all that has happened “I am so sorry you had to take care of everything alone.”

“It was no hassle, truly; you know how much I loved your father. And, I see you have been named captain! Congratulations.”

He received the promotion one month ago, he tells you, a few days after sending his last letter to his father; he wanted to surprise him, in his next message or, since it was apparent among the soldiers that the enemy King and Tar-Palantir would soon begin peace negotiations, to tell him in person, when he came back.

But things have gone differently; he does not utter the words, but you know you are both thinking about it, and there is so much you would ask him, about his experiences as a soldier, his plans for the future, and you, but you cannot, not now, not before he has said farewell to his father... and not three days after Merendur has brought you the marriage contract for the two of you, to sign and that will become effective as soon as you are married.

You have lost him. It does not matter that he is walking next to you, so close your hands almost touch; you are very happy to see him, and to know he has survived the war, but essentially, he could be at the other end of the Sea, and it would change nothing: he will never be yours, and you will never be his.

Never.

You tell him to take his time, and he spends a few minutes in front of the tomb of his father, his head bowed and his lips barely moving in a prayer - or maybe a conversation. You keep your distance, allowing them the peace they need, and in the meantime, under a quickly darkening sky as the night approaches, you wonder how you will tell him the truth.

In the end you just do it. You have returned home, Elendil has taken off his boots -Eru, my feet hurt so much!- left his satchel in his room, that you have prepared for him, and washed away grime and sweat in a basin; desperately trying to delay the inevitable, you ask him whether he wants to take a bath, or, or, a nap, or to eat something...

“(name), please.” he stops you, taking your hand gently in his and making you sit next to him at the table where you, he and your father have shared countless meals “Everything is all right, and the thing I want the most is talk; with you. I... I think we really need to.”

You could not agree more. You nod, silently inviting him to go on, but Elendil, the most determined and steadfast person you know, for once appears to hesitate, as if he does not know what you need to talk about... or does not have the words, or the courage, to broach the subject. In the end...

“My father and I had spoken about what would happen once he passed away; I do not think he expected it to happen so soon, but since we had no other relatives, and I was a soldier, it was important that I was aware of his will, and he of mine.”

You remain silent as he stops to drink avidly from the cup you have put in his hands; you have no idea what he is talking about, but certainly it is not the topic you thought, and wished, he would consider most important, and you can barely hide the disappointment in your heart.

“My father has made a bequest for you. I am his only heir, and he knew you would be taken care of thanks to your parents’ estate, but he wanted to show how much he cared for you, and how he considered you a part of our family. Because of this, he wished for you to have my mother’s jewels. All of them.”

Despite everything, you have to press a hand to your mouth to suffocate a shout. No one better than you knows how important the memory of his wife was for Amandil, and gifting you her jewelry, even though he has no daughters -or daughters in law...- who could rightfully inherit them, is a beautiful, loving gesture, much more important that the actual, and not insignificant, value of the ornaments themselves. With that bequest, Amandil is saying that you are part of his family, the child he did not beget but raised and loved and cared for as if she were.

Elendil smiles softly as he sees you drying tears from your eyes.

“I do not deserve it...”

“Of course you do. My father loved you, and I know you loved him as well. Take them, I will be glad seeing you wearing my mother’s things.”

You smile as well, touched, and then the silence falls between the two of you, a silence full of so much unsaid that it is physically painful to bear it; you look at your friend, praying that those five years of separation made him realize he cared for you as more than, or differently from, a friend, and you will finally have a chance to live what you, perhaps presumptuously, have always felt was destined to happen between you...

“Did you have to pay a death duty for the house? Or any other tax after my father’s death?”

You look at him. You could be honest, of course, because Elendil is the last person in Númenor you would have to hide your feelings from to avoid humiliation, but the truth is you already did! Five years ago, you told him what you felt, and he rejected you; if his feelings have changed, or he realized he had made a mistake, how could he expect you to take the first step once more? You are too old, and your friendship too important, to care about petty mistakes or to resent each other, but he has had five years to think about it, he left and never even wrote to you, and now...

Maybe nothing has changed for him; maybe he still considers you nothing more than a friend, now as then, and the feelings you think he is simply too shy to express actually only exist in your mind. In that case you have to accept it, find a way to move on, and there is only one way to do it...

“Elendil.”

He looks at you as he prepares to talk again; had you waited just for ten more seconds, the following conversation would have been completely different, and happier, and concluded by a kiss that was five years in the making. “Yes?”

“I am going to be married.”

*****

Elendil meets Merendur two days later, as your intended joins the two of you for dinner; Merendur is friendly and respectful, happy to meet and determined to make a good impression on the man he only knows as your oldest friend and foster brother. They shake hands, make small talk and discuss about your impending nuptials, that you and Merendur have agreed will take place at Varda’s temple.

“We have decided (name) will move with me in our family home until we have found a place of our own.” your intended explains as you pour wine in each of your cups, and then glance at Elendil, who is impassible, polite and at ease in his newfound role of master of the house, but completely inscrutable, thoughts and feelings hidden behind his beautiful blue eyes.

He has no idea your union to Merendur is just a marriage of convenience. You have spoken privately with your intended this morning, and he has accepted to pretend to be madly in love with you while Elendil is with you, just as you did when you met Merendur’s relatives a few weeks ago. Since no one expected you to kiss in public or declare your undying love for each other that dinner was easy and even pleasant enough, and you got along well with your future parents-in-law; tonight, instead... tonight is proving to be a real torture, even though you cannot exactly know why. Elendil is not being rude, or offensive, nor is he opposing your wedding, but still after five years you know him well enough to perceive he is tense, a disquiet barely hidden in his heart as he laughs at Merendur’s jokes or tells him about his enlistment in the Sea Guard. You have nothing to be afraid of, since he cannot forbid you from getting married -his father could have, but only until you came of age- and in any case, you are determined to put some distance between the two of you from now on, cherishing him as a friend but focusing on your work and other interests to try and forget your feelings for him, but...

Curse you! Why can I not see what your heart is hiding?

“Will you be all right by yourself, Elendil?” Merendur asks as you all eat “I know you have lost your father, and soon (name) will move away; it will be quite a change, to live by yourself for the first time.”

The question is maybe too personal to ask to someone he has just met, but sincere in its empathy, and Elendil forces himself to smile: you will never know how ashamed he is in that moment, for the completely unreasonable hate that fills his heart for the man who is going to become your husband in less than ten days.

“It will; but I do not think I will stay long in Armenelos in any case.”

The fork almost falls from your hand. “... what?” you ask, calmly -you force yourself- and your friend explains that as a result of his bravery during the war he has been offered a prestigious post in Andustar, as deputy commander of a recently built Sea Guard garrison, and he is inclined to accept.

“That seems quite a task.” Merendul states courteously.

“It is. But it would be an important advancement for my career and...” Elendil looks straight in front of him; he has barely touched his wine “... now that my father has passed away, I do not have much to keep me in the city.”

The dinner comes to an end somewhat earlier than you expected, but peacefully enough; Merendur and Elendil shake hands once more as they bid each other goodnight.

“And you will be walking her, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“(name)” your intended clarifies, as if it were obvious “You are her... adoptive brother; since both her father and guardian have passed away, and she has no other close male relative, you should take their place during the ceremony, walking her to the altar. Did the two of you not talk about it? Of course, if you would rather not...”

Your friend cannot see you in that moment, since you are standing behind him, a few steps away, but you could swear on your life that he knows you are there, and that when he answers, he is you he is talking about, not your intended.

“Of course. I will be glad to give her away.”

Later, you and your friend find yourself together in the living room, while the governess is in the kitchen cleaning. Elendil is writing a letter to the family of a comrade who died in service, while you are focused on your embrodery.

“He seems like a good man.” he states in the end, and there is no mockery or spite in his voice, he is too noble and good-hearted to speak ill of someone because of a personal antipathy, but that comment upsets you nonetheless.

Why is that? Would you have preferred that he hated Merendur with every fiber of his body?

“He is. He is clever and kind and... and he cares for me.” you react.

“Of course he does. I am sure.”

He remains focused on his letter, but when you stand from your chair he lifts his face, suddenly alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“To my room. I... I am tired...”

“(name).” he calls softly, and that works better than any order or commanding tone; you stop, giving him time to reach you and take your hand.

“Do you love him?” he asks, looking you in the eyes and flinches “I know I have no right to ask you...”

“Exactly. You do not. Leave me alone, Elendil, please. The way I decide to live my life has nothing to do with you; I will marry Merendur, you will move at the other side of the island, and you will forget even meeting me.”

You spoke out of spite, and it works, because Elendil reacts as if you slapped him; for a moment it is like he is seeing you for the first time. “I could never forget you. You know how much I care about you.”

“You do? You seem to have completely forgotten about me, even though you found the time to write to your father regularly. I know you were fighting in a war, not on vacation, but did I not even deserve a short note?”

“I...”

“You, Elendil. You know it has always been you.” you state turning to face him, and sigh, because it has never been so hard to admit something that was so clear in your heart; it is as if you had taken a huge weight off your shoulders, and felt the pain only once you were free from it “I told you how I felt, and you rejected me. Which of course is not a crime, you are free to do what you deem right, but you cannot expect to come back after five years of silence, and find nothing to have changed. Merendur is a good man; he does not love me, but he cares for me, he respects me, and he made an honest proposal, speking clearly of his feelings and desires, unlike..."

“Unlike me. This is what you are saying.”

Elendil is looking at you, thunder in his eyes and rage in his heart. “You are marrying a man you do not love because... you want to get married? Since when do you care about such things? Since when do you care about the status, and what other women your age are doing? Since when you accept people’s help to reach objectives that are well within your reach? Where is your independence? Where is your confidence in yourself?”

“Be quiet! You... you...”

“I love you, (name).

Silence.

“I always have, maybe since I was too young to understand those feelings, and when you told me that my father had started thinking about your marriage it was... as if a candle had lit in my mind where before there was only dark. I love you more than anything else in the world, and being away from you for five years was... a torture. I have thought about you every day, every moment...”

“But you never told me; not in person, when you could, or in writing.” you point out. He has just told you what you had hoped to hear for five years, but instead of delighted and ecstatic, you feel shattered, as if you had spent your life running towards a prize you now discover to be worthless “You have kept me in the dark, as if I did not deserve to know the truth because... what? You expected me to keep loving you, to remain faithful while you traveled far away, maybe never to return? You left me without even expressing your feelings because you were... taking mine for granted? You thought that you could live your life as you pleased, and then come back once you had reached your goals, and I would be here ready waiting for you, to marry or simply to take to bed?”

It is a terrible, unfair accusation, for one who knows him well as you do, and Elendil’s eyes are full not of rage, which would be hurtful enough, but of sadness and disappointment, as if he had been betrayed by his closest and loyalest ally.

“If I left without telling you what I felt, without telling you I wanted to share my life with you, without asking for your hand, it was because I wanted to be worthy of you.” he explains, and his voice is more than sad, more than angry or disappointed; it is resigned “Because I wanted you to be proud to be my wife, and to be able to take care of you. What did I have to offer you five years ago? I was just the son of a noble family without a position or properties of his own, who still depended on his father for everything he owned, a simple seaman like so many others. It is not unheard for young soldiers to obtain promotions during a war mission, so I thought... I could come into my own, and become a man, a son, and a husband, you could be proud of. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done, as if I were leaving a part of me, but I thought it were for the best; I hoped... I hoped that if your feelings were as strong and steadfast as I thought, you would have waited for me.”

He laughs, full of sadness, and shakes his head. “Mark me, I am not accusing you; but I feel so foolish... My heart was so full of hope when I left, and when I was away I lost both my father and you. I am alone, and the fault is all mine.”

“Elendil...”

“I am sorry. I never wished... I only thought about myself, and you are right, I took you for granted, as if you could find no better than me. I... I hope you will be happy with your husband, and I swear, I will be your friend forever...”

You stand there for a while, face to face, so close you could touch each other just lifting your hand, but at the same time it is as if you were standing at the opposite ends of the world. Suddenly you remember Merendur’s words, that once married you would not be bound by the duty of loyalty as most wives are, but you could never propose something like that to Elendil: the mere idea would horrify him, and what exists between you, your love, deserves better than being reduced to a sordid extra-marital affair.

This is the end, the end of everything, and it is all your fault, because he is right, you have allowed your ambition and your insecurities to make you forget the trust you always had in your abilities and self-assurance, as well as the trust and the respect for your friend. If only you had waited... if only you had not let fear and solitude govern you...

“I am sorry.” you whisper; what else could you say? Another sad smile opens Elendil’s mouth, a chaste, sweet kiss touches your forehead, and then you are alone.

*****

The day of your wedding is beautiful, sunny and warm after a whole week of pouring rain, as if, an older neighbour suggests, the Valar themselves wanted to express their approval on your and Merendur’s union. You bite your tongue, not wanting to sound disrespectful or blasphemous, but you strongly doubt someone is watching over you in that moment, and that while you have only yourself to blame for your predicament, clearly none of the Valar deemed appropriate to give you a sign you were going to make the worst mistake of your life.

As tradition dictates, your female friends come early in the morning to help you get ready for the ceremony. Elendil has disappeared since the previous night, but reappears exactly when he is needed; he is more handsome than ever -and sober, you realize with a touch of surprise- in full uniform, the bitter but determined look of a man ready to do his duty, no matter how painful.

He does not speak as he looks at you, already wearing the bridal dress you have inherited from your mother, your hair for the first time covered by the veil only married women have the right to use, as a sign of chastity and virtuosity - two characteristics you feel you are solely lacking. Your friends have suggested you wear some of the jewels you have inherited from Amandil, and while you are sure it would have made him happy -and some of the pieces are absolutely gorgeous- you knew it would have broken Elendil’s heart, and because of this you wore a simple pendant you had had for years, and earrings bought for the occasion.

“You look...” he starts, and then he looks unable to continue, as if he could not find the words to describe your appearance, or the emotion had blocked the voice in his throat “... like a real bride.”

“I am a real bride.” you sadly remind him.

“Yes. I know. But you are not mine, and this breaks my heart.”

There is nothing more to say. You leave the house together, and a carriage is there waiting to carry you to the temple. You do not speak, but Elendil is taking advantage of the solitude you are probably enjoying for the last time in your life to hold your hand, his thumb caressing the back.

“I will always be there for you.” he quietly swears “From today until the end of times. Whatever happens, whatever problem you will have to face, you can count on me.”

“Even after you have moved to Andustar?” you ask with the hint of a smile.

“Even after I have moved to Andustar. I promise.”

He told you two days ago; he is almost sure he will accept the proposal of his commander, and move far away from the city, never to return. You are not sure how that makes you feel: it will be impossible to maintain your friendship as you have done until five years ago, and you do not know what would be more heart-breaking: to never see him again, or to to cross his path, maybe in the streets or under the roof o a mutual friend, and to have to pretend...

After what could have been only a few minutes, or a few hours, the carriage stops. You and Elendil share a look; there is no reason to talk again. He kisses the hand he is still holding in his, and uses the other to push the carriage’s door open.

A small crowd of friends and well-wishers has gathered in front of Varda's temple; women toss flower petals on your path, the sweet song of a minstrel’s lyre reaches your ears. And standing at the entrance there is he, your intended, the man who is going to become your husband in less than half an hour; Merendur, who you like and respect and trust, but who will never make you happy, nor you him, and marrying whom will maybe raise people’s esteem for you, or earn you new work opportunities -but do you really need them? Or is Elendil right, and you are clever and hard-working enough to make it on your own, without letting difficulties discourage you?- but it will not be worthy what you are doing, because as much as you love your job, you are losing a part of you too great and precious to be replaced... or to make without.

Merendur, very handsome in his groom tunic and cape, looks vaguely ill as he looks at you and attempts to smile, and you force yourself to smile back as you take Elendil’s arm -this could be the last time you touch him, a voice whispers in your ear; and suddenly a single tear rolls down your cheek- and begin slowly walking between two wings of the crowd, hoping the people all around you mistake your reluctance for the dignified walk of a bride. All the eyes are on you, people chanting, clapping, and every single person looks happier than you feel.

I do not want this. I do not want him. Please, I want to go, I do not want to do it...

You are twenty steps from the entrance of the temple. Fifteen steps. Ten steps, close enough to see the decorations inside, and to smell the incense burning; seven... four... and then you are passing through the archway, walking on the white and blue tiles of the tessellated pavement until you have reached the altar, where Merendur is now waiting for you, next to an elder priest wearing rich vestments. No one is speaking; even the music has ceased. Then...

“Who presents this woman to be married to this man?” the priest formally asks.

“I do.” Elendil answers; his voice is firm, but full of sadness. You feel your hand shaking in your friend’s gentle grasp as he puts it in Merendur’s hand, and when he leaves it, suddenly you are cold.

The next minutes pass as in a dream; the ceremony begins, and you move and speak as it is expected from you but without actually meaning it, like a marionette whose strings are moved by the puppeteer, and finally it is time for the exchange of the nuptial vows.

“(name), do you promise...?”

“Wait.”

He spoke without raising his voice, but there is such strenght in it, the quiet authority of someone used to command; all the eyes, including yours, move on the source of that single word... but he is only looking at you.

“Do not do it.” Elendil states; he is begging, and ordering, you at the same time “Do not marry him; come away with me.”

The whole room gasps; Merendur’s mother, sitting in the forefront, lets out a scream. Everyone is back looking at you, but not to admire your beauty and elegance or offer their congratulations; they wait avidly for your reaction, and you... you do not disappoint. You cannot speak, nor communicate your assent with a nod, but Elendil sees the truth in your eyes, and with a grin grabs your hand... and a moment later you are running down the corridor, and no one tries to stop you as you reach the great door at all speed, and then you are out...

It is an exhilarating, liberating run, away from the temple, away from the chaos you must have left behind you, away from what you have known for weeks would have been the worst mistake of your life; you run like you have never run before, not so much from but towards something, and you barely notice the fact that you are out of breath, or that your feet hurt -the delicate slippers you are wearing are not the appropriate footwear for a sprint- because you are free, finally and when you dared to hope no longer, and you are with him, and this is enough to make you happy.

You are laughing out loud, and Elendil is lauging with you, as the streets of the city pass you by, until you have reached a small circular square, surrounded by a marble parapet, opening on a breath-taking view on the city harbour. You are alone as you finally stop, both struggling to breathe, and it is only when Elendil turns to look at you expectantly that the reality of what you have done comes crashing down, and you cannot believe it has happened, cannot believe you went along with it.

Elendil looks at you. “Changing your mind, are you?” he inquires as he passes an hand in his dark hair, and you shake your head, still dazed and euphoric.

“Of course not. But I cannot believe it, you... you had just given me away...”

“I did.” he agrees as he encircles your waist with his arm, and a smile of pure happiness opens on his mouth “And now I am taking repossession.”

Again, you move towards each other and your lips meet in the middle. You kiss him after having torn the veil from your hair and let it fall on the ground; you kiss him throwing your arms around him, and pressing your mouth on his as if your life depended on it; you kiss him not caring that you are still dressed for your wedding to another man, and that within an hour the whole city will know what you have done, and will be happy to gossip about it for the next century. You think about Merendur, and yes, about him you do care, and are ashamed of the situation you put him in, the embarassment of being abandoned at the altar, and the breaking of the pact you had made -even though, you suspect, he was having his own afterthoughts on the whole matter- and you would not be surprised if he decides never to talk to you again. You will be saddened by it, truly... but, and even though it means you are the most egotistical person in Númenor, you cannot really focus on that guilt, let alone walk back to the temple to beg your friend’s forgiveness and offer to conclude the rite and marry him. You will never let fear and doubt rule your life again, you vow to yourself, and you will never part from the man you love, now that he has come back to you.

“I think my standing in the city has just been destroyed.” you murmur as your mouth just barely parts from Elendil’s, your kisses multiplying and each hungrier and more eager than the latter; his hands have started moving on your body just like you have always dreamed, his touch sensual and worshipful at once “I think I should search for a new home. Is there place for me, on your ship to Andustar?”

“It is a splendid idea.” Elendil answers right away; he is holding you as if he never wants to let you go “I am sure you will do splendidly. As a wise man once said, there is always work for a capable scribe.”

You laugh, and you exchange promises and kisses holding each other tight, oblivious to everything that is not the two of you, and the radiant future opening in front of your eyes.

Tagging @starlady66 and @elvenenby .

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elendil the Tall #Elendil #Elendil x reader #Lloyd Owen #Bellona's stuff

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sgtbradfords · 2 years

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Chenford + she feels the same way

This one kind of got out of hand, and is probably not at all what you wanted anon but I love it so much. It has also been cross-posted to AO3 which you can find here! :)

"I wish you knew just how much I love you." Tim whispered the confession into the dark of the night, almost as though his declaration of love was some sort of secret. The thought did cross his mind, that maybe the revelation was in fact something she did not know, as he stared into a pair of glossy brown eyes that were rich and velvety in color.

His mind went back to just a few years prior. There had been a chip on his shoulder, one that had become so ingrained into his personality that most days, he struggled to see over the edge. And that chip remained for years until one day he was assigned a new boot who unknowingly showed up at Mid-Wilshire armed with a figmental mallet and chisel.

It wasn't instantaneous, but rather a slow and steady process as shift after shift the days and nights began to grow less and less bleak until one day, Tim found himself keen to go to work for something other than to forget the anguish that his inevitable divorce had brought him.

Even if said boot, did happen to annoy the shit out of him.

"Don't give me that look, I would never lie to you." Tim scolded with another hushed whisper though the words falling past his lips held no bitterness. Silently he mulled over his words. "Ok fine, I would never lie to you on purpose, not unless it was to protect you.”

Tim received a gurgle in response to his declaration. The infant in his arms gave him a toothless grin as she chewed on her fingers and kicked her legs in the sleep sack she wore. It never ceased to amaze him that the little girl in his arms was their daughter. Their daughter, that they had made together, their daughter that was a little piece of Tim and a little piece of Lucy, their daughter that was completely and unequivocally theirs.

She had Tim's toes, his nose, his blonde tufts of hair, and judging by the length of her legs, the pediatrician seemed to think she would go on to inherit his height. Tim thought the two almost three month old had more elements of her mom than she did of him; the color of her eyes, the shape of her lips, the size of her feet and who could forget the lingering look of curiosity that seemed to be ever present. Tim was leery that that curiosity behind her brown eyes would bring more white hairs along his temple the more she grew.

"Alright Arleigh… You have a clean bottom, a full tummy, and we’ve rocked so long in this damn chair that my ass is numb. What gives sweetheart?” He questioned, pulling her closer against his bare chest.

Tim was tired. No, he was more than just tired, Tim was exhausted. Exhausted to the point that he had found himself dozing off, and more than once. But if anyone was to ask him, Tim would not trade any of it for the world. The duo occupied the glider in the corner of the nursery with Kojo snoring at Tim's feet. There was a lamp on the corner of the changing table that more often than not was used as storage, the light casting the room in a soft white glow. A matching dark stained crib sat against the far wall with a sound machine attached to the railing, illuminating the bedding in a light blue as the faint sound of ocean waves crashing filled the room.

"Did you just want some time with Daddy? Because he would love to go to bed right now." Ok, so maybe he would trade some of this time for a few hours of rest but sleep was a coveted thing. Arleigh was a great baby - a fantastic baby - but putting her to sleep and having her stay in that state had always been an issue, aside from the routine feedings and changings.

Tim grumbled with a sigh as she released a happy gurgle in response and Tim had a feeling she was arguing his statement. "How about a bedtime story?" He suggested with a yawn as his feet pushed against the plush threads of carpet.

There were thousands of stories to be told but for some reason, tonight he felt compelled to share only one.

"You know, your mom and I thought you were just going to be this unobtainable dream that we would never have." Tim confessed as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Arleigh grinned with the turn of her head, rooting against his skin. "And don't tell your mom, but I was scared shitless when she told me."

Tim could remember the night almost as though it was yesterday. It had been a scheduled day off for him, and he had spent the day accomplishing a few things around the house. He was standing behind the range on the kitchen island when he the sound of a car door being closed reached his ears. It wasn't long after that, that the side door behind him was pushed open.

"Hey babe." Tim greeted with a fleeting glance over his shoulder as the glass door was pushed closed behind her. She walked by him without a word though her hand brushed against the small of his back before she set a box down onto the countertop. "Rough afternoon behind the desk?"

"I have something to tell you." Lucy spoke suddenly as she turned around. It was obvious to him that she was nervous, apprehensive even but there was something different about her reaction, an excitement behind her eyes. "But first, I need you to open the box."

It wasn't unusual for them to give or receive gifts which is why Tim never thought twice about opening the one sitting before him. His gaze bounced back and forth between the box in his hand, wary of the fact that this one could literally blow up in his face though that particular occurrence had not happened in some time. Tim broke the ribbon that held the lid in place, keeping a cautions eye on the woman before him who was rocking back on her heels with a nervous smile. The tissue paper inside was plentiful but that's not what caught his attention.

The air inside his lungs left him but there was one word he managed to choke out. "Lucy."

He studied the black and white photo that laid on top of a small piece of cloth.

"Yeah?"

“Are—” His voice broke. He took a deep breath that hitched. “Are you sure?"

Eagerly she nodded with a tear-filled smile. "Yeah."

Tim would later commit the revelation to memory but in the meantime, there were other important, pressing matters.

His lips found hers as he turned her around, pressing her back against the counter. Lucy's arms wrapped around the back of his neck as his tongue probed her mouth before all too soon did they have to part for air. They fought to catch their breaths, and Tim rested his forehead against hers. There was so much he wanted to say yet his mouth opted to keep it simple.

"We're having a baby, baby." Lucy reach in-between them, cupping his jaw as the warmth of his uneven breaths fell against her kiss swollen lips. Her thumb swiped gently across his cheek before reaching the day-old stubble that accented his face, removing the tear he never knew had fallen.

"We are." She laughed through her own tears and his heart clenched. Tim moved his hand and pulled her close, pressing her head against his chest. He could feel her tears as his shirt absorbed them. They had tried for so long, that they had almost given up hope.

"Drug addicts on a binge? No big deal. Shots being fired towards me? I'll fire right back. But taking care of a baby, raising a kid? That Arleigh, that scared the shit out of me. What if I messed something up, or dropped you on your head? What if I turned into my own father?" He wondered aloud with a sigh and the subtle shake of his head. "Your mommy shut that one down real fast. She's great, your mom. Which you already knew, but she's waited a long time to meet you, we both have."

"You're a good dad, Tim." Tim raised his head at the rasp of her voice, finding Lucy standing in the doorway with her shoulder pressed against the frame. "Anyone, everyone, can see that."

Shifting Arleigh from his arm to his opposite shoulder, he pressed a kiss to the side of her head as she nuzzled into his neck before releasing a deep and resounding sigh. Carefully Lucy padded into the room, careful not to accidently hit the colorful playmat that laid in the floor and take the risk of waking up the baby that had finally decided to give into sleep. She wore a stolen shirt, and her hair was thrown atop her head in a messy bun.

"I thought she was finally sleeping through the night." Lucy whined lowly, running a hand over the crown of the infant's head. They had had almost made it a full week with only intermittent feedings and changes of dirty diapers, but it seemed as though tonight was the anomaly.

"I think she just wanted some daddy daughter time."

Lucy raised a brow, taking their sleeping daughter from his arms. Gently and with proverbial fingers crossed, Lucy pressed a kiss to Arleigh's plump cheek before laying her down into the crib. Next week, Lucy was excitedly returning to work at Mid-Wilshire. They had wanted to get a routine established before that day arrived and so far, they had only met a few bumps in the road.

"What are you doing up?" He asked as she adjusted the timing of the sound machine attached to the railing. When he had first been woken by Arleigh's wails over the monitor on his nightstand, Lucy had been sound asleep in their bed as the breast pump done its job. "I finished pumping and got up to put her milk in the fridge when I heard you talking on the monitor."

Lucy turned around, resting the palms of her hands on the top of the railing as she met his gaze that had never wavered from her form. It was those same brown eyes that genetics had given to their daughter, those same brown eyes that Tim knew, would always bring him home.

"We have a kid." She stated as she pushed off the railing of the crib, making her way towards him.

"We do." He couldn't help the way he chuckled the words. Oftentimes he too still found himself in shock.

Lucy moved to stand in-between his legs and Tim raised his arm from where it rested against his chest. It was a move they had perfected over the last five months since purchasing the chair for the corner of the room. He wrapped an arm around the small of her back, his hand resting against the exposed skin of her hip.

"We make cute babies."

"We do."

With the turn of his head, he sought out her lips in a slow kiss where words were not needed. Tim brushed the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips as her mouth opened until his, preforming a dance that long since been perfected though never failed to take him by surprise.

But then she was pulling away and Tim groaned at the loss of contact. Her breaths were harsh and ragged against his lips as she took his jaw into the palm of her hand. He melted under her touch.

"We're not our parents, Tim." His lips fell into a fine line. Since the beginning, she had seen right through him, and now was no different. "We have never been our parents." He thinks he falls a little more in love with her every day. "We will never be our parents because we are going to be better than them, and I think we already are."

Tim knew she was right as he nodded apprehensively. He wishes he could put that lingering bit of doubt to bed but it was something he was continually working on. He rested his forehead against her chest, Lucy running the tips of her fingernails against his scalp as the sounds of Arleigh's snores drowned out the sound of ocean waves crashing against the sand.

Now this, this stolen moment with his wife as their daughter rested no more than ten feet away, Tim would never trade for the world.

"Come on," The hand that was tracing random patterns against the crown of his head abandoned its ministrations mid-design, running down the length of his arm to interlace their fingers as she stood. "Let's go to bed."

Planting his feet firmly into the rug beneath his feet once more, Tim lumbered to his feet with audible pops and groans coming from his joints. Lucy raised a brow, looking at him in amusement though the comment he knew she wanted to make, was never voiced.

She squeezed his hand once as he turned his head to give a lingering glance towards their daughter who rested without a care or worry in the world. There were times when Lucy nor himself had any idea what they were doing and were forced to rely on their instincts that they trusted every day or times, where they used prior knowledge and on several occasions the advice of Genny or their fellow parents in blue. But it was moments like this that Tim thought about Arleigh's future, wishing for that innocence and obliviousness he had seen in Jack a few years prior, to remain forever.

Tim had been through a lot in his forty plus years of life and truth be told, parenting may be one of the hardest things he has ever experienced. But, no matter the trials and tribulations he always knew it would be worth it.

#chenford fanfic #chenford fic #fanfic #chenford #asks #thanks for the ask!#anon

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necromancers-incorporated · 1 year

Text

The Discussion

Finally got this done @itsmevsworld, thanks for your patience

"You have to sign," Tony said, with such finality Steve almost believed him. Almost. The thing with such hasty agreements was that you never have time to really read what's in them.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Come on, you really can't see how dodgy this all is?" He didn't have to look up to know what face Tony would be making.

"And you can't see how unreasonable you're being!" he shouted back. He hadn't stopped pacing for the last twenty minutes. "God fucking dammit Steve why can't you get this?"

There was a slight thud as Tony took a seat on the sofa opposite. He had a drink in his hand - another foul concoction that was likely near enough a hundred percent alcohol. It was his third that night, or perhaps it was his fourth. There was hardly any point keeping track anymore. Steve couldn't remember an evening where Tony had remained sober throughout.

"Tony, please understand. I just think it's a bit fast - three days is hardly any time to actually read this thing." He waved his copy of the Sokovia Accords in the air, and let it fall down on to the table between them. The wood creaked with the force of the action.

Standing again, Tony downed the rest of his drink and went to pour another.

"Do you really think drinking is the best thing to do right now?" Steve chastised with a scoff. "You're not gonna be able to think clearly if you have any more."

With an anguished yell Tony threw his glass against the wall where it shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds.

"Fuck you Steve! Where the fuck do you get off telling me what is or isn't good for me?!" His face turned red and his voice shook with rage. "Maybe you're able to sit there on your fucking high horse and say that those deaths were all for the greater good or whatever bullshit you tell yourself so you can sleep better at night, but I can't! Okay? I can't justify this shit anymore!"

Steve stood too, looking down on Tony. "You think this is easy for me?" he hissed. "You think that I can justify all those deaths? You think I don't feel guilty!?" His voice rose steadily until he too was screaming. "Jesus Christ Tony you think I just sit here without thinking about all the people I've killed? Do you really think that?"

"Well you sure as shit act like it!" he screamed back. "You act like you're all high and mighty when all you were was some desperate jackass who wanted to feel special!"

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. He felt winded, as though Tony had actually struck him.

"You know what? I don't want to deal with this shit anymore. I'm not fucking signing this."

Tony stopped pacing again. "Steve, think very carefully about what you're saying."

"No, fuck that, fuck thinking. I'm done, sitting and talking about logistics and statistics and the goddam law."

Laughing, Tony sat back down. "So now you're above the law? Your audacity truly knows no bounds Steve."

It was his turn to throw something. He picked up the Accords and threw it across the room so that it landed next to Tony's glass. "My audacity? Mine? Grow up, Tony. Just because you have a guilt complex doesn't mean we all have to deal with it."

"Get out."

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Get the FUCK out of my house, or I swear to god I am gonna kill you Steve."

He laughed. "Alright then, alright. I'll leave. But when we can't actually help people anymore, those deaths, every single one of them, will be your responsibility."

#steve rogers #marvel #avengers #tony stark #marvel/pjo #request #one shot #fic request

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succubusphan · 2 years

Text

A Rose of Winter - Chapter 2

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

Rating: E (There are only a few smut scenes but it's an M for battles, war, and other adult topics)

Tags/warnings: I removed most triggers (no R or SA, no minors involved in sex, no gore). It does include: Deaths either written without details or in a poetic way if it's an important character (Dan and Phil, Ghost and Balerion will live but everyone else is fair game). Strangers to lovers, Slow Burn, missing each other. The prophecies and stories foreshadowed are fulfilled, a satisfying ending to the entire story without plot holes. Extreme canon divergence. Dan and Phil are not replacing characters, they were written in. GAME OF THRONES AU

Author's Note: This is my OSPBB 2022, Couldn't have done it without my betas @effingmeteors and @filisaceaf.

Word Count: Each chapter will be around 15k and have at least one Dan or Phil pov. The total wc is about 210k.

Read on Ao3

DAN

On the way to Castle Black, Dan noticed that Jon had started to realise The Watch was not as full of honour and bravery as he’d anticipated. The first time they had captured criminals to join the ranks, his eyes had widened and Tyrion Lannister had made it a point to mention how bad most of the people joining The Watch were. Jon had known, as had everyone, that criminals could choose to go to The Wall instead of being tried or executed, but it seemed that he had never really considered what that meant. Having to join arms with a fair amount of uneducated savages with no honour to count for had crushed Jon’s soul. It pained Dan to see his brother in such anguish, even if he did not mention it out loud.

Once they arrived, they looked around the castle. It had a Common Hall where the brothers of The Night's Watch ate and drank by the fire, a rookery where their ravens lived, a library, the towers, an armoury, and the barracks. It was an interesting place; the food was kept in the vaults so that the cold could keep everything frozen, there were underground tunnels leading to the other side of The Wall, and then there was The Wall itself. It was three times as tall as any castle he had ever seen and so white it almost looked like a thick layer of icy glass keeping Westeros safe from whatever was beyond it.

Before long, they were introduced to Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was grateful both for the addition of recruits to the quickly depleting ranks and for an opportunity to ask Tyrion Lannister to get the resources they needed to man The Wall. Dan did enjoy the stories they told but didn’t quite feel welcome in the group, so he often took to standing outside the Common Hall and staring at the courtyard lost in thought. And so their first weeks at Castle Black went by; Jon focusing on his training before taking his vows and Dan… trying not to freeze to death.

Daydreaming or dreaming of any kind had never been an issue for Dan, but there was something to be said about the cold at The Wall. Dan was not one to complain about the weather, but being at Castle Black was quite different from the beginning of winter at Winterfell, his mind could barely focus on anything other than the cold. He wrapped himself in his heaviest cloak and watched his brother fight against the other recruits. Ser Alliser Thorne, in charge of training them, seemed set on getting the young men to hate and potentially hurt each other.

Dan watched in awe as his brother fought them one by one, easily overcoming them with a few swings of his sword or a good punch. They had no chance against Jon. Thorne yelled about their incompetence, urging the others to beat Jon. The man looked set on putting Jon in his place. Dan had to wonder what aggravated the man more: the fact that Jon came from a good family, such as himself, or the fact that he was a bastard. It was probably both - he looked like the kind of person who would never give you a pass on anything.

The Common Hall’s door opened behind Dan and he tried not to flinch, keeping his eyes on the men training below. Tyrion Lannister’s voice startled him. “What a charming man.”

Dan was about to respond when another voice joined.

“I don’t need him to be charming, I need him to turn a bunch of criminals and peasants into good fighters. If they don’t learn fast, they will not live another month. The wall is no place for incompetent men,” the Lord Commander said, his face twisted with a sneer.

One of the rangers approached them and delivered a letter to the Lord Commander. “A raven arrived for the Stark children,” he said, before retiring.

Dan turned on the spot and eagerly waited for the news. “Is everything alright?” He didn’t complain about his message being read as he was a guest, but it did bother him.

“I am not sure,” Mormont said before handing him the message.

Dan looked at it, his eyebrows rising as he saw the first line: “To my dear sons.”

His mother had always despised Jon and he had no doubt that that hadn’t changed in their absence, but the penmanship was clearly hers. This was a message only for them - for both of them.

“My heart yearns for you, my children. The dark cold has finally reached Winterfell as the red moon sets with Summer. I am not sad because of it, I know the cub shall run and bite again one day, the Rivers will flow and turn the rocks into dust, but my love will remain with both of you. May the white skies and dark nights keep you from harm.”

“Well, what does it say?” Lord Tyrion asked.

“Mother misses us and wishes that we stay safe. She merely wrote it in the same way she used to tell us stories growing up,” Dan said, offering him the parchment in hopes that he did not understand it.

He read it a few times and hummed. “How curious,” he smiled, returning it to Dan.

Dan shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Training had ended. He walked down the stairs as calmly as he could and made his way down to the armoury, hoping to catch his brother there.

To his surprise, when he opened the door, he saw three of the men previously training cornering Jon. Two of them holding him down and the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dan yelled, cursing himself for not carrying his sword. He took a step forward but the man with the knife tsked at him, pressing the tip of the blade to Jon’s skin, a drop of blood already visible.

“If you move another muscle, you can say goodbye to your bastard brother.”

The door creaked behind Dan as Tyrion walked in. “Well… what do we have here?”

“What are you looking at, Halfman?”

“You have interesting faces. Yes, very distinctive faces - all of you,” Tyrion said.

“Why do you care about our faces?”

“I just think they would look wonderful on a spike in King’s Landing. Perhaps I’ll tell my sister, the Queen, about it.”

Dan saw the conspirators’ hands relax around Jon as they looked into each other’s eyes.

Jon pushed them away, his face full of frustration and rage as stood back and touched his neck. “Everyone knew what this place was and nobody told me about it, no one but you. Not Father or Benjen. They let me come here to rot on The Wall with a bunch of criminals.”

Dan wanted to comfort him but he knew Jon would probably push him away to not appear weak in front of the others. He watched as one of them walked out while the others turned around and started putting their training equipment away.

Tyrion gave him an unimpressed smile. “Grenn’s father left him too, outside of Thorne House when he was three. Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese; he said his sister hadn’t eaten in three days. He was given a choice: a hand or The Wall . I’ve been asking the Lord Commander about them. Fascinating stories.”

“They hate me because I’m better!” Jon said, either ignoring or uncaring that Grenn and Pyp were still in the room with them.

Dan leaned back against the door and watched them. Both were right. The other men were clearly jealous of Jon’s skill, but their lives had been incredibly different. Nobody knows what they would have done in those circumstances.

“They were not trained since childhood by the master of arms or lived comfortably in a castle. I doubt any of them had ever held a real sword before they came here,” Tyrion said, and turned to leave. “Oh, Catelyn Stark sent you a message.” He looked at Dan in the eyes before making his way to the courtyard.

“A message? For me?” Jon asked.

“For both of us,” Dan corrected him and looked at Grenn and Pyp pointedly. “We should speak somewhere private.”

Jon nodded and led Dan out. He stopped and looked around briefly before making his way to the crane the crows used to go up The Wall. He opened the cage and climbed inside gesturing for Dan to come in and closed the door. A young steward stood to the side, handling the pulley system for it to move. He looked bored but perked up when he saw them, taking a good look at their faces.

As they moved up, closer and closer to the top, the winds got stronger, seeping deep into Dan’s bones, nearly freezing his insides. He felt as if he would never be warm again. “Won’t there be someone up there?” He said, his teeth chattering.

“Only a few people, they won’t hear us in the wind. Not if we stay close enough.”

Dan nodded. Soon, they were at the top and nodding to the guard trying to keep warm with a fire beside the crane. Dan had never considered how everything would look up there. He was surprised to see a system of ice corridors as tall as a common house with pieces cut out on the side facing the Haunted Forest. One could step onto the ledge and see snow as far as the eye could reach, like an eternal land of winter with a clear beginning but no end.

Jon tapped him on the shoulder and led the way not to the nearest fire, but to the one farther away, a good distance away from the man.

“What did she say?”

“That is the problem. I need you to help me decipher the message. I have some clues to it but not all of it.”

Jon extended his hand and Dan gave him the letter. He unrolled the parchment and read it a few times, his frown deepening. “The first part is the most confusing.”

“That bit reminds me of a story she used to tell us when we were kids. Did I ever tell you about the man who captured the sun?”

“You mentioned the story but never the details.”

Dan tried his best to remember her words exactly before telling Jon the story. “There once was a man who everyone loved. He was kind and handsome, a good father and husband but while in his quest to give his family everything, he let greed consume him. He travelled from kingdom to kingdom, conquering it all, capturing people as slaves, taking over castles, killing Ladies and Lords and commoners alike - even attacking children in their beds. When he finally made his way home, his family did not recognize him, he was old and grey and his eyes were almost clear as glass. His wife had died many years before, most of his children too, and when he met his last son, he too did not see him for the little boy he left behind and snapped his neck. Fueled by grief and hate, he decided he would finish what he’d started and captured the sun, letting darkness and cold descend upon his land and the blue moon rise. He wrapped his arms around the sun so that nobody could steal it in his sleep and burst into flames.”

“Darkness and cold…” Jon said.

“But the blue moon is now red.”

“Why?” Jon asked. “Was there a mention of summer in the story?”

“No, no mention of the seasons.”

Jon took another look at the letter. “I know the cub shall run and bite again one day… that is Bran.”

“Yes,” Dan said, trying to make the message fit into the story. “Has someone attacked Winterfell?”

“Why do you think that? Why wouldn’t she ask for help instead of sending a coded message?”

“I guess… Bran -”

“What?” Jon asked.

“Someone attacked Bran,” said Dan with more conviction. “The dark cold reached Winterfell and attacked a child in its bed. And the blue moon turned red.”

Jon’s face twisted in horror. “She says he is alive… Summer. Here,” he said, running his finger over the ink. “Summer is written with a capital S, that’s a name; she protected him.”

“Why is she keeping this a secret?”

“The rivers will flow,” Jon repeated. “She’s leaving.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what it means,” Dan said. “She can’t leave Bran, especially if he was attacked.”

“She’s a Tully. The bastards of the Riverlands are called Rivers.”

“Robb must be staying then,” Dan said.

“Turning the rocks into dust. Dragonstone?” Jon asked. “No, it’s dust, not Sand. Casterly Rock.”

Dan frowned; it made no sense. “Will she fight the Lannisters alone?” He shook his head. “I need to return to Winterfell. I wish I could stay for your vows.”

“This is more important. Take Balerion and Ghost.”

“Ghost belongs with you. You will need to watch your back here, for more reasons than one.”

“You will need to watch your back with our Lannister guest.”

“Ghost stays.” Dan looked around, making sure there was nobody listening. “I guess Robb and I will have to think of something.”

“Yes. He will not try anything for now, not without an army.”

“Do you think it was him?”

“It was probably the Queen - or the Kingslayer.”

They heard someone cough close by followed by steps. Dan braced himself for throwing the Queen’s brother beyond The Wall if it was him, but a head full of long dark hair popped around the corner. It was Uncle Benjen.

He smiled and walked over to them, pulling each into a hug before standing beside Jon looking out into the wilderness. “I wanted to be here when you saw it for the first time. I am leaving in the morning.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I'm the first ranger, my job is out there,” said Uncle Benjen. “There’d been disturbing reports.”

“What kind of reports?” Dan asked.

“The kind you don’t want to believe.”

Jon nodded. “I’m ready, I won’t let you down.”

Uncle Benjen gave him a meaningful look. “You’re not going. You’re no ranger, Jon.”

“But I’m better than-” Jon tried,

“Better than no one. Here a man is what he earns when he earns it. We’ll speak when I return.” Benjen patted him on the back and nodded to Dan on his way out.

Dan blinked repeatedly when Tyrion Lannister drunkenly walked past them and pissed off the edge of The Wall.

Many strange things had happened to Dan before, but he could say that tagging along with someone from the family that had tried to assassinate his little brother was one of the weirdest ones. He hadn’t even planned it, but as soon as Jon heard Tyrion asking Dan if he wanted to see King’s Landing next, he said it was a good idea. After all, he had the option to stay in Winterfell as the Lannister had expressed his wish to stay there once again, although Dan was not quite sure if said visit would have good results. In any case, if his family decided to end him, it would be better for Dan to be there and repel any attacks that may come their way.

DAENERYS

Danny rolled in bed and huffed. She had not been able to get comfortable anywhere as of late and she felt constantly hungry, but the dried horse meat was not something she could continue to eat day in and day out without feeling incredibly sick.

She checked that all the candles around her dragon eggs were still lit and looked at her servant and friend, Irri. “Would you get me anything else to eat?”

“I don’t think there’s anything else, Khaleesi.”

“I just - I feel tired of eating horse meat all the time. It makes me feel sick.”

Irri looked at her briefly and pressed her hand against Danny’s chest, cupping her breast. “Oh!” Daenerys laughed in shock. “What are you doing?”

“You changed, Khaleesi!”

“What do you mean?”

“When was last time you bleed, Khaleesi?”

“I - I don’t know. I think… not since the last time you helped me.”

“You have a baby, Khaleesi!” Irri said and walked out of the tent, asking the guard outside to get something else for her to eat.

Daenerys smiled. A child. She brought her hand down to her stomach and gently ran her fingers on her skin. She could almost weep with excitement. Viserys was her only family and he had never given her the kind of care or love she actually desired or needed. She’d always been nothing more than a game piece for him to use and dispose of in his games. Now she had a husband that cared for her and had given her a child. This was the beginning of a new stage in her life, her chance at happiness. She would make sure to give this child all the love and family moments she had missed growing up. They would be the happiest child in the world.

Irri walked in with a smile. “You will eat goat today.”

“We will eat goat today,” she smiled back. “Thank you.”

Jorah’s voice carried from the outside. “I must ride to Qohor.”

“We ride for Vaes Dothrak.” Rakharo’s gentle voice answered him.

“I will catch up to you. The horde’s easy to find,” Jorah said and Danny heard him gallop away. She would miss his company but she was certain that he would be back. For the time being, she would focus on her child and continue learning the Dothraki language.

NED

Ned unrolled the message and let out a sigh of relief. Bran had woken up and even though he would never walk again, it seemed he would make a full recovery.

“Good news?” Petyr Baelish said as he walked past him. “You should share them with your wife.”

“My wife is in Winterfell,” Ned answered.

“Is she?”

Ned decided to follow the man. His smile let Ned know that Baelish knew something he didn’t. They walked out of the keep and down the city streets until they were standing outside of one of the whore houses Baelish ran.

“I thought she would be safe here,” he smiled.

Ned pushed the little scoundrel against the wall for implying his Cat would be in such a place. “You think you are a funny man, don’t you? A very funny man,” he said, pressing his arm against Petyr’s throat as he looked into his eyes.

“Ned!” said Cat from a window right above them before promptly closing it.

He let go of ‘Littlefinger’ and ran up the stairs, hugging her tightly. How he had missed her! “What are you doing here?”

“Someone tried to murder Bran. With this…” Cat said, presenting a blunt object wrapped piece of cloth to him. “Summer saved him.”

Ned nodded, breathing a little easier, knowing that his son was saved. He opened it to reveal an ornate dagger, made of Valyrian Steel and a carved gold handle as well. “This is a noble man’s weapon. Who does it belong to?”

“It used to be mine, but I lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bid,” Baelish said.

“We should let Robert know,” Ned said.

“Implying that the Queen’s brother tried to kill your son would be considered treason.”

“But we have proof,” Cat replied.

“No, it’s your word against his and the only man who can say otherwise has no throat thanks to the boy’s wolf.”

“Then I will find proof and take it to Robert,” Ned said.

“You can count on my services,” Littlefinger said.

Catelyn smiled, turning to Ned and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Petyr is a good friend. He’s like a little brother to me, he would never betray my trust.”

“Don’t let anyone know. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Ned resisted the urge to throw Bealish out the window and focused on keeping Cat safe instead. “I will deal with this. You must leave. It is not safe for you here, especially now.”

Catelyn nodded and kissed him one last time before pulling her hood over her hair to conceal her identity for the road and walking out. The last thing Ned said to her was to control her temper and stay out of trouble. She was a smart woman, and Ned felt blessed every day since they got married, he couldn’t wait to be back at Winterfell, at her side and enjoying life with his children.

He decided to check on Arya and her progress with the ‘Dancing Master’ he’d hired for her; Syrio Forel, a skilled swordsman from Braavos. Ned knew the man had the right personality to catch his daughter’s full attention and the skill to teach her a way of fighting that would suit her size perfectly. It was the perfect solution to keep her from running around unprotected in King’s Landing as well as give her the tools to keep herself safe.

Ned stood by the door and watched them train with wooden swords.

“This is the water dance. It is swift,” he said gliding his sword gracefully through the air. “And sudden!” He changed the direction of his sword and surprised Arya by pointing it directly at her. If it had been a real weapon, she’d be dead. “All men are made of water. If you pierce them the water leaks out and they die.” He made a stabbing motion on her belly.

Arya smiled at Syrio.

“Now you will strike me,” the man said and turned his back on her.

Lifting her wooden sword, Arya ran towards him, trying to poke his back as she yelled, no skill in her movements. Syrio stepped aside and continued walking in the opposite direction in a fluid motion that looked effortless, as if he hadn’t even been inconvenienced by her attack. Then, he stood in a fencing position and let her copy his movements before waiting for her next attack.

As Arya ran towards him, flinging her sword, Syrio stepped aside, causing her to fall to the ground and instructed her to get back up. They took their positions again and he let Arya swing her sword at him, catching her every time, poking her with his wooden sword, saying the word “dead” every time to demonstrate how easy it would be to kill her if she was not careful enough.

The smile slid from Ned’s face as he watched her struggle.

Unable to stop thinking about his friend’s death, Ned decided to try and uncover the truth behind his passing. If the letter from Lysa Arryn was right, the murder attempt against Bran was not the only crime the Lannisters were behind. But this time, the clear person behind the plot was the Queen.

After the small council meeting called in emergency because of the increased violence caused by the influx of visitors from all over Westero’s for ‘The Hand’s Tournament', Ned asked Grand Maester Pycelle about Jon Arryn’s last moments.

The Grand Maester only mentioned that Jon’s illness struck him very hard and very fast, causing him to die of natural causes. The night prior to his death, Jon had borrowed a book from him and the next he was gone.

It was a big tome called “The History and Lineages of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms” containing a record of births of every noble family and their children with descriptions. Ned asked to borrow said book, but before leaving with it, he asked the Grand Maester if he thought it could have been poison, a woman’s weapon.

The old man’s eyes widened.”I do not think so,” he said. “But poison is the weapon of women, cravens and eunuchs.” He was clearly trying to implicate Lord Varys in the matter.

Ned nodded and thanked him for his help before going in search of his daughters. He caught Arya, barefoot, standing on one leg on atop small staircase right outside his room.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m practising my water dancing!” She said with an excited smile.

“That would be a nasty fall. Be careful.”

Arya set the other foot on the ground. “Syrio said I need to be faster so I have to chase cats. He says you have to be quick to catch them.”

Ned nodded. “He’s right about that.”

Lord Baelish walked with him through the gardens where they could speak privately. Ned didn’t like him at all, but Littlefinger was a well-connected man and his only ally in his quest for the truth.

“Before his untimely death, Jon Arryn was seen visiting Tobho Mott's smithy with his esquire quite a few times.”

“Why?” Ned asked.

“I believe the person who can answer that best is not me.”

“This esquire - where can I find him?”

Baelish raised his eyebrows. “Ser Hugh was knighted shortly after Arryn’s death.”

“For what?”

“Indeed.”

“I will go speak to him.”

“That would not be wise - not at all. See that little boy?” Baelish asked. “That is one of Varys’ little birds.”

Ned looked at the boy. He was dressed in plain clothes, not a day older than 4 years old.

“See that gardener?”

He turned to the opposite side and locked eyes with a very old gardener who was staring at him intently.

“That one is the Queen’s. Many people are interested in your comings and goings, Lord Stark.” Baelish smiled. “See that septa reading a book?”

“Yes. Is she Varys’ or the Queen’s?”

“That one is mine. Everyone has ears around the city. You must be careful. Do you have a man in your guard that you can trust?”

Ned thought about it briefly. Was there someone’s hands he would put his life in? “Yes.”

“Send him to speak to Ser Hugh.”

“Thank you, Lord Baelish, I apologise for distrusting you at first.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Distrusting me was the smartest thing you have done since you got off your horse.”

As Ned and Jory made their way to the smithy atop their white horses, they saw many people watching them closely.

“The esquire said that he wants to speak to the hand himself,” Jory said.

Ned groaned. “Did you tell him I sent you?”

“I did.”

“Very well. I will go speak to him.” Ned got off his horse and turned to the door.

“We should leave. You never know who has eyes here,” Jory said.

“Then let them look,” Ned said, before walking inside.

The blacksmith was an old man, not much older than Jon Arryn himself.

“Oh, Lord Stark! Welcome to my shop! How can I help you?”

“I got news that the previous hand came to visit in the weeks before his death.” When the man nodded, Ned continued. “Why did he come here?”

“He said he came to see the boy.”

“I want to see the boy as well,” he said. The young blacksmith apprentice working in the background set his tools down and looked at him expectantly.

“Gendry, come here.” The blacksmith said. “Show The Hand the helmet you made, lad.”

The boy grabbed a metal helmet shaped like a bull’s head and passed it on to him. He stood before Ned and raised his eyebrows. “It is not for sale.”

“This is incredible craftsmanship.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“This is The Hand of the King!” The blacksmith said, raising his voice.

“It’s not for sale. I made it for myself,” Gendry said.

“My apologies for the offence, My Lord”

“There is no offence.” Ned nodded and returned the piece. “What did you speak about with Jon Arryn?”

“At first he asked if I was well paid, if I was happy here. Then he asked about my mother - who she was, what she looked like.”

“What did you tell him?” Pressed Ned.

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair and sang to me.” The boy seemed to be uncomfortable when it came to that topic.

Could it be possible? “Look at me, Gendry.”

As Ned was met with the boy’s blue eyes and raven black hair, it was too easy to imagine him, a little taller, a hammer as big as his head in his hand, leading the rebellion against the Mad King. “Thank you, Gendry. If you ever want to wield a sword instead of forge one, come to me.”

He walked out and rode back to the Red Keep. He reached his chambers as fast as he could, writing a short message for Robert and sent Jory in search of the King, who at that time of day was probably rolling around in bed with some woman, or drinking enough wine to drown someone in.

Jory returned shortly after being turned away by the Kingslayer. Ned groaned. They would have to find another way.

---

The day of the bloody tournament finally arrived and Ned wanted no part in it. He hesitantly allowed his girls to go along with Jory and Lord Baelish, to let them experience a few of the benefits of living in the capital. He had briefly considered not allowing them but Sansa was still hurt about him killing Lady and Robert would take great offence if none of the Starks were present.

He decided to make better use of his time by going through the tome Jon had been reading. He had yet to find a clue about what he was looking for in it. When he reached the record of his own family, he smiled. All of his children were there, but so were the deaths of his brother and father, Lyanna’s kidnapping and subsequent death too. Someone was still missing. He knew he shouldn’t but it wouldn’t be the first time he was breaking the rules for the boy.

Ned grabbed a quill and dipped it in the inkwell, adding ‘Jon Snow’ as his son. The writing was small and had to be squeezed in on the page but he didn’t want Jon to go beyond The Wall without any official record of him left behind. He was as much of a Stark as any of them.

There was a knock on the door, but before he could answer, Cersei Lannister walked in with one of her venomous smiles.

“Your Grace,” he said.

“I would like to put our differences about what happened at The Kingsroad aside, Lord Stark. I recognize that forcing you to kill the beast was extreme, but sometimes we go to extremes for our children. How is Sansa?”

“She is enjoying King’s Landing,” he lied. Sansa had hardly enjoyed anything since Lady died.

“She seems to be the only Stark doing so.”

“Is there anything you need, Your Grace?” He asked, tired of the charade already.

“Why are you not at your tournament?”

“I want no part in it. The fact that it has my name doesn’t make it mine.” Ned watched as her entire demeanour changed. The smile slipped from her face.

“What are you doing here, Lord Stark?” She asked in an accusative tone.

Ned knew what she meant. “The king called on me to serve him and The Realm and that’s what I will do.”

Cersei raised one eyebrow at him. “You can’t help him; he will do as he wishes no matter what you say. You are just here to pick up the pieces.”

“I will do it anyway.”

“You will just take your orders and follow them, won’t you?” She asked. “I guess it makes sense. Your brother was trained to lead and you were trained to follow orders.”

It seemed that they were done speaking in riddles and exchanging fake pleasantries. “I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace.”

Cersei smiled widely and nodded. “As was I.” She turned on the spot and left without another word.

Ned closed the book in front of him and decided to go to the tournament after all. He would need to stay as close to Arya and Sansa as possible.

He made his way to the jousting event, quickly finding his front row seat along his family. He took a careful look around, checking who was sitting close. Ptyr Baelish was sitting next to Sansa, and Septa Mordane on the other side of Arya, but she moved to the side to let Ned sit with his daughters. Jory stood close by.

A few rows behind was Renly, sitting with a young man Ned had never seen. He looked quite peculiar with his black hair and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in Tyrell attire, a gold rose pin on his leather armour, many rings on his fingers and a gold pendant hanging from his neck. Ned was almost taken aback by the sight of this man. He didn’t have brown hair as the rest of the Tyrells, nor was he well known in King’s landing for being part of the family, but he was apparently regarded as such.

Robert sat beside Cersei, surrounded by his children yet he looked completely miserable as he drank wine from his horn.

“I’ve been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!” He yelled. Cersei looked at him in disgust and left without a word.

Sansa looked at Joffrey and smiled at him but he turned his face with a frown.

“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya asked Lord Baelish.

“Arya! Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane admonished her.

“It’s alright. I come from a small spit of land called The Fingers and I was quite a small child, so, you see, it’s only a clever nickname.”

“Who’s that?” Sansa asked as she looked at an exceedingly tall rider atop a black horse.

“That is Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him The Mountain. The Hound’s older brother. And his opponent, Ser Hugh of the Veil; he was Jon Arryn’s esquire.”

Both riders bowed to Robert and took their place. Ser Hugh went first, but The Mountain nudged his horse soon after. Only seconds later, Ser Gregor’s lance broke on Ser Hugh’s shield, breaking it into pieces and throwing him off the horse. Just as he hit the ground, Sansa let out a scream. Ned stood from his seat as he watched Ser Hugh die - a piece of his opponent’s lance sticking out from his chest. The man had taken the answers Ned was looking for to the grave.

The crowd was horrified, but they still watched intently as the body was dragged away, just as they always did.

“Have you ever heard of the story of The Hound?” Baeslish whispered to Sansa.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Ned said, sitting back down.

“I want to know. Please tell me, Lord Baelish.”

“The Hound was just a pup, six years old, maybe. Gregor, already a big boy with a reputation and a talent for violence, found The Hound playing by the fire with a wooden toy soldier - it was Gregor’s toy. Without saying a word he grabbed his little brother by the hair and pressed his face into the open fire, holding him there as he screamed. The Hound has hated his brother ever since. Not many people know the story.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Sansa said.

“Don’t. If The Hound Heard you, you’d be in danger.”

A short break was announced and Ned looked around, trying to find Robert. As he made his way to the King’s tent, he saw the guards that had dragged Ser Hugh’s body standing close by. They stepped aside as soon as they saw him. He was surprised to find Ser Barristan, one of the golden cloaks, looking at the dead man; two sisters of The Seven were already working on him.

According to Ser Barristan, Ser Hugh had no family in King’s Landing and his bad luck had sealed his fate. All jousters drew straws that determined the matches and he had been the one to come up against The Mountain.

The brief conversation Ned held with Ser Barristan reminded him that even men of honour had stood beside the Targaryens and simply sworn loyalty to Robert after the Mad King’s death. In King’s Landing, alliances lasted as long as the power of those involved.

Ned rushed to Robert’s tent when Ser Barristan mentioned the King was planning on joining the tournament.

“Your mum was a dumb whore with a fat ass!” Robert yelled at his esquire, a scrawny-looking Lannister boy. “Look at this idiot! He can’t even put on a man’s armour properly!” he yelled looking at Ned.

“You are too fat for your armour,” Ned observed.

“Too fat, you say? Is that how you speak to your King?” Robert asked and Ned nodded. The esquire’s eyes widened, fearing another outburst. “Don’t stand there, boy. You heard The Hand, the King’s too fat for his armour! Go get the breastplate stretcher! Now!”

The boy ran out of the tent. “Breastplate stretcher?” Ned laughed.

“Maybe he will return when someone invents one,” Robert laughed, already reaching for a glass of wine.

“I heard you intend to joust today.”

“Yes, I haven’t gotten a good fight in a long time. I feel restless.”

“Where is the honour of fighting against men who can't hit back? There’s not a man in the seven kingdoms who would dare hurt you.”

“Do you think those cowards would let me win?”

“Of course they will; you are the King.”

Robert huffed but nodded.

Ned returned to his place and sat beside Sansa.

“Where is Arya?”

Sansa shrugged. “She said she had dancing lessons.”

He nodded and tried to place his hand on hers but she crossed her arms. Her face softened as he saw a knight approaching. “The Knight of the Flowers!” She exclaimed excitedly, waving just her fingertips at the knight.

Ser Loras Tyrell guided his white horse towards them, his impeccable silver armour was adorned with engraved roses and his long brown hair gave him a gentle look, nothing like Joffrey. He smiled at her, giving her a red rose and a nod.

“Thank you, Ser Loras,” she said, blushing.

Ned didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ser Loras was merely paying his respects but his eyes and his heart were only focused on Renly Baratheon. In fact, the lovers exchanged a heated look, before the knight took his place beside The Mountain, bowing gracefully before Robert.

For a moment, Ned’s mind wandered back to Dan, how he was doing at The Wall, wondering if he had left already. He turned and looked at the Tyrell man sitting by Renly; he looked close to his son’s age, Ned didn’t know why, but he thought they would get along well.

Sansa clutched to his arm. “Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him!” She pleaded.

Ser Loras received his helmet and lance, preparing for the match. There wasn’t much Ned could do to stop them so he held her hand tightly, hoping the young man would survive.

Lord Baelish, now sitting behind Ned, looked at Renly. “One hundred Dragon Gold on The Mountain.”

Renly smiled. “I’ll take that bet.”

“Now, what would I buy with one hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine, or a girl from the pleasure house at Lys?

“You could even buy a friend.”

“He’s going to die,” Sansa mumbled at his side.

Ned shook his head. “Ser Loras rides well.”

The trumpets gave the signal. Ser Gregor’s restless horse took a moment to follow his master’s orders but Ser Loras was in full control of his white mare. The Tyrell knight pushed his lance against The Mountain’s shield, throwing him to the ground, horse and all, causing them to break the fence.

Renly cheered and laughed. “Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would have been nice for you to have a friend.”

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?” Lord Baelish smirked, gesturing to Loras Tyrell.

“I will have him whenever I please,” Renly said with an amused smile. The man beside him laughed and elbowed him.

Littlefinger leaned close to Sansa and whispered: “Ser Loras was very clever, he knew his mare was in heat.”

Sansa huffed. “Ser Loras would never do that; there’s no honour in tricks.”

“No honour and quite a bit of gold!” Baelish whispered back with a laugh, his hand briefly touching Sansa’s shoulder.

The Mountain stood from the ground and called his esquire.

“Sword!” he yelled, throwing his helmet to the ground. As soon as the grip touched his hand, he closed his fingers around it and swung the blade on his horse with a yell, the animal falling to the ground with a thud. With no hesitation, he swung his sword again, this time against Ser Loras, who was bowing before Robert.

Loras Tyrell hit the ground, shield already up and he tried to survive the onslaught of The Mountain’s sword trying to kill him. Renly and his companion gasped, clutching at each other’s arms as they watched. Two hits, Loras’ shield could withstand but just as the wood was starting to crack, The Hound jumped from Joffrey's side, sword already in hand.

“Let him be!” The Hound yelled as he repelled his brother’s attacks again and again, not quite overpowering him, but at least matching his force enough to survive the encounter.

Joffrey watched with a pleased smile while his father clutched at his chair nervously, still letting the fight continue briefly. Once Ser Gregor charged against The Hound, Robert finally stood.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” He yelled.

The moment his voice pierced through the crowd’s murmurs, The Hound kneeled, saving himself from his brother’s last attack just by a hair. The Mountain looked at Robert, his eyes full of hate, as he threw his sword to the ground and left, a group of knights in pursuit.

“Let him go!” Robert yelled.

Loras stood and walked over to The Hound. “I owe you my life, Ser.”

“I am no Ser,” Sandor Clegane said.

Still, Loras grabbed The Hound’s hand and raised it, proclaiming him the winner. The crowd cheered for him, giving him a standing ovation for his heroic actions.

It was a bit of a humorous sight since Ser Loras was quite shorter than either of the Clegane brothers, but The Hound nodded to the Royal Family nonetheless. Despite his services for the crown, the man was feared for the scars marring his face and received no respect from anyone; not the people he served, nor the town folk. Ser Loras had just given him a piece of something that had always been denied to him. Pride.

DAN

With the first light of day, Dan got on his horse, Balerion already at his side and along Tyrion Lannister, and Yoren started the long trip back to Winterfell. With every sunset and every sunrise, Dan wished he was back home with his family, instead of with one of the members of House Lannister.

The long journey was uneventful but it still kept Dan on edge. Not only was he riding with someone who was not well regarded anywhere, but a member of the family who had conspired to kill Bran.

The mere thought of what would happen when they arrived at Winterfell made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Still, Dan was eager to hug his little brother. If the message they received had been decoded correctly, Bran had woken up, even if he would never walk again. Dan would make sure to help him have a fulfilling life.

----

Weeks later, Dan braced himself as they crossed the gate and made their way past the walls of Winterfell. The weather was still cold but it was not as hard to withstand as at The Wall. Once they were back at the Great Keep, Robb wrapped Dan in a tight hug and asked him why he was with the Lannister.

“I received Mother’s message and decided to ride with him,” he whispered. “How is Bran?” Dan asked loud enough for everyone to hear.

“He’s still resting. Theon, take Hodor and bring Bran back to greet Dan.” Robb patted his shoulder and returned to the table and sat beside Maester Luwin, Greywind laying close to his feet.

Theon Greyjoy nodded and went in search of Hodor.

Tyrion nodded at Robb as a form of greeting.

Robb looked at him cooly and turned to Yoren. “Any man from the Night’s Watch is welcome at Winterfell,” he said, looking back at Tyrion without extending him the same courtesy.

Before long, Hodor, one of the servants, came carrying Bran without any effort. Dan smiled at him; Hodor was a simple-minded man but he was always gentle and willing to help. There had always been talk about him having giant’s blood, making him taller than every Stark or every other Winterfell resident.

Dan came close to them and pulled Bran into a hug ever so gently. “I’ve missed you, little brother,” he said, trying not to choke up.

“You didn’t have to go,” Bran complained.

It broke Dan’s heart. He was right, there was no excuse to leave him, but Dan thought Bran would be cared for by their mother. He couldn’t have possibly imagined what would happen. “I’m sorry,” is all he dared to say in front of Tyrion as he stepped away.

“What do you remember of your accident?” Tyrion asked.

“He remembers nothing of that day,” Maester Luwin said.

“Curious. Kneel, please,” asked Tyrion.

Bran frowned. “Why?”

“So that we can speak more comfortably. I brought you a gift and I want you to see it.”

“Kneel, Hodor.”

Once they were at the same height, Tyrion opened a big roll of parchment and Dan leaned over them to look. It was some sort of design.

“What is it?” asked Bran.

“It is a saddle for -”

Bran’s face fell. “They said I’ll never ride again.”

“You need to adapt the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to voice commands and such but it can be done. This saddle will allow you to ride upright and unaided; it will bring you a bit of freedom back.”

Bran looked at the design and back at Tyrion with wide eyes. “Is that true?”

“Yes, give this to your saddler, he will provide the rest. On horseback, you’ll be as tall as any of them.”

“Is this a trick? Why help him?” Asked Robb, his face settling into a frown.

Tyrion looked at him and then Bran. “Because I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“I am not a cripple!” Bran whined.

“Then I am not a dwarf! My father will rejoice to hear that!”

“You’ve done my brother a kindness, the hospitality of Winterfell is yours,” Robb said, but his tone indicated how displeased he was to have that man between his castle walls.

“Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There is a brothel outside your walls, I will stay there and we will both sleep better because of it.”

Dan escorted Tyrion out. “How long will you be staying, My Lord?”

“Two days I believe. I need to rest, but I am not welcome here. Better to ride as soon as possible,” the Lannister imp said. “You are still welcome to join me on my way to King’s Landing. If I don’t see you soon, I will assume you chose to stay with your family.”

Dan nodded and turned towards the Great Keep. He looked over his shoulder and saw Theon talking to the dwarf but he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, it left Greyjoy with a sour look on his face, picking up a gold coin from the mud.

Laying back on his own bed, beside his fireplace and cuddling up to Balerion, Dan let out a sigh of relief; it was good to be home, however long it would last.

Balerion’s ears perked up as he looked to the door.

“Who’s there?” Dan asked, a hand already reaching for the knife still strapped to his thigh.

“It’s me,” Robb said.

Dan smiled. “Well, come in then.” Finally, they would get to speak privately.

Robb walked in, Greywind at his side. Balerion marched up to greet them, demanding pets from Robb and nuzzling up to his brother.

“How was your time at The Wall?”

“Interesting. I learned many things.”

“Such as?”

“People will do anything in a time of need. And the cold at Castle Black is much worse than here.”

Robb laughed. “Did you get Mum’s message?”

“Yes. Who was it?”

“Someone sent by the Lannisters. She had the suspicion when she left for King’s Landing, but a friend at the capital confirmed that the Valyrian Steel dagger the attacker had used belonged to Tyrion Lannister.

“What reason could he have to try to kill Bran?”

“Maybe Bran saw something, or heard something. We don’t know and Bran doesn’t remember any of it.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I saw Bran fall?”

“But there was no one around.”

“Sometimes…I have dreams. I - I see myself in four paws, with black fur, running in the woods or walking about Winterfell. When Bran fell I saw him climbing the burnt tower, he got all the way up and I sat by Summer, watching him. When he got to the window, something happened and he fell, away from the tower, not close as if he had slipped.”

“So - that is odd. But, if that was the case, and you were there, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I woke up and ran out of bed. As soon as I got to the tower, he was already being looked over. I think -” Dan sighed, there was no reasonable way to put it. “The Starks, we were always able to reach into the bodies of animals if we were close enough with them, if there was some sort of bond. There was a book in the library that mentioned it as far back as Bran The Builder. The people with that kind of power were called Wargs.”

“Do you believe to be one? A Warg?”

“I think we may all be. It’s just a matter of trying.”

“If I told Maester Luwin you said that, he’d have you restrained.”

Dan laughed. “Don’t tell him then.” He sighed deeply. “What should I do? Do I stay here with you, or do I follow Tyrion Lannister to the capital?”

“When is he leaving?”

“In two days.”

“Then let us spend two days together and go with him. Spend time with Bran, he’s been very sad and resents Mum going away while he was not even awake to give her a kiss.”

“Aye. Let’s enjoy some family time.” Dan got up and put his boots back on, his back already complaining at him for being on his feet again. “I will go speak to Bran.”

“Convince him to come down for supper, will you? It will be good for his mind and for his back.”

“Alright. We’ll see you there.”

Dan laid beside Bran on his bed, Balerion cuddling up to Summer on the other side.

He passed a rolled-up piece of parchment to him. “I made you this,” Dan said.

He ran his small fingers on the ink tracing the lines and the letters at the bottom. “Castle Black - The Wall,” he said.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. Is it really this big?”

“It is. Bran The Builder was a very clever man.”

“Do you think the Wildlings will cross The Wall one day?” Bran looked at the drawing again and pursed his lips.

“I don’t think so. The Wall is rumoured to have magic in it.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Bran rolled the parchment and set it on the chair by his bed. A big pile of books already covered most of the seat.

A crow flew and sat on the window, cawing at them repeatedly, stepping from side to side on the windowsill. Bran was startled, holding onto Dan’s arm tightly.

“Don’t listen to it,” said Old Nan. “Crows are all liars.” She watched the bird curiously for a moment before shrugging and continuing with her knitting. “I know a story about a crow!”

Bran huffed. “I hate your stories!”

Dan pursed his lips. Bran had never been so rude, especially not to Old Nan; she had cared for him since birth, just as she’d cared for all the Stark children, but she had a special place in her heart for Bran. Of course, he couldn’t fault his brother; he had lost access to everything he liked doing, like climbing and riding - he would never be a knight either. All of it at ten years old. Dan would have gone mad. He ran his hand on Bran’s hair softly.

Old Nan huffed and looked at Bran through narrowed eyes. “I know a story about a boy who hated stories. I could tell you about Ser Duncan the Tall! Those were always your favourites!”

“Those weren't my favourites. My favourites were the scary ones!”

“Oh, my sweet summer child! What do you know about fear? Fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep; fear is for the long night when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die all in darkness - that is the time for fear, my little Lord. When the White Walkers, led by their Night’s King, moved through the woods thousands of years ago, there came a night that lasted a generation. Kings froze to death in their castles, same as the shepherds in their huts and women smothered their babies rather than see them starve and wept, and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks. So is this the sort of story that you like?”

Bran nodded, pulling the covers up to his chin.

Smiling, she continued. “In that darkness, the White Walkers came for the first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs of pale spiders big as hounds!”

Dan sat up and gave her a look. “Well, as lovely as the stories are, Bran and I should head down for dinner.” He got out of bed and strode to the door, pulling it open. “Hodor, would you please carry Bran to the Great Hall?”

“Hodor!” he nodded with a smile.

Bran looked at them but finally stretched his arms letting the man pick him up. Summer and Balerion standing immediately. And so they all marched down to eat.

For much of the trip, nothing out of the ordinary happened. They were not attacked, Tyrion Lannister remained his joly, sarcastic self - no indication that he’d been involved in the assassination attempt against Bran. If his own family hadn’t relayed this information to Dan, he’d have never suspected a thing. Maybe he was too gullible; maybe he was still too inexperienced to travel around Westeros on his own, but once he’d left home, things had gotten out of control, and here he was, sharing every waking moment with a man capable of killing a child.

Three weeks after leaving they finally arrived at the crossroads and decided to stop at the inn for a hot meal and a good night’s rest. The moment they walked inside, Dan spotted Ser Rodrik along with a woman who he recognized as his mother even though she was facing away from him.

Panic rose within him, not knowing what to do. It was a dangerous situation, they were far away from home, surrounded by a multitude of people from every corner of Westeros and if the Lannisters got any idea of their suspicions, every Stark head would end up in a spike at King’s Landing.

Dan tried to distract Tyrion, guiding him away from his mother. “We should sit close to the door, just for security.”

“Nonsense, by the door is the least secure location at any establishment!” Tyrion said with a smile before turning to the inn keeper. “I would like a room.”

“We have no available bed, My Lord. You will have to find another place.”

“I am the Queen’s brother! I am sure you can accommodate me.”

“All the beds are occupied, what do you expect me to do? Put someone on the street!?”

“You can have mine,” said a man sitting close by. He was not a knight, but he was dressed like a warrior, armour and all, a hand on the grip of his sword.

“Would you like a song?” A man sitting at his mother’s table asked loudly. Dan briefly considered walking to them and telling the man to leave but that would attract Tyrion’s attention.

“Oh, Lord Lannister! May I sign to you about your father’s victory in King’s Landing?” The man yelled, standing from his seat.

Tyrion walked over with a smile. “Nothing would ruin my supper more.” He gave the man a gold coin. “I will thank you for not singing at all.”

The man was clearly distraught but took the coin anyway.

“Lady Stark! What an unexpected pleasure! I wondered why you weren’t there to receive me on my visit to Winterfell.”

Dan’s stomach dropped. He knew his mother’s temper well.

She stood and uncovered her long red hair. “I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here,” she said, addressing every person at the Inn. “I see the sigils of house Harrenhal, house Bracken and Frey. This man came into my house as a guest and then conspired to murder my son - a boy of ten.”

“I did no such thing!” Tyrion Lannister yelled.

Dan’s mother continued as if she had not heard him. “You are true friends and loyal bannermen to the Tullys of Riverrun, in the name of King Robert and the good Lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await The King’s Justice.

Every man with a sword at the Inn drew it against Tyrion Lannister, Dan included, helping to tie his hands and those of his guards behind their backs for the journey back to Winterfell.

---

“You have to realise how reckless that was,” Dan said, trying not to snap at his mother. “We are too close to King’s Landing, this will not go as you want it.”

“A wise observation from young Lord Stark. Perhaps it would be better to let me go on my way - no hard feelings.” Tyrion interjected.

“Shut up!” Dan and his mother yelled before turning to each other.

Shrugging, their prisoner walked to the other side of the room and looked out the window, taking a seat and letting his legs dangle from the chair.

Dan’s mother looked at Tyrion and only continued speaking once he was away. “This was the only opportunity I had. He tried to kill your brother! What am I supposed to do?”

“Anything but kidnap the Queen’s brother without proof or the King’s approval. If Father had gotten an order from him, it would be different, but this will ruin us, Mother.”

“We are ruined already, Daniel. Words travel fast. The Lannisters already know I’ve visited Ned and come to their own conclusions as to why.”

“I still think you should have waited. This will put Winterfell in danger.”

“Bran has already suffered the consequences of dealing with the Lannisters. What danger are you talking about?”

“Yes, but you have other children. Did you forget that Arya and Sansa are on their grounds? What about Robb? What about me?”

“Your father will protect the girls, Robb is a grown man, he can take care of himself and you have chosen your own destiny.”

That shattered Dan’s heart. “I see…” He turned away. He was a man now, he was not going to cry.

He felt her hand on his back, her voice softer, barely above a whisper. “Dan, a mother’s job is -”

“Bran is awake. If you care so much about him, why are you not taking care of him, watching him grow? He misses you.”

“I am protecting him. He will understand. I will return to him when I’ve solved this.” She cleared her throat. “You are right to be scared for your sisters. It is best that you go along to King’s Landing and keep an eye out for them. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“The ride back to Winterfell will be long.”

She stepped onto the tips of her toes and whispered in his ear. “I’m bringing him to The Vale. Your aunt Lysa will bring him to justice, the Lannisters also killed her husband.”

Dan hummed and looked at Tyrion out of the corner of his eye. The Knights of The Vale would keep his family safe for the time being. He just needed to look out for Arya and Sansa. “Promise me that I will see you again.”

“You will. I promise.” She pulled him into an awkward hug. She was much smaller than him and felt frail as if she was about to be whisked away by the wind. “Be careful.”

“I will be. You too.”

JON

Castle Black, Westeros.

Jon grabbed one of the training swords and a shield and made his way to training with a heavy heart. After his initial run in with Grenn and Pyp, the three of them had sat down to talk and realised they had much more in common than they had initially thought. They were honourable men caught in difficult circumstances and trying to make the best of the life they got and so was Jon. They may not have shared Jon’s privileges - even as a bastard - but they shared the same core beliefs and morals. Sadly, the same could not be said for Rast.

Rast had been the one to egg his comrades against Jon, trying to threaten his life for the mere fact that he’d had actual training and beat them fairly easily. He was a bad man; a true criminal, and a cruel one at that. Jon knew he would spend the rest of his days avoiding Rast ever since he heard what he’d done to end up at Castle Black. He shivered just thinking about it.

Ser Alliser Thorne saw him and smirked. A new recruit stood next to him; a big man - in every sense of the word, yet he looked scared as a mouse, shaking both from the cold and the armed men in front of him if the wide eyes was any indication.

“Tell them your name!” Thorne barked.

“S-Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill,” the boy said. He was probably the same age as Jon. “Well, I was of Horn Hill. I’ve come to take The Black.”

“Come to take the black pudding?” Rast said, letting out a deep laugh.

“Well, you can’t be worse than you look,” Thorne said. “Rast, see what he can do!”

Rast smirked at Samwell and swung his sword at him four times before he hit the mud, groaning in pain already.

“I yield! I yield!” Samwell screamed. “Please, no more!”

“On your feet!” Thorne yelled. “Hit him until he finds his feet,” he said, not missing a beat.

Samwell struggled to get up but before he could make any progress, Rast hit him again and again, laughing as Samwell cried in pain, begging for the attack to stop.

“It seems they’ve run short of poachers and thieves down south, now they are sending us bloody pigs!” Thorne said with a maniacal laugh.

Jon couldn’t bear to watch the poor boy be attacked for no reason. This was not training, this was torture. How was he supposed to learn anything at all if all the training he got was getting hit and kicked around? He took a step forward with the intention of stopping the abuse but Pyp held onto his sleeve. He didn’t say a word, but he knew why his friend was stopping him. Thorne had a thing for cruelty and he also had an incredible amount of hate against Jon.

Encouraged by Alliser Thorne, Rast kept swinging his sword at Samwell, no matter how much he was groaning and screaming in pain. Even though the training swords were blunt, they were also very heavy and were bound to cause a lot of damage. Samwell would be black and blue and green by the end of the day.

“Stop! Stop it!” Jon said and walked over to the man on the ground, extending his hand towards him. “He yielded!”

Rast tried to hit him as well, but Jon swung his sword at him once and kicked him in the chest, making him fall to the ground gasping for air.

“Aww, looks like the bastard’s in love!” Thorne said.

Jon grabbed the shaking man and shoved him in the general direction of Grenn and Pyp before turning around and standing between his friends and the others.

“Alright, since you want to protect your love, Lord Snow, let’s make it an exercise!” Thorne gave him a cruel smile. “You three,” he said, pointing to Rast Grenn and Pyp, “You can hit the piggy as much as you want, you just have to get past the bastard!”

Jon looked at Grenn and cocked his head in amusement. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” he said, before swinging his sword at him and getting struck hard by Jon’s blunt blade.

Grenn fell to the ground with a grunt.

Pyp tried next, doing even a worse job at handling his sword and trying to punch Jon instead.

Jon kicked his ankle and swung his sword around, hitting him in the back.

Rast didn’t waste a second, charging at him the moment Pyp was out. He was the more dangerous one out of the three, not because he was skilled, but because he used his anger in combat, often trying to use dirty tricks to get ahead. Rast tried to hit him, their swords clashing time and time again as Jon blocked his attacks.

Finally, Jon misstepped and slipped in the mud, giving Rast the fraction of a second he needed to get him. All wind was knocked out of Jon but he turned on the spot and struck him twice, finally knocking him to the floor.

Jon raised his eyebrows at Thorne, who was already red from the cold and the sheer anger he felt for him. “Go clean the armour! That’s all you’re good for.”

Jon huffed and strode to the armoury for his punishment. The sooner he started, the sooner it would be over.

---

Later that night, Jon stood atop The Wall for his shift, sticking as close to the fire as he could while trying not to set his clothes alight.

“Thank you,” a voice said behind him, startling him. It was Samwell.

Jon tried not to blame him for his lack of dexterity, but part of him did. Samwell was highborn, he must have been trained his entire life. “It won’t get easier, you know that, right?”

“I know, but I still wanted to say thank you,” he said, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself but not coming closer to the fire.

“You need to stay as close to the fire as possible or you’ll freeze.”

“I’m alright.”

“You are clearly not.”

Sam stepped closer and ventured a look down the side of The Wall before holding onto Jon. “I’m scared of heights and can’t see very well,” he admitted.

“How can you be scared of everything?”

“I am a coward, my father always said so.”

“Then why are you here? Can’t fight, can’t see, and you’re afraid. The Watch is no place for a coward!”

“On my eighteenth name day, my father called me and said I should renounce all rights to his land and properties and take The Black. He said that if I didn’t, he would take me hunting and I would fall from my horse and never return - or so he would tell my mother - and nothing would give him more joy.”

Jon’s eyes widened. He never knew there was a different way to be a bastard.

“Will I have to fight again tomorrow?” Sam asked.

“Yes, and you won’t get any better.”

“I know.”

“At least you can’t get any worse.”

Sam burst out laughing and Jon joined in, elbowing him. The boy stepped closer to the fire and breathed a little easier.

Jon walked into the Great Keep and signalled Grenn and Pyp to follow him to a different table than their usual arrangement; he didn’t want Rast interfering if possible. He grabbed a plate of hot soup and a piece of bread, dunked it and brought it to his lips, letting the warmth of the meal soothe his tight jaw muscles.

He cleared his throat and leaned closer to his friends. “We will not attack Sam no matter what. Not tomorrow, not ever again.”

The others raised his eyebrows at him.

“What will we do then?” Asked Grenn.

Rast stood from his seat. “You really are in love, Snow!” he laughed. “I will attack him. I will get a piece of meat from that piggy as soon as I can put my hands on him.”

The older crows laughed and cheered at Rast’s joke, but Jon did not. He threw a disgusted look Rast’s way and finished his supper. He’d need to talk to his friends in private.

Once the entire castle had fallen silent and most of the brothers were sleeping, Jon opened Ghost’s cage and slipped into the Barracks, where Grenn and Pyp were already waiting for them.

Rast woke to the pressure of Ghost’s full body weight on his chest as the wolf growled at him.

“Nobody touches Sam,” Jon said as he and the other boys loomed over Rast’s face.

The man nodded, keeping his eyes on Ghost’s mouth with a terrified expression.

“Alright ladies, let’s see what you can do,” Thorne sneered. “You first,” he said, pointing at Grenn.

Grenn approached Sam, sword in hand and stepped a bit too close and whispered. “Attack me.”

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Attack me!”

Sam poked him in the arm with his sword and Grenn fell to the ground whining. “I yield! I yield!”

“Oh, you idiot!” Thorne said, Grenn’s horrible act not fooling him for a second and turned onto Rast. “You show them how it’s done!”

Jon looked at him, a hand on the grip of his sword. He could see that Rast wanted to strike Sam, he wanted to see him hurt and suffering, but the memory of last night’s visit was still on his mind.

“Attack him!” Yelled Thorne.

Rast hesitated, taking a step forward, but he looked into Jon’s eyes and froze.

“These men will be with you when you go beyond The Wall! You protect him now, but when you go out for a real fight you will want a man guarding your back, not a snivelling boy!” Alliser Thorne spat on the ground as he walked past Sam and left.

At first, Jon thought they had rid themselves of Thorne for the rest of the day, hoping that he’d be so mad that he’d stay away from them, but he waited until they were alone to berate them further.

“Can you believe they make us take a chastity vow when I know for a fact that most crows go to the brothel in Mole’s town?” Sam asked as he brushed the tables of the Common Hall with a bit of sawdust.

Jon laughed. “Missing it already, are we?”

“No, I’ve never - I just think it’s unfair.”

“Why are you so upset about it?” Jon asked with an amused smile.

“Why not? Is it because I’m fat?” Sam whined. “I like girls just as much as you do, they may not like me as much. I know you must have had a hundred of them. I bet all the girls like you.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you.”

“Why? There must have been someone.”

“There was one time I came really close to it. I was in a room with a naked girl but I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t know where to put it then?” Sam teased.

“I did know where to put it,” Jon said, rolling his eyes.

“Was she old and ugly?”

“No. She was young and beautiful, with long red hair. A whore named Ros.”

“Why didn’t you make love to the beautiful Ros then?”

“I just couldn’t stop thinking ‘What if I get her pregnant?’ If she had a child, it would be another bastard named Snow. I never knew my mother, my father wouldn’t even tell me her name, or even if she was alive. That is no life for a child.” Jon grabbed his brush and turned away from Sam, lost in thought, working on his side of the table.

“So you didn’t know where to put it,” Sam whispered.

Jon laughed and threw his brush at him.

The door of the Common Hall opened and Thorne walked in, his face twisted in disgust at them.

“Well, how are you, boys?”

“It’s a bit nippy,” Sam replied.

“Nippy, yeah? By the fire, indoors still,” Ser Alliser said. “None of you boys even remember the last winter. How long has it been? Ten years?”

“I remember,” Jon said.

“Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell? Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, never mind how many fires your servants built?”

Jon shook his head. “I built my own fires.”

“That's admirable! I spent six months out there beyond The Wall during the last winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission; we heard a rumour Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch so we went out to look for some of his men, capture them, and gather some knowledge. The wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men, harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in, so they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass; we got caught in the open,” he said, his eyes far away as if he could see it all happening again. “The wind was so strong it yanked 100-foot trees straight from the ground roots, and all . If you took your gloves off to find your prick to have a piss you lost a finger to the frost and all in darkness. You don't know cold,” he said looking at Jon. “Neither of you do. The horses die first, there’s never enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy, but later, when we started to fall, that wasn't easy. We should have brought a couple of boys like you. Soft, fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones leftover for soup.”

Thorne shook his head and continued. “Soon we'll have new recruits and your lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment, they will call you men of the Night's Watch but you'd be fools to believe it. Come winter, you boys will die - like flies.”

DAENERYS

Vaes Dothrak, Essos.

With the scorching hot sun shining bright above their heads, the khalasar arrived at Vaes Dothrak, city of the horse lords. Viserys huffed, looking at the statue of two stallions standing on their hind legs that marked the entrance to the city.

“This is nothing but a pile of mud and shit and twigs! Where is my army? These savages better keep their end of the deal or I will have their heads.”

“This is the place of my people, you shouldn’t call them savages!” Danny said.

“These are my people. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army,” he said and rode ahead of them.

Daenerys looked at Jorah. “If my brother had an army of Dothraki, could he conquer the seven kingdoms?”

“The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea, they fear any water that their horses can’t drink.”

“But if he did?”

“King Robert is foolish enough to face them in battle, but the council advising him are not.”

“And you know these men?”

“I fought beside them once,” Jorah said. “Now Ned Stark wants my head; he drove me from my land.”

Daenerys looked at him curiously. “You sold slaves. Why?”

Jorah looked away into the distance. “I had no money and an expensive wife.”

She tried to make eye contact with him but he deflected. “That’s not a valid reason to take someone’s freedom.”

With a deep sigh, Jorah looked into her eyes and asked: “What would a valid reason be then, Khaleesi?”

“There is no valid reason, I suppose. You shouldn’t have done that.”

He nodded. “I know.”

In an attempt to breach the gap between Viserys and her that grew bigger and bigger by the day, Daenerys sent Doreah to invite him over for dinner. Danny was no fool, she knew Viserys had bought her Doreah not only as a servant and someone to help her settle into the Khalassar, but he made use of her in other ways too. Thankfully Doreah seemed pleased enough with his company, it was an unspoken agreement that served them all well.

Danny looked around and smiled; she had lit candles and sent for food now that they had access to crops and milk and Dothraki delicacies. She’d also asked Drogo for the best gold pieces he’d gotten in his conquests to give them to her brother - as a gift. Even if Viserys was a hateful man, he was still her brother, the last of her family.

She turned to the small fire she had burning, checking on the dragon eggs, but it seemed that there had been no changes yet.

Viserys pulled the tent open and threw Doreah to the floor in front of her, her face already bruising, her nose bleeding.

“I’m sorry Khaleesi! I was just doing what you asked!” Doreah cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Danny grabbed at one of her tops and kneeled in front of her friend, gently pressing the fabric to her nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Irri, Jhiqui, please take her and leave us.”

“Why did you do that?” Daenerys asked, trying to calm the anger already rising inside her.

“You dare order me around!” Viserys yelled.

“I asked you over for supper!” She said, pointing at the table full of foods and leathers and gold.

“What’s this?” He asked grabbing at the leather clothes with a disgusted expression.

“It’s a gift! I had it made for you!”

“Dothraki rags!” He yelled, throwing a big golden belt at her face. “You would turn me into one of them? Braid my hair?”

She could already feel the cut on her cheek bleeding. Disgusted by his behaviour, Danny finally musters the courage to stand up to him. “You have no right to a braid; you have won no battles!”

Viserys slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground. He wasted no time climbing on top of her, straddling her hips. “You have woken the Dragon!” He laughed hysterically as his hands closed around Daenerys’ throat.

For a moment she regretted what she’d said, putting her child at risk, but instead of letting him have his way, she reached for the golden belt and swung it at his face, giving him a deep cut on his cheek and lip.

Her brother fell back, frozen in shock.

“I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki, I am the wife of the great Khal Drogo and I carry his son inside me. The next time you raise a hand at me will be the last time you have hands!” She screamed, shaking with anger.

“You will regret this for the rest of your life!” he screamed back and ran from her tent.

Daenerys looked at her shaking hands and tried to take deep breaths, sitting on her bed as she waited for it to pass.

Irri ran into the tent and looked at her, checking her face. “Khaleesi, you are hurt.”

“I am alright, Irri. Thank you. Would you please ask Jorah Mormont to join me for supper?”

The girl nodded and left.

Closing her eyes, Daenerys kept taking deep breaths until her hands were steady once again. Her child moved inside her, making her smile. She couldn’t wait to meet her little one, to see Drogo’s face when he saw him.

Jorah walked in and gave her a wet rag to clean her wound. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I just - I can’t believe I hit him. I hit The Dragon.”

“Your brother Rhaegar was the last Dragon. Viserys is less than a shadow of a snake.”

“He’s still the True King.” She insisted. “Illyrio said that the common people in Westeros are sewing dragon banners and singing songs, praying for his return.”

“The people of Westeros pray for food and a short winter. They don’t pray for kings, especially kings they haven’t even met. Do you really want to see your brother sitting on the throne, being responsible for the seven kingdoms? I believe he would make your father seem like a peaceful ruler.”

Daenerys smiled in spite of the hard topic. “Yes, I suppose. What do you pray for, Jorah?”

“Home.” “He will never take us home, will he? He will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn’t lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He’s not a leader; he’s a child.”

#phanfiction #phanfic #ospbb 2022 #succubusphan fics #game of thrones #got fic

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goodluckfindingmyjournal · 2 years

Text

Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay

All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand. And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all.

But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I'll lie And look my fill into the sky. And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And—sure enough!—I see the top! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I 'most could touch it with my hand! And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity Came down and settled over me; Forced back my scream into my chest, Bent back my arm upon my breast, And, pressing of the Undefined The definition on my mind, Held up before my eyes a glass Through which my shrinking sight did pass Until it seemed I must behold Immensity made manifold; Whispered to me a word whose sound Deafened the air for worlds around, And brought unmuffled to my ears The gossiping of friendly spheres, The creaking of the tented sky, The ticking of Eternity.

I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, And present, and forevermore. The Universe, cleft to the core, Lay open to my probing sense That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence But could not,—nay! But needs must suck At the great wound, and could not pluck My lips away till I had drawn All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn! For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul.

All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust.

And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire,— Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each,—then mourned for all!

A man was starving in Capri; He moved his eyes and looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own. I saw at sea a great fog bank Between two ships that struck and sank; A thousand screams the heavens smote; And every scream tore through my throat.

No hurt I did not feel, no death That was not mine; mine each last breath That, crying, met an answering cry From the compassion that was I. All suffering mine, and mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity of God.

Ah, awful weight! Infinity Pressed down upon the finite Me! My anguished spirit, like a bird, Beating against my lips I heard; Yet lay the weight so close about There was no room for it without. And so beneath the weight lay I And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,—there is no weight Can follow here, however great. From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead. And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof Upon my lowly, thatched roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before. For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who's six feet underground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come And speak to me in my new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

How can I bear it; buried here, While overhead the sky grows clear And blue again after the storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never see Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more behold! Sleeping your myriad magics through, Close-sepulchred away from you! O God, I cried, give me new birth, And put me back upon the earth! Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd And let the heavy rain, down-poured In one big torrent, set me free, Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush That answered me, the far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant string Of my ascending prayer, and—crash! Before the wild wind's whistling lash The startled storm-clouds reared on high And plunged in terror down the sky, And the big rain in one black wave Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

I know not how such things can be; I only know there came to me A fragrance such as never clings To aught save happy living things; A sound as of some joyous elf Singing sweet songs to please himself, And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening. The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, Whispering to me I could hear; I felt the rain's cool finger-tips Brushed tenderly across my lips, Laid gently on my sealed sight, And all at once the heavy night Fell from my eyes and I could see,— A drenched and dripping apple-tree, A last long line of silver rain, A sky grown clear and blue again. And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,— I know not how such things can be!— I breathed my soul back into me.

Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again. About the trees my arms I wound;

Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling sob Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb Sent instant tears into my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark disguise Can e'er hereafter hide from me Thy radiant identity!

Thou canst not move across the grass But my quick eyes will see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will answer Thee. I know the path that tells Thy way Through the cool eve of every day; God, I can push the grass apart And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,— No higher than the soul is high. The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

#poetry #edna st. vincent millay #renascence #existential dread #death #life

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myysaints · 3 years

Text

fifth times the charm (g.w.)

george weasley x reader

summary: the five times you almost kissed george, and the one time you finally did

contains: fluff!!!, mentions of that pen in hbp, lots of pining

notes: this one’s a long one!!! not proofread much whoops. also im reentering my hp phase so maybeeeee more hp content coming 👀 would love to do a hp-related writing challenge for nov/dec!!!

The first time you almost kiss George Weasley, you’re admiring the scenery.

Because Christ, it’s beautiful.

It’s a strange thing to marvel over, you’re aware, but you can’t help it. With the way the sky is lit up with a thousand brilliant lights, the roaring enthusiasm pulsing through the crowd and through your own veins, the myriad of colours that dot the stadium - The 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final is utterly magical.

“Get the buggers!” George roars from beside you, practically leaping out of his seat as he wrings his hands. You chuckle quietly, watching his face contort into an expression of anguish as Bulgaria, to his immense dismay, scores another point.

Your soft sound of amusement does not go unnoticed, because despite the raucous noise all around you, the taller Weasley’s eyes flit over to yours, before a cheeky grin takes over his face. Without warning, he’s pulling you to your feet, eliciting a laugh of pleasant surprise from you.

“Enjoying the game, eh?” He yells, straining to be heard over the cacophony of noise. He grins, positively glowing under the floodlights that illuminate every inch of the large stadium.

You laugh, cupping your hands to shout back, “Moreso enjoying watching you! You’re a sight!”

The tone of your voice is joking, but as you say it, your heart beats a little quicker. Because you do mean it. You would never tell George, or anyone for that matter, but over the 4 years you’ve known the Weasleys, you’ve developed a sort of… little crush on a particular troublemaker. That being him. George Weasley.

So it’s to your surprise that your words have what looks like a soft blush settling on George’s cheeks. He coughs, abruptly turning away from you. He seems to hesitate for a moment, a look of uncertainty and perhaps even nervousness flickering across his face before he musters a brazen smirk, saying proudly, “I know I’m good looking, but really, the most exciting game of the century is happening right in front of you! And you’re staring at me!”

As you break out into laughter, George’s heart swells. The brilliant look of joy on your face is enough to have him smiling as well, unable to stop his heart rate from accelerating tenfold. As if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, you turn to look at him, a small smile on your lips.

His breath hitches, and against his own will, his eyes drop to your lips - And when he looks back up, you’re still smiling, eyes locked on his face, watching him. And it’s then that George notices how you’re close, ever so close, so close that he could almost lean over and just-

“BLOODY HELL!”

An arm jerks him away from you, and George stumbles, eyes wide as Fred shakes him firmly by the shoulders. The grin on his twin’s face is unmistakable, and he can hardly hear him over the explosion of noise from the crowd.

He casts a look to the scoreboard, staring numbly at the green confetti that rains down. The game is over.

Before he can move or even attempt to get back to you, he’s being pulled into an engulfing group hug with Harry, Fred and his father, the three of them jumping up and down, almost drunk on the high of Ireland’s win, while all George can think about is the soft smile on your lips.

He casts a desperate glance over his shoulder, eyes searching the crowd for you, but when you meet his gaze, you duck away.

His heart sinks.

ii.

The second time you almost kiss George Weasley is… tense, to say the least.

George Weasley has never been one to fawn over someone. He’s always hidden his feelings behind joking and teasing, choosing to show his affection through harmless pranks rather than passionate gestures.

But you. You make it so difficult for him not to burst out into song and dance like in one of those cheesy Muggle romantic comedies.

“Never reckoned you much for a history person.”

The sudden voice has you jumping, your History of Magic textbook slipping from your hand as you try to catch your breath, glaring at the tall redhead that you somehow hadn’t noticed. He merely sends you a dopey grin, reaching down and handing you your book, bowing as if he had just done you a great service.

“You’d be surprised at how much you don’t know about me, Weasley,” you tease, walking away from him. His footsteps echo through the empty corridors as he rushes to catch up with you (“Rush” being a bit of a stretch - It merely takes him three long strides to reach you).

Deftly placing himself in your path, you sigh in mock exasperation as he takes the books from your arms and sets them aside. With a charming smile on his face, one you cannot help but mirror, George takes your arm and bows, again.

“Well, would you perhaps afford me the great opportunity to learn more? About you?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he almost appeared nervous. But you do know George Weasley, and you know him well enough that the only people he gets even a semblance of anxious around are his mother and Katie Bell, whom you know for a fact that George has a thing for.

Which is why you’d brushed off that little… incident at the World Cup as nothing more than a blip. A one-time moment that meant nothing. At least, to him, no doubt. To you, that moment where your eyes met his and he leant in is one you’ll never forget. The nights you’ve spent imagining what could have happened had the game interrupted are proof of that.

“What do you say?” George grins, stretching out his hand. “Will you allow me a chance to get to know you better?”

You open your mouth to answer, a smile beginning to form on your lips, but before you can even get a word out, a shout of your name cuts through the silence.

Surprised, you turn, only to find yourself face to face with an unknown student from Durmstrang, who has in his hands a box of chocolates and a small bouquet of flowers.

You cast a wild look of askance to George, thinking, that this is just another one of the Weasley’s absurd little pranks. But to your immense surprise, and secret glee, he merely shakes his head, a sour look of what you might indulge in imagining is jealousy passing across his face.

The Durmstrang boy smiles, a large boyish grin as he kneels and offers you the bouquet and chocolates, asking in a thick accent for your company to the Yule Ball.

The show of brazen pursuing has you sending a shocked look of excitement to George, who merely gives you a thin-lipped smile. Mind still reeling, you choose to ignore the burning gaze of the Weasley standing beside you, and graciously accept the Durmstrang boy’s proposal.

His name is Nikola, he tells you, a pleased smile and a soft blush crossing his face as you repeat it slowly back to him. He bids you goodbye with a gentlemanly bow, one much deeper and much more sincere than the mocking one George had given you just moments earlier. You watch him retreat, giggling softly as you watch him silently pump a fist in the air.

“Quite the catch, aren’t you?”

You can’t muster the strength to jab back at him, only able to mutter a quick goodbye as you scamper off to tell Hermione of the news, unaware of George’s wistful gaze on you.

---

Godric, you look stunning.

As if his feet have a mind of his own, George is moving towards you, noting how you’re quietly watching the couples whirl about on the dancefloor, your own date gone from your side. He’s grateful for that, really, he is - Otherwise he wouldn’t have the courage to face you. Not when you look so beautiful tonight.

“Having fun?”

Recognising the voice in an instant, you don’t move to look at him, merely nodding and humming in confirmation.

Frankly, you don’t know what you’ll do if you meet his eyes. You can only hope that he hasn’t noticed how your eyes have been searching for him the whole night, regardless of your constant efforts to recentre your attention to your extremely charming date. Thankfully, he’s off getting more punch.

“Where’s your little Durmstrang friend?” George asks, fiddling with the lapel on his coat, trying to get his corsage back in place.

You click your tongue, frustrated by his fidgeting. “He’s at the drink table. Getting more punch,” you mutter, brow furrowed in concentration as you fix his misplaced corsage, then reaching up to straighten his collar. “Merlin, who helped you with your robes? It’s all skewed to one side.”

Satisfied, you proclaim proudly, “All done!” only to have the words die in your throat as you tilt your head up.

Close. Again.

The few centimetres between you have you suddenly feeling dizzy, becoming increasingly aware of the compromising position you’ve found yourself in - You, practically pressed up against his chest as his hand brushes against your hip. The scent of his cologne is overpowering, and you feel your heart flutter desperately.

“Are you… Are we…” you trail off, looking up uncertainly at him.

His expression is unreadable as he replies, sounding equally conflicted. “I don’t know. Are we…?”

“Ahem.”

You jerk back and away from George, reeling back so fast that your back nearly slams into Nikola in the process. He places a steady hand on the small of your back, handing you your cup of punch as you murmur quiet thanks, hurriedly downing the drink to conceal the warmth blooming on your face.

George stands there, his arms now hanging limply at his side. He sends you a tentative smile, nodding to Nikola is polite acknowledgement. “I’ll be going now, then,” he says plainly, his face contorting into a grimaced smile. “I’ll see you around.”

You wave goodbye, as does Nikola, who, upon George’s departure, raises an eyebrow with a sly smile.

“Oh, don’t tease,” you groan, as he laughs.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he responds, “I know you like him. And I am sorry for interrupting.”

Bemused, you shake your head in laughter. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, I don’t… like him. Besides, he… He fancies someone else.” At that, you nod towards Katie Bell, who has her arm interlinked with George, laughing happily away. Your heart aches at the sight.

Nikola only snorts. “Please. The way you two look at each other… I assure you, the one he loves is not her.”

It’s shameful, really, how your heart stutters at the word “love”.

iii.

The third time you almost kiss George Weasley is perhaps one of the most exhilarating “almost”s in your life.

“Nice one, George, real gentlemanly of you!”

The lake rocks with the force of George’s cannonball, and you shriek as he begins to swim towards you, like a hungry shark on the hunt for his prey.

It’s the summer break, and you’ve managed to find escape from the panic-stricken world outside in these moments at the Burrow with the Weasleys. The lake that sits a mere five-minute walk away from the Burrow proved especially useful on a sweltering day - And so the Weasley’s - Fred, George, Ron, Ginny - and you made the quick trip down for a swim.

“George, George, don’t you dare…!”

A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up a fraction above the water’s surface before letting you slip underwater again. You sputter as you resurface, nevertheless laughing as you chase him around the lake.

“Oi! You two lovebirds! Keep it down, some of us are working on some excellent craftsmanship here!” Fred yells from the shore, currently in the process of building an unnecessarily complicated sandcastle.

George only snorts derisively, shouting back, “Excellent craftsmanship my arse! That looks like shit!”

At that, Fred leaps up, causing you and George to both yelp in laughter, creating a ruckus in the water as you attempt to splash away from the approaching redhead.

As you attempt to run away, giddy with laughter, George wraps his wrist around yours, tugging you forward by the arm. Your breath hitches, and for a split second, you freeze, causing you to slip underwater with a surprised shriek of laughter, pulling George down with you.

There are bubbles all around you, and in the frenzy of moving water, you feel a hand slip around your waist, pulling you towards the boy in front of you. Even in the water, he’s a sight - You can’t help but admire the way his orange locks dance in the water. The way his eyes blink rapidly, squinting to focus on you.

Then he’s moving towards you, and you are him, and it all feels so right, and your foreheads meet, and you move to just kiss him for Christ’s sake-!

All of a sudden your world is spinning, and you’re being forcefully yanked upwards from the water. You sputter, your head pounding as Fred hunches over you, worriedly asking you question after question. You only catch bits of it - something about accidentally kicking you in the head?

You aren’t sure, too focused on George leaping out of the water and rushing over to you - like your own knight in shining armour.

iv.

The fourth time you almost kiss George Weasley, you do so in earnest impulse.

You’ve been trying, desperately, to produce your Patronus for the past ten minutes. Nearly everyone else has done it, and despite Hermione’s attempts to comfort you at your struggle, you’re getting increasingly frustrated with yourself.

Which is why when George sidles up to you, eyebrow raised and mouth poised open to no doubt tease you, you merely hold up a hand, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Don’t start, Weasley,” you warn, recentring your attention to the task at hand. “I have to get it right. I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything, okay?” He tilts your head up, and you can’t fight the smile that slips onto your face. “Just... C’mon, I’ll help you.”

He places his hands on your hips, guiding you into a firm stance as you raise your wand. His breath, warm and so close a shiver runs up your spine, fans against your neck as you close your eyes.

“Okay, think of your happiest memory.”

“I did,” you groan, “That time at the lake.”

From behind you, he snorts. “That’s your favouirte memory?”

“I don’t know, I just…” you open your eyes, turning to him with a look of exasperation on your face. “I don’t have one specific memory… It’s more of… a collection of them, I suppose.”

He raises an eyebrow, nodding understandingly, suddenly serious. “Okay. Why don’t you focus on that feeling, alright? Think about what makes that collection of memories so treasured, alright? Now, go on. I believe in you.”

The praise has your heart swelling, and you squeeze your eyes shut once more. Slowly, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist still there and firm, you inhale and imagine all the times you spent laughing with him. The euphoria that floods your system each time he cracks up at your jokes, each time you are the cause for his happiness.

And you whisper those two words, and open your eyes.

“Merlin’s beard, you did it!” George exclaims.

And you did.

A stunningly majestic eagle soars through the room, swooping and doing tricks as people laugh and watch. All the while, you’re distracted, being twirled around in George’s arms as he lauds you in praises and gushes of admiration.

“Knew you could do it, I knew you could!” He says with a dazzling grin, placing you down as you laugh, giddy with excitement and pure glee.

Tentatively, almost hesitantly, he reaches an arm up and brushes your cheek gingerly with his thumb. You force back a shudder, instead looking up into his eyes, a familiar feeling of deja vu rushing back to you.

A smile tugs at his lips, and you swear to yourself that this is the one, this is the moment where you kiss George Weasley, but just as your lips are about to meet, a body collides with yours, sending you tumbling to the ground.

“Blimey, Neville!” George practically groans in frustration, helping you to your feet. Your face burns in humiliation, and you quickly murmur a quiet apology to Neville, who is apologising profusely to both you and George, before slipping quietly and hastily out of the room.

Leaving George, once again.

You haven’t spoken a word to George since then.

After that… incident, you did your best to avoid him - Which should have proved to be considerably difficult given that you share a House and a bloody common room with him. And that you’re best friends with his brother.

But strangely enough, you’ve hardly caught sight of the lanky Weasley this past week. Though, you have been busy. The arrival of Umbridge, that cursed pink nightmare, has brought with it seemingly twice the amount of workloads per class and almost triple the amount of stress.

Evidently, this new shift in school atmosphere has affected the twins as well - the number and frequency of their “attacks” around the school have only increased since Umbridge’s crackdown on the place. Each time she introduces yet another variably unreasonable “rule” of hers, a prank of heightened explosivity erupts and shakes the school.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the look of horror on Umbridge’s face each time she discovers yet another one of their mischievous acts of rebellion.

“C’mon, just talk to him, will you?” Ron complains. “He’s been talking my ear off about how much he misses you and whatnot, and I can’t stand another minute of it!”

To your surprise, Hermione turns to you, a knowing glint in her eye. “You know, and I hate to say this, but I agree with Ron.”

You balk, mouth ajar. “Hermione! I thought you were on my side!”

“I don’t take sides, you know that,” she says, nudging you with a growing smile on her face as she sings teasingly, “Besides, I think someone’s watching you!”

You whip around, following her gaze to none other than George Weasley.

As your eyes meet his, he straightens up almost immediately. You quirk an eyebrow as he fumbles to place his cutlery down, before sending you a beaming smile and an eager wave. The clumsiness has you foolishly giggling, despite yourself. That only serves to make the grin on his face wider.

And so, for the first time in months, you smile back at him.

The look of surprise and glee on his face is priceless.

When you turn back to your friends, they’re all staring at you expectantly, causing you to gasp in mock affrontment. “Alright, now all three of you are ganging up against me! I have done nothing wrong!”

“Sure, but it is driving all of us crazy,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow. “You have no idea how long George can go on and on about you. He’s mad for you!”

“Alright, well, what do you expect me to do about it?” You splutter. While you try not to show it, the knowledge that George talks about you, and does so incessantly at that, makes your heart race to no end.

Ron looks up, waving his fork about. “For one, you could talk to him.”

“Goodness, Ron, please do not ever speak whilst chewing again,” Hermione makes a face, reaching up to dab at his face with a napkin, fussing over him. You send a look to Harry, who merely chuckles into his pumpkin juice.

“You should talk to him, you know,” Hermione says, pulling away from Ron, who stares after her in askance. “Goodness knows it’d help clear all that tension between you two.”

You cross your arms, frowning. “There isn’t any tension. And you know what? I will. I will talk to him.”

“Thank Godric for that,” Ron mumbles, already continuing to shovel food into his mouth, much to Hermione’s exasperation.

You slyly cast a look at the redhead in question, watching with your heart in your throat as he throws his head back and roars with laughter.

---

When you said you’d talk to George, this was not at all what you’d meant.

Hunched over and sobbing quietly into his shoulder as he cradles your arm, silently patching your freshly-carved wound up, is not what you intended to happen.

You were on your way back from a DADA meeting, having felt rather ill suddenly. Admittedly, it was foolish of you to be wandering around the castle, alone, when Umbridge was practically hunting down DADA members. But that had totally slipped your mind, consumed by the rising wave of nausea that had overcome you.

So when none other than Pansy Parkinson found you roaming the corridors, almost keening in pain, Umbridge had no problem pinning you as a DADA member. She was right, of course, but you weren’t about to let her have the satisfaction.

Ultimately, she had no real proof that you were apart of the Association, so she had no choice but to let you go - though not unharmed.

The horrible raw inking on your right arm, spelling out in your jagged, hesitant scrawl the words “I will behave”, still burns, an hour later.

Thankfully, George had caught you as you were stumbling, vision blurred with tears and arm rendered practically useless thanks to the pain, through the corridors. And he had done his best - he was doing his best - to heal the wound with magic, but either the damage was too extensive or that blasted Umbridge had placed some sort of magic-resistant charm on it.

Either way, you refused to visit Madam Pomfrey, so George resorted to his limited but sufficient knowledge of non-magical first aid skills to help.

“I’d kill her if I could” he growls, moving to kneel before you. His is voice low and gruff as he angrily rips off a strip of fabric from his shirt, much to your protest. “Don’t worry about my shirt, just worry about yourself and what I’m going to do to that detestable pink monstrosity.”

Unable to do anything but sit there, your eyes roam the expanse of George’s face with a soft smile. At your silence, his gaze returns to you, and his lips quirk up, a soft pink hue dusting across his cheeks once he finds that you’ve been staring.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Just admiring, that’s all,” you murmur back.

An equally tender look slips over his face, and his calloused palm, worn from years of Quidditch and endless scraps with his brother, cups your cheek. Your face heats up as his thumb brushes away stray tears forming, and you laugh breathlessly.

He tilts his head, a curious smile on his face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just… this happens to us a lot, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” he chuckles, “Maybe this’ll be it, hmm?”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “Maybe.”

But alas, fate has other plans.

A distant meow has George leaping up and away, hurriedly helping you to your feet. “C’mon, it’s Filch. We gotta get out of here,” he curses, wrapping an arm around you protectively as the two of you run down the corridor back to the Gryffindor common room, both your hearts beating a thrilling rhythm.

And so the fifth time you almost kiss George Weasley comes and goes.

vi.

The castle is exploding.

No, really, it is. Inside the classrooms, within its century-old walls, fireworks are going off in a dazzling display of colours. Students and teachers alike are streaming out of their classes and into the halls, flooding the courtyard as above you, Fred and George Weasley soar.

They’ve done it. The grinning bastards, they’ve done it.

In perhaps the greatest feat they’ve ever managed in the course of their time at Hogwarts, they’ve managed to not only put on the most amazing and breathtaking prank of all time, really, but they’ve also sparked a certain emotion that has been quelled at Hogwarts for so long - Excitement.

You laugh in pure, unbridled delight at the dumbfounded look on Umbridge’s face, heart tugging at the radiant grin on George’s face. From beside you, Ron whoops, pumping his fist in the air.

That gets George’s attention.

In an instant, the crowd is parting and he’s swooping down on his broomstick, stopping right in front of you. The beaming grin on his face is a sight to behold, and he takes your hand in his.

“Here we are again,” he says softly, a faint smile on his face. “Not going to run away from me now, are you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Faintly from behind you, you can hear Umbridge shrilly screaming something along the lines of, “Come back here!”

But who cares. You’re a girl in love with a boy. And it’s the best thing that could ever happen to you.

“Shall we?” He asks, a gallant grin on his face.

You take his hand, and he helps you onto the broom, just as Umbridge catches up to you. She shrieks in frustration, but you’re long gone, the explosion of colour behind you painting the sky and George in a breathtaking myriad of colours.

“George,” you whisper, and he turns, looking at you with so much love and admiration in his eyes that you can’t help but tear up.

And you don’t even have to say anything for his lips to be on yours.

And that is how you finally kissed George Weasley.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #tom riddle #˖⁺‧₊˚ 📂 ── my writing #꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🧳] harry potter

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