#also he keeps his hand up like he's swearing an oath. that is intentional.

[wisteriasymphony]

I Can't Be Your Boyfriend And Your Therapist.. But I'm Sure as Hell Going to Try!

(The Adrinette Yes/No Hands Thing but with Claudrien and I make it better and perhaps even cute)

Adrien tugged on the collar of his sage green sweater-vest as he mulled over how to properly introduce the exercise. His girlfriend, in all fairness, had commented once before on how his usual sense of style made him look like a psychologist, and whether she knew it or not he was probably going to live up to that notion quite soon.

"So, I know we had a fight very recently," is how he started it off. Probably not a particularly brilliant choice, but it set the foundation as he needed it to.

"Yes." Claudia knit her eyebrows together as if she was wondering just how stupid Adrien was. "We did."

"And-! Because that fight was, erm..." He gestured with his hands for a moment as if trying to pull in the latter half of his sentence with a length of twine. "...Borne of- er, brought about- by a miscommunication in our respective wants, I thought we should find a way to alternatively communicate that bypasses your usual hangups of not wanting to tell me things!"

As always, as Adrien got more anxious, the more he peppered in hyper-specific and fancy words into his speech. It clearly didn't help his case for clear communication much, now did it? Claudia had to take a moment to parse what he meant, but she was usually better at the 'listening' shtick than she was at the 'speaking'. That was in part what brought them together so quickly, he supposed. His desire to be heard and her tendency to listen.

"Okay," she finally agreed, a touch of reluctance in her voice. "And what is this 'alternative communication'?"

"Well," he said, chewing on his lip, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to raise your left hand if your answer is 'yes' and your right hand if your answer is 'no'. Like this." And Adrien raised his left and his right hands one after the other.

Claudia, sitting directly in front of him, mirrored his movements exactly.

"Uhm-- Your left hand."

She raised her right. "I mean, from your perspective, this is my left, so I was going off that," she said. "This is left to you, right?"

"Right— Er, wrong- I mean—" Adrien paused for a moment just to tussle with his own perception of which hand was which, making an "L" with his left hand for good measure to confirm it was what it said it was. "My left and right doesn't matter, it's yours that does."

"But then you might think I'm saying the opposite of what I am if you mix them up."

"I'm not going to do that!"

"Adrien, I fucking saw you mix them up a few seconds ago," Claudia sighed. "Let's just go with your left and right, and I'll do the math in my head to reverse it."

Adrien felt it necessary to capitulate—Jung, Maslow or Spielrein he clearly was not. Not just because those were all psychologists and what he was doing here was closer to leading his girlfriend through a therapy session (...Better than leading a patient into his bed, he supposed).

"Alright." Adrien took a deep breath, before taking out a piece of paper with all of his questions for her written on it. "Question One: Do you feel trapped in this relationship?"

Claudia paused. Raised one hand halfway, then raised the other. Then both were raised at about shoulder height, and then she dropped them both entirely.

"See? This is another issue with this whole yes-no thing. It's more than that."

"Well then tell me. Why is it 'more than that'?"

Claudia seemed to hold her breath, letting her words dissolve in her mouth like a bitter pill rather than saying them out loud.

"No, I'll play your little game," she muttered, raising both hands and averting her eyes from his. "Ask me if I feel like you are trapping me in this relationship."

He didn't have that as a question, actually. He thought that was what 'Question One' meant.

"Okay.. Do you feel like I'm trapping you in this relationship?"

Again, both hands were raised, but it was at a skew: If the height was a factor, it seemed like her answer was 75% "No" and 25% "Yes". Still, her eyes were turned away.

"Do you feel like I'm intentionally trapping you?"

100% "No". Adrien thought about it for a moment, and what he got was probably a clearer picture than if he'd just stuck to the original first question outright. She did feel trapped or obligated in some way, but it was slight and she didn't think he was doing it on purpose. She probably didn't even see his proposal as anything malicious moreso than as something impulsive. Claudia probably understood—and he did too, to be fair—that when he had proposed to her, Adrien had been blinded by his own hopes for the future that he sort of disregarded what would have to happen to get there. What Claudia would have to potentially change about herself to make that work.

"Do you feel like you're trapping yourself in this relationship?"

100% "Yes". ...That was interesting.

"How?" Adrien set the paper down on the floor entirely. "Is there something else to it, or—"

Claudia had closed her eyes entirely. "That's not a 'yes' or 'no' question," was all she said.

"...Do you think you're trapping me?"

200% "Yes". She even used her other arm to support it, stretch it up further. Adrien just nodded, and continued to think of similar sentiments or questions to try and get to the bottom of it that way.

"You think you're trapping both of us in this."

Still a "Yes".

"...And you think you're doing it.. more intentionally than I am?"

Even more of a "Yes".

"Are you worried that I'm unhappy in this and I don't know it?"

"I can't raise my hand any higher than this," she joked. "Hell, Do you want me to stand up? Jump?"

"No, we can stay seated," he said. "...Here, my turn. Ask me if I'm worried that I'm unhappy in this."

Claudia finally opened her eyes, and Adrien noticed they were initially shut to hide how watery they were. She looked to his crossed legs, then to his shoulders, and then right as the top of his head—the closest she could probably manage to eye contact at that point.

"Are you?"

He raised his left—her right.

"No," he said, keeping his hand raised. "Not at all. I feel like if I was unhappy and didn't know it, it would at least be something eating away at me or whispering in the back of my mind, but it's not. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Claudia nodded.

"And- If we really need to look at it in this way— I enjoy myself more when I'm with you. Quite literally—I think I'm a better person because of you. It's been really nice to have someone to open up to like this," he confessed. "—And I know I'm hiding things, just like you are, but I hope we can work through that together. I really do have just as many issues as you do, Claudia. You're not any more of a burden to me than I am to you."

"It's not really a 'burden'," Claudia sighed. "I feel like I'm trapping myself in this because I want to take care of you so badly. It's kind of ruining my life, and it'd be better to let it go... but I still want to because I love you."

"Exactly," Adrien said. "So why can't the same be true for me?"

#claudrien nation have fun fucking crying #also if I continue this they would take turns therapizing each other. toxic? YES. but it's mutual and THATS THE DIFFERENCE #ml writing salt #FIXED! ml writing salt #also he keeps his hand up like he's swearing an oath. that is intentional. #claudrien #shitsquare

[damn-stark]

Chapter 6 The white wolf & The white dragon

Chapter 6 of Sandstorm

A/N- since it’s my birthday I released it earlier. Also I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER, some things are gonna change from what’s on the show, be ready!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, fluff, incest, ANGST, slowburn, talks of pregnancy and abortian.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 8x02 & only small part of 8x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

What is a lion without its pride?

Nothing but a lonely wanderer vulnerable to other lurking predators.

That’s what Jaime is now, nothing without his sister or father to keep him from death.

“When I was child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,” Daenerys interjects in such a venomous tone that frightens you for obvious reasons. “About the man who murdered our father.”

Yeah because he was such a great guy. Please.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor,” she continues. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp. Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jaime nods, “she did.”

Daenerys scoffs. “I don’t see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to us.”

Yeah well is anyone really surprised? You definitely aren't.

“She lied to me as well,” Jaime interjects. “She had no intention of sending her army North. She has Euron Greyjoy’s fleet and 20,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for…”

You scoff at the sound of his words that only proved your concern right about not trusting her.

You look over at Jon to share your proud look after being right, but just as he feels your gaze and looks, he quickly averts his gaze and stiffens.

Did something happen between last night and this morning? He never came to your chambers at night like he said he would, he didn’t attempt to talk to you earlier either, he’s been…cold, distant.

Maybe the news of the baby did actually upset him now that he’s had time to really think about it.

And if he is, he only needs to say the word…

“We?” You catch Daenerys snap back to something Jaime had said.

“I promised to fight for the living,” Jaime explains to her, “I intend to keep that promise.”

Daenerys looks over at you, and you slowly look over at her to share the same angered look.

“Your Grace, I know my brother,” Tyrion cuts in, causing you to snap your gaze over to him and snap back.

“Like you knew your sister? You don’t get to speak on this matter. He is your brother.”

Tyrion lowers his gaze and sighs deeply before continues regardless. “He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?”

“Perhaps, he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat, or stabs my family through the back.” Daenerys counters spitefully.

“You’re right,” Sansa pitches in. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Don’t you want me to apologize?” Jaime interrupts, making you furrow your eyebrows and narrow your gaze deeper. “I won’t,” he continues. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I’d do it all again.”

You scoff before you lean forward on your chair and clasps your hands on the table to then interject. “So you’re saying you’d break your promises, sacred oaths? You would let my family get killed all over again? All for what?” You spat. “Three seconds of glory?”

“The King was mad, he would have—”

“I don’t give a shit about King Aerys,” you cut Jaime off, and earn a side glare from Daenerys. “He was a cruel man. Mean to his own kin. It’s said my own father planned to overthrow him. So I don’t care about that old fucking King, I am talking about my family, my mother, my five year old sister and baby brother, Ser Jaime.” You slowly stand up as you begin to scowl. “The ones you promised to protect,” you continue to spat, causing Jaime to blink rapidly and go rigid as you catch him off guard with your comment.

“Tell me,” you say and lift your chin to look down at him. “Tyrion Lannister, what is it that happened to my family? What is it that your father order happen? What is it that Ser Jaime Lannister let happen?”

Tyrion clears his throat, “I wasn’t there, Princess.”

“Say it,” Daenerys commands him.

Tyrion let’s out a deep sigh and parts his lips to speak, “it’s said that…the Mountain smashed prince Aegon's skull in the wall in front of his mother. That Princess Rhaenys was dragged from under her fathers bed and stabbed fifty times…and that Princess Elia was…raped and murdered.”

You hum and tilt your head as you keep holding Jaime’s stare. “Yes,” you mutter. “So Ser Jaime, would you let that happen again? Would you break that promise?”

Jaime’s gaze falls, and now he has nothing to say back in his own defense. It makes you proud that you can cause such an effect on such a proud man, that you can leave him speechless.

“The things we do for love,” Bran suddenly interjects, making everyone around the table including you to look at him.

And he doesn’t add anything else to his comment, he just awkwardly leaves it at that; Jaime doesn’t say anything either, so you just take a seat and let out a small sigh to try and keep the bad memories away.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys asks.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty,” Jaime responds and glances at his side. When you follow his line of gaze you see him looking at Lady Brienne—“this is about survival.”

You hum at his comment and sit back in your chair, catching in that moment Lady Brienne stands up.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace, Princess,” Lady Brienne adds and walks to the center. “But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it. Without him, my Lady, you would not be alive,” she says and glances over at Sansa. “He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he swore an oath to your mother.”

You break your gaze away from Lady Brienne to drift your gaze to Sansa, seeing her gaze drop and her face express distraught.

“You vouch for him?” Sansa queries and blinks to look at Lady Brienne.

“I do,” she says.

“You would fight beside him?”

“I would,” Lady Brienne says with confidence, making you feel…indifferent about her. Not in a bad way, just different. Maybe more respect for her.

“I trust you with my life,” Sansa continues. “If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys snaps her head in Sansa’s direction with disbelief, wanting blood as revenge and not pardon.

“What do you say about this Princess?” Daenerys asks you as she looks ahead at the man in trial.

You blink and look at Jaime too, you play Lady Brienne’s words in your mind, as well as Sansa’s. Even if anger wants to get the best of you, even if you crave to also burn him alive, you step back and don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. You couldn’t.

“If Lady Sansa vouches for Lady Brienne,” you interject with a sigh. “Then…I second it. He can stay. Besides, we will need men for the battle to come. I do hope you keep your promise now, Ser Jaime.”

Daenerys shoots you another side glare before she hesitates for a moment, and then finally adds her last word. “Very well.” She then looks over at Greyworm standing at the other end of the table, and with her look alone, he grabs Jaime’s sword to hand it back to him.

The meeting is disbanded after that, Jaime bows and gives his thanks to the Queen, and Sansa leaves the hall first. Daenerys turns to look at you, but you quickly avert her gaze and look at Jon. Yet he hardly meets your gaze before he walks past you without a single word. He just leaves. Daenerys leaves after that, leaving you to stand alone at table with two options, walk after her and argue about this affair, or go after Jon and interrogate his weird behavior.

Yet as much…as you care for Daenerys, he means more to you. So you go after him.

Thankfully he doesn’t make it far, but when you see him down the hall you do see him talking to Sansa.

“Princess,” she greets and ends whatever it is she was talking about with Jon when she spots you approaching. “Or should I call you sis—” she cuts herself off as she catches Jon’s pointed glare due to her lack of discretion. “Princess,” she corrects herself with a teasing smirk.

You stop just beside them and glance at Jon one more time before you meet his sister's gaze and greet her back.

“Lady Stark.”

“I admire your choice,” Sansa says. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. And for that I’m sorry.”

You clasp your hands together and offer her a gentle smile. “Thank you, and it wasn’t easy. But my uncle Doran, would say not to let my vengeance cloud my judgment. No matter how much I wanted Ser Jaime to burn alive.” You scoff. “Besides I also like to think about Rhaenar, what my actions teach him.”

Sansa hums and offers you a kind smile. “I like that.”

You shoot her a smile. “Thank you,” you mutter.

“Hm…” she trails off and looks between her brother and you before she continues. “Well, I will leave you two be.” She begins to smirk and steps back. “I hope we can talk later, Y/N, so you can show me your dress.”

You smile wider and nod eagerly. “Of course, I would love that.”

Sansa smiles softly one more time before she turns and walks away. Once you can no longer see her anymore you look to your betrothed and add a comment hoping that can break this weird tension. “She seems excited.”

Jon hums and slowly meets your gaze with a very strained smile. “I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time, so maybe I should thank you.”

You scoff and shake your head as you feel flustered by his comment. “I try my best,” you tease him, and earn a more genuine smile. But even then he can barely hold your gaze, so you immediately probe and don’t hold back anymore.

“What's wrong? You’ve been distant, kind of cold, did something happen?” You want to ask about the baby, but it’s dangerous to ask in such a public hall.

Jon knows that and grabs your hand to walk you down more stone halls, past doors, down steps, until finally he reaches his chambers and walks you in there. When he closes the door though he remains quiet, distant still.

“Jon,” you whisper and keep your distance. “What’s wrong? If this is about the ceremony we can have it some other day…” you blink and sigh. “And if it’s about the baby then…the maester said I should talk to him soon if I change my mind.” You flicker your eyes up and see him averting his gaze.

“Jon,” you whisper and finally approach him. “Please talk to me.” You grab his hands and he finally blinks and meets your gaze with a deep frown and a melancholy look that makes you catch your breath.

“It’s not about the baby…” he says. “It’s about me….Sam told me about my true parentage last night.”

Has he been brooding about that? Is that why he never went to your room?

“Really?” You sigh with relief. “That’s good. I mean…right?”

Jon swallows thickly and continues without expressing any sort of happiness. “My mother,” he says. “My mother is Lyanna Stark….”

Your own relief begins to dwindle and your heart strings begin to twist as you wait for the next part, the part of the father…because there’s so many answers that can be said.

“And my father. My true father is…Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You blink in disbelief and pull your hands away from Jon’s as you feel your heart sink to your stomach at the sound of his revelation, at the meaning behind it.

Rhaegal…that explains that.

And your father…he…While you and your family were trapped in the Red Keep belittled by the man he called father, he was out having a child with her….he was…what? Enjoying his life? Breaking his vows to your mother?

“I know—”

“What?” You cut him off sharply with tears stinging your eyes as you held them back. “Did they marry, or did he take advantage of her? Can Sam tell you that?”

Jon sighs and averts his gaze. “They married,” he whispers.

Stupid fucking bastard.

Your mother, Aegon, Rhaenys, they died, you almost died because he was chasing after some younger woman. Because he preferred her.

“I’m sorry,” he says as if he’s the one to blame for the discretions of his father and mother.

And maybe you should blame him too, hate him because he was born out of that love they kept a secret. But in all honesty…maybe you’re a fool because you can’t…you can’t bring yourself to hate him, only them.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him quickly and meet his gaze without tears brimming your eyes. You just can’t cry or get angry about this subject in front of him.

Also there’s matters to consider now, like how Jon is your half sibling….

Not like it bothers you whatsoever though. By law he is still a bastard, marriage or not his mothers marriage to Rhaegar doesn’t count. The people are probably willing to turn the blind eye just to have him be King, but if they follow the law then the marriage doesn’t matter. Plus, he wasn’t raised by Rhaegar, he only knew of his true father until last night, so it shouldn’t bother him—then again people from the North are different, they don’t share the same…morals you do as a Valyrian.

“So…then does it bother you?” You ask and go serious. “That we share the same father?”

Jon lets out a deep sigh and walks past you to watch the flames dance in the fireplace. You turn and watch him brood for a second before you walk after him, but keep your distance for his own sake.

“He never raised me, I never even met him,” Jon argues. “Ned Stark raised me, he is my father, but…”

He’s going to say he can’t isn’t he?

“…doesn't it bother you?” He suddenly asks and turns around to face you with his face contorted in that same sad look he always seems to carry.

You blink and look at the floor as you clasps your hands together. “Rhaegar may be blood of my blood, we may share the same name, he may be the reason why I am here, but I don’t respect him.” You look at Jon and face him with tears in your eyes now.

You just can’t hold them back.

“He’s the reason I don't have my mom, my sister, my brother, he’s the reason I had to escape home,” you continue. “He destroyed my life…he will never have my respect. My uncles are the father he never could be. So no, it doesn’t bother me…but you,” you utter unsurely. “You can’t just stay with me because of the baby, I can’t make you do that, so tell me the truth, be honest, does it bother you?” You ask with a fearful gaze.

Jon lets out a deep breath and keeps his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he looks at your belly, and then drops his gaze.

Out of fear of his response, of his reaction, you begin to fiddle with your rings and hold your breath in hopes he doesn’t break what you do have, that he doesn’t break the promise of an eternal life together.

“Why don’t you care?” He mutters and meets your gaze. “Knowing who I am means I am now a threat to Daenerys, to you and Rhaenar.”

“Right now?” You say softly. “Because my love for you means much more than a stupid iron throne.” You breathe out shakily and see his eyes soften. “If you were to tell me to leave it all behind, if you asked me to stop fighting and have a life here, I would. It all means nothing without you. I don’t want to lose you. That’s why.”

“I am not Stark, not really, nor am I a Targaryen, I don’t think I would ever consider myself that. I have no reason to go against Daenerys or you, nor do I want you to stop fighting because of me,” he says and takes a step closer to you, making your heart finally begin to unclench. “So…no…it doesn’t bother me. I don’t want to lose you. Or our family.”

You smile softly yet you don’t find relief yet as you do remember about your other problem.

“And what about Daenerys?” You press seriously. “Will you tell her?”

Jon sighs and nods hesitantly. “I have to. I’d rather she hear it from me. So please let me talk to her.”

You nod as you find trust in his words, only because you don’t want to face her wrath when she finds out. It’s a miracle she accepted you to be at her side knowing you are her brother's offspring, “the rightful heir”.

Then again it’s not like she had any other blood family besides Rhaenar and you…she’d be foolish not to let you in.

“All right,” you sigh but squeeze in one last question. “And your family?”

“I’ll talk to them too. Soon.”

You let out a relieved breath and let your eyes linger on him for a moment before you both give in to desire and close the gap and crash your lips together. He grabs your waist, and you grab his cheeks and linger in the feeling. As he does too.

Your heart flutters, and your body finally untenses as you’re no longer frozen with fear.

“So,” you whisper against his lips. “Am I still wearing that dress or should I look for someone else to marry? The Baratheon bastard isn’t so bad on the eyes, hm.”

Jon scoffs in distaste. “Yes, the ceremony is still happening, I’m still going to marry you.”

You grin softly and tilt your head as you caress his cheek.

“Rhaenar is excited,” you mention. “I told him last night, he’s excited to present me to you.”

Jon smiles softly. “That’s good.”

You hum and let your eyes linger on him for a moment longer before you pull away from him. “I need to go to my chambers and do some stuff. Maybe rest for a bit.”

Jon's eyes instantly express concern as he glances down. “Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod. “I am. These early stages are just hard, so I need to rest for a moment.”

Jon caresses your cheek and nods in comprehension. “All right. I should go too before people come looking for me.”

You press one last kiss on his lips before you pull away again for good this time and leave without another word. He doesn’t follow, nor does he ask to walk you—not like you want him to walk you. You want to be alone. You need to be alone. The anger you feel for your father still burns fiercely within you, the truth still hurts you. The realization of what happened after he left stabs deeper into your heart, welling your eyes with more and more tears the closer you get to your room.

Yet you don’t let those tears out in the hall, you clench your jaw and breathe heavily. You don’t run to try and reach the intimacy of your room faster, you just stride there quickly and see every bit of your surroundings blurry.

That is until you reach your room. Those tears you held back come out as an angry sob, and those deep breaths begin to tremble. All you want to do is lay down and cry, cry until you can't shed another tear. Yet right away you’re reminded of something you had held dear to your heart.

You swipe a blade from your desk and storm over to the end of your room to uncover your fathers painting.

And now as you see his face, as you see his eyes, all you feel is utter disgust and burning fiery. That spark that was the love you held for him was completely blown out leaving nothing. Not even the good memories you cherished. Nothing.

So it’s easy stabbing the blade through his face, it’s relieving slicing the stupid painting over and over again until his face can no longer be put together, until it’s no longer recognizable. And not an ounce of guilt hits you when you grab it and examine the damage. You actually smile as tears come out of your eyes.

“I will get whatever you never could, father ” you mutter to the shredded painting. “For me. For my mother, my sister, my brother. Not you. Never you,” you spat and lift your gaze to watch the flames dance in your own fireplace.

The flames brighten your eyes and the smirk on your face.

“I hope you’re burning in all seven hells,” you grimace before you throw the painting in the flames.

You wipe the tears off your face and watch the painting wither away until there’s nothing but ashes. After that you clear your throat and walk over to look at yourself in the vanity.

Your face is red, and your eyes still gleam from the tears you had shed. The heartbreak is clear. Luckily, the coldness disguises your redness as simply that. And the heartbreak that is so clearly featured within your gaze can just be worry.

And people believe that, when you step out in search of Rhaenar no one bats an eye, not even those who you had traveled with. Not even Rhaenar himself.

Then again you wouldn’t let them see you down, they can’t see you down. And as of your son, well he was busy reading with Ser Jorah.

“Am I interrupting?” You make yourself known.

Both Ser Jorah and Rhaenar look back at you, and the boy quickly smiles, but doesn’t ask any questions.

It’s good though, to tell him the truth about his grandfather is something you don’t need him to know yet.

“Mother!” He greets you happily. “And no you’re not, Ser Jorah was just helping me with my studies.”

Ser Jorah stands up and nods as he smiles timedly. “A good prince needs to be well taught of his country's history.”

You nod in agreement. “Yes. Even if that boy doesn’t much like to study.”

The orange dragon, Helios, flaps to the little boy's shoulder and tilts his head as he sees you.

“Well,” Rhaenar scoffs. “There are better things to do.”

You roll your eyes and Ser Jorah chuckles quietly.

“I hope I can take my son if that’s okay,” you interject.

Ser Jorah nods right away. “Of course, Princess. We have been studying for quite some time, he deserves a short break.”

You hum and step aside to watch Rhaenar run out of the library with his dragon on his shoulder. You offer Ser Jorah a small smile before you follow your son out to the hall and begin to lead him towards the chambers where the dragon eggs are kept.

“Mother,” Rhaenar asks as you walk down the hall. “Why is it…” he pauses and lets out a deep sigh. “Why is it that the people here don’t like talking to me? I mean the Stark’s do, but the others, their people…they give me weird looks all the time, and all the other kids avoid me, even when Helios isn’t with me.”

You blink rapidly in disbelief and swallow thickly.

All the dirty looks, the looks full of judgment and hate is something you noticed, but after riding here you just ignored them, there was no point. And it’s like Jon says, they’ll warm up with time.

Yet hearing that Rhaenar gets those same looks, hearing that he’s been avoided because of who he is, what he looks like lights an anger within you that is unlike any other.

However, you can’t let that grow bigger. No matter how much it tempted you.

“Well,” you mutter as you come up with a good answer. “People here don’t normally see people like us. That’s all.” You glance at him and see him stare down as he listens to your every word. “You just need to give them time, okay? Continue to be kind like you are already, and if anyone dares to say anything tell me right away.”

Rhaenar looks up at you and gives you a partial smile as he nods in agreement. “All right,” he whispers. He then blinks and begins to smile. “When are Sarella and Elia coming? I want to see them. I want them to see Helios.”

You scoff softly, “soon.”

The chamber now stands dead ahead, and two Unsullied stand guard out the door. It’s a miracle Daenerys didn’t keep them in her quarters, she took them as if they were actually hers, when it wasn’t even her dragon who birthed them.

“Why are we here?” Rhaenar asks as the guards grant you access. “Did one of them hatch?!” He exclaims and runs to the heating pots. Yet when he opens them he finds both of them still over the kindling. “Oh.”

You clasps your hands in front of you and make sure that you don’t hear anyone approaching before you interject, “if you could pick between the blue or the silver one, which one would you pick? Hm?” You ask and slowly walk to the end of the table.

Rhaenar lifts his head and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Mother,” he mutters, whilst his dragons hops on the table to approach the pots. “I already have a dragon.”

You scoff softly and nod. “I know that,” you tell him. “But if you could pick one for someone else, which one would you pick, hm?” You begin to smile wider and slowly put your hands over your belly.

Rhaenar blinks and keeps still for a second before he turns on his heels to examine both dragon eggs.

He looks at the one that gleams silver, and then looks at the blue one that gleams like a beautiful sapphires. His dragon leans his head in the pot of the blue one, and doesn’t even react to the steam that blows out.

“I suppose,” Rhaenar says slowly and walks towards the blue dragon egg. “This one. The blue one.”

You grin and hum. “That’s a good one. I know it will be a beautiful dragon.”

Rhaenar blinks and looks up at you to meet your gaze. “Why do you ask?” He probes.

You peer back at the closed door and hear if anyone is approaching. When you hear no approaching footsteps you walk to him and begin to whisper so the guards won’t hear.

Alas, maybe you should have checked, because sometimes there are steps that aren’t heard echoing on the ground when someone wants to be discreet.

“Well…I recently discovered something…soon enough, in nine months or so, you will be a big brother.” You begin to fiddle with your rings and watch him lower his gaze as he thinks of what you said.

“A brother,” he whispers and hums before he lifts his gaze and slowly begins to smile before he wraps his arms around you.

You sigh in relief before you giggle and immediately return his embrace. “Does that make you happy?” You ask.

Rhaenar nods and pulls his head back to meets your gaze. “Yes! Yes! It means I finally won't have to be alone. And I can ride my dragon alongside my brother.”

You scoff. “My Sunspot, we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet. Not until it’s born.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “It doesn’t matter! It means I will have someone to talk to.”

Hearing him not be disappointed over the news makes you happy. For so long he’s been the only child that you worried he’d take the news badly. Then he still doesn’t know who you’re with.

That’s what he realizes now too.

“And…” he lowers his voice as his smile begins to fade. “Who is the baby’s father? Is it Jon? Is that why you’re getting married?”

You smile softly and nod. “Yes. That’s one of the reasons.”

Rhaenar grins again and jumps back to look at the blue egg. “That’s good. I like Jon. He’s very nice.”

“Yes,” you agree, “he is, isn't he?”

“Can I show him the egg I chose for my brother?”

You roll your eyes and scoff at his insistence, but don’t correct him anymore. “Yes, you can.”

“And aunt Dany! I’m sure she’ll love to know—”

“No,” you snap and crouch down to grab his shoulder and turn him not face you. “You may not tell her or anyone else, not even any of the Stark’s. Jon will tell his family, I will tell ours when the time is right.”

Rhaenar goes serious and quickly nods in agreement. “Yes, mother.”

“Swear to me,” you insist. “Swear you won’t say a word. I’ll tell you when you can speak of it. Okay?”

The boy sighs and nods in comprehension.

“Good,” you sigh. “Now let’s go. There’s plenty to do, and people will come look for us.”

Alas, just as you walk out of the room you catch Jon approaching the room. When he spots the both of you he stops and faces you with a sad look on his face, as if he just received the most terrible news.

“What is it?” You ask right away as you approach him.

Jon lets out a sigh and mutters, “the dead are coming.”

——

“They’re coming. We have dragon glass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel….”

Perhaps illusion is what kept you thinking they’d somehow take months to get here, blinding illusion. But they’re here now. Only hours away. And with their arrival the plans to marry are foiled.

Which is probably something stupid to be angry over, but it was a beautiful desire.

“We can’t beat them in a straight fight,” Jon continues to say to those gathered around the table.

“So what can we do?” Jaime asks.

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command. If he falls…getting to him may be our best chance.”

You sigh and clasps your hands together to begin fiddling with your rings as you interject, “if that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.”

“Yes, he will,” Bran cuts in, making everyone look over at him by the fireplace. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three-Eyed Ravens.”

Whatever that’s supposed to really mean.

“Why?” Sam asks what everyone is thinking. “What does he want?”

“An endless night,” Bran answers, creating chills down your spines. “He wants to erase this world, and I am it’s memory.”

You swallow thickly and begin to clench your hands to fists.

“That’s what death is, isn’t it?” Sam continues to say. “Forgetting.” He looks around the table, and you all slowly look at him. “Being forgotten. If we forget where we’ve been and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore. Just animals. Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

He’s got a nice way with words you have to give him that.

Maybe that’s why he wants to be a maester.

“How will he find you?” Tyrion cuts in to ask Bran.

“His mark is on me,” Bran answers and lifts his sleeve to show off a red bruise formed as a handprint. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest,” Jon assures his brother.

Yet his brother rebuttals.

“No. We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys all…..”

You stop fidgeting and slowly look up at him….

There’s heavy sheets of snow on the ground, the sky is dark; in the middle stands a large weirwood tree, around it are skulls. Dead.

“In the Godswood,” you interject.

Bran might’ve not been in your dream, but this…this is what the dream means.

Bran and everyone looks over at you, and the boy nods.

“Yes,” he says, “exactly.”

“You want us to use him as bait?” Sansa snaps, grabbing your attention.

“We’re not leaving you out there,” Arya also chimes in.

“He won’t be,” Theon suddenly cuts in. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn. I took this castle,” he says and looks at the boy. “Let me defend you now.”

Without a word Bran nods in agreement, and Theon does as well, bringing a silence that lets you continue to focus on the next plan.

“We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can,” Ser Davos inputs.

“When the time comes,” Tyrion adds. “Ser Davos and I will be on the walls to give you the signal to light the trench.”

“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own,” Daenerys counters him. “You’ll be in the crypt.”

If it were up to you he could stay up and fight, he may be smart, but he hasn’t been so lately.

Regardless, Tyrion seems to find offense to Daenerys' command and awkwardly turns to face her to try and persuade her otherwise. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you,” Daenerys cuts him off. “You can’t fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You’re here because of your mind. If we survive, I’ll need it.”

“May I be with Ser Davos?” The young voice beside you interjects.

You scoff and look down at your son as he keeps his gaze fixed on the map. “No,” you quickly answer him. “No. You are the heir to Daenerys, and far too young, you’ll be in the crypts.”

The boy shoots you a narrowed look. “But mother, I am not a boy any more. I can help as well.”

You keep your mouth shut and just raise your eyebrows as you shoot him a pointed glare.

He parts his lips to argue, but as he watches your look he shuts his mouth and just huffs.

“I’m sure they will need you down at the crypts,” Jon tries to assure him, pulling your gaze to him. “Whatever happens, you can keep them safe. You and your dragon.”

Rhaenar keeps his eyes down and just sighs, “I suppose.”

You share a soft thankful look with Jon and lets gaze linger before he looks away.

“The dragons should give us an edge in the field,” Ser Davos breaks the tension between Jon and you.

Jon looks back at the table and interjects. “If they’re in the field, they’re not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won’t come.” He exhales deeply. “But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

You hum in agreement, and Jon passes you a displeased look when you do.

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya asks and looks to Bran.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “No one’s ever tried.”

Well that’s assuring.

“We’re all going to die,” the big ginger man, Tormund interjects bluntly, pulling your immediate attention. “But at least we’ll die together.”

You scoff in amusement, and muster a partial smile.

Yet as you do smile Daenerys passes you a judgemental look that makes you go serious.

“Let’s get some rest,” Jon says and ends the meeting, letting you grab Rhaenar’s shoulder to walk out with him, catching from the corner of your eye Jon following close behind.

Since the people are all walking out and following you both, you make sure to walk somewhere discreet, somewhere far from curious eyes and passersby to meet up.

Once you’re isolated Rhaenar breaks away from you and turns to face Jon with a grin.

“Jon!” He exclaims. “Guess what?!” He says with his eyes wide with excitement. “I picked a dragon egg for my brother.”

Jon eyebrows furrow as he retorts, “brother?” He scoffs. “What if it’s a girl?”

Rhaenar scoffs and brushes him off. “It will be a boy, I’m sure.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile.

“Well, we’ll see when the baby is born,” Jon counters him. “Won’t we?”

“Sure,” the boy shrugs him off again. “But will you want to see the egg I chose? Maybe after the battle is over?”

Jon smiles softly and nods. “Of course I would love to see it.”

Rhaenar smirks and steps away from Jon and you. “Now may I prepare for this battle? I have new armor I want to wear.”

You nod, and the boy runs off, leaving Jon and you alone. And right away he expresses that displeasure he felt before.

“Mayhaps you should go to the crypts too,” he suggests—no actually not, he's giving a discreet order.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you and the baby.”

You check if anyone is nearby, and when no one is you step towards him and fix the collar of his shirt as you meet his gaze. “Eraxis won’t fight unless I’m with her, and we need her out there. You need me out there. I can’t just sit back and listen to everyone risk their lives, I can’t sit and just let you risk your life. What if I lose you because I’m down there? What then?” You argue. “You’ll have me raise this child alone?”

“You’ll have Sansa, Arya,” Jon interjects with his gaze on yours as if that is meant to assure you. “The entire North. And you’ve done it before and you’ve done a great job.”

You shake your head and grab onto his jaw now. “The baby will need their father. I need you,” you snap softly.

Jon caresses your face and leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Swear to me you’ll be careful,” he says.” The moment you see things go to shit you run the other way.”

You let out a deep sigh and nod, even if you really don’t intend to run. You just can’t argue all night.

“So…” you change the subject. “I suppose the wedding is off then?”

Jon scoffs and smirks softly. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean we probably won’t have a wedding night or a feast.”

You giggle. “No wedding night? Well then it’s a damn good thing we’ve had that already.” You grin and press a kiss on his lips, feeling him grab onto you tighter before he pulls back and faces you.

“If you want we can marry right now, I’ll gather my siblings. You can gather Rhaenar, and we can marry, if it’s what you want.” Jon suggests.

Marry amongst the chaos, moments before battle?

You may never have dreamt of a perfect wedding because the truth is you never expected to choose your suitor. When you met Jon, when you accepted his love and let yourself love, there was a picture in your mind, but now….

Now in the middle of this chaos, not knowing whether either of you will survive the night, the promise of forever under the eyes of the gods sounds like the sweetest bliss. Perhaps the only one you’ll ever feel.

“Okay,” you whisper with excitement. “I want to do it. Let’s do it.”

——

*LATER*

“Beautiful,” Sansa whispers and smooths out one more invisible wrinkle on your cream colored skirt. “Truly.”

You look away from your rings and meet her glimmering gaze. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Sansa studies you one more time, she takes her time to study the beautiful work of the skirt, the soft red flames designed to the bottom of the skirt, the long train that spread out over the floor, the small embroidered dragon on the bosom of the dress and the sun that it wraps around demonstrating two of the houses you’re a part of. She looks at your reflection, at the dragon wings embroidered on your back, and then looks back at your face.

“I’m sure you’ll give Jon a heart attack,” Sansa teases.

You smile softly. “If he doesn’t have one what’s the point?”

Sansa laughs softly and takes one step towards you and unhooks a wolf pin from her dress to pin it on a sleeve of your dress.

“There,” she says and presses it as she meets your gaze. “Now you’re ready.”

You look down at the silver wolf and feel your eyes sting.

“Why?” You whisper in disbelief. She’s shown not to like Daenerys for what she demands from Sansa, you are on Daenerys side, why is she so nice to you?

“Why what?” She queries.

You lift your gaze to meet hers. “Why be kind to me? I mean it seems that you don’t really like Daenerys, so why be nice to me.”

Sansa scoffs, “you were the first one to truly tell me you felt sorry,” she shares softly and holds your gaze. “Back in King’s Landing. Everyone else didn’t say a word, they hated my family, so they treated it as a victory. There were even some who said they were sorry but never meant it. Not you though, you were really sorry, perhaps the first one to be sorry for me. You were kind when I needed it the most. That’s why, because you are a good person.”

Your breath gets trapped in your throat at the sound of her sincerity, and more tears gloss over your eyes, real tears that really hurt your eyes not to let fall. She didn’t answer your question regarding Daenerys, and it seems she won’t so you leave it be and offer her a soft smile before you can’t help but wrap her in an embrace.

Sansa gets surprised, but after a small exhale she returns your hug and squeezes tight.

“Be good to my brother,” she whispers as she keeps you in her arms.

You scoff softly and nod. “I will, I swear. He’s…very special to me.”

Sansa pulls back and offers you one last smile. A knock then raps on the door, and you slightly stiffen hoping it won’t be anyone unwanted, but muster the courage to get the door; Seeing that it’s only Rhaenar.

“Come in,” you say and step back to not been seen in case anyone passes by.

“I’m ready,” he says and closes the door for you. “Are you…” he trails off as he lays his eyes on you and smiles a very sweet smile. “You look very beautiful mother.”

You grin brightly and feel your heart skip at his sweet comment. “Oh, why thank you, sweetling. And you look very dapper yourself in your armor.”

Rhaenar scoffs but can’t help his little smirk.

“Are you ready?” He then asks.

You let out a soft nervous sigh and nod. “I’m ready.” You look at Sansa over your shoulder and probe. “Are you sure they won’t see us?”

Sansa nods right away. “I’m sure,” she assures you. “But if anything, here,” she trails off and walks to a rack to grab a long cloak. “Just so you can feel assured.”

You take it from her and throw it on, making sure that every inch of the dress was covered in case you do run into someone that can’t know quite yet.

“Okay.” You say again, but for the final time. “I’m ready. Let’s not keep him waiting anymore.”

Rhaenar shoots you an excited smile, and Sansa is the first one to walk out, letting you and Rhaenar follow after her through more discreet halls that lead outside to the Godswood where Jon is waiting.

And luckily her path is short, you don’t run into anyone, but…now all you feel is your pounding heart, your spinning mind, and your nervous and shallow breaths when you step outside to the evening that slowly brought the night.

It seems that Eraxis can sense your high stressed, and excited emotions because she flies overhead and begins to circle the Godswood. If she could she’d probably land within the grounds, but she’s far too big to do so, so all she can do is circle from above and keep a watchful eye.

“Here,” Sansa sort of startles you as she comes to a stop just outside the entrance into the Godswood. “I can take the cloak now.”

You scoff softly, “right,” you whisper and slide it off your shoulders, filling the coldness nipping at your sleeveless arms.

“It’s okay, it will be okay,” Sansa assures you as she notices your emotions.

You meet her gaze and hum.

She smirks and steps back. “I’ll see you in there.”

You hum again and watch her disappear within the grounds of the woods. And once she is gone, once you make sure you won’t run into her you let out one last deep breath and expel all your nerves, after all Jon isn’t a stranger you’re suddenly matched with, you know him, you love him already, he’s the love your life…a comfort in the chaos…

You smile softly and glance up at Eraxis one last time before you meet Rhaenar’s gaze. “Ready?” You probe.

Your son offers you a sweeter smile and nods eagerly before he turns to face the Godswood, and then walks you inside.

The walk is not long or rushed, it’s calm. For what awaits everyone tonight, it’s all forgotten right now at this moment as you walk down the snowy path to the Heart Tree, as you see Jon there waiting in front of that red leaved Weirwood tree with his eyes soft and full of love the moment he sees you. There’s only peace, solace. No war, no Night King, no one else but you and him as you walk to him.

Once you do reach him, once you stand close you don’t feel nervous anymore, not even if you see his family, Theon, his friend Sam watching and his very pregnant…wife? Paramour? By his side. You feel at peace and excited, smug even when you see Jon catch his breath.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this evening?” You hear Arya ask, and finally notice that she had stepped forward.

“Y/N,” Rhaenar announces like he was told to say, “of the House Targaryen and House Martell. Whoms here to be wed. A woman grown, generous, true born, and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

You smile softly and watch Jon take a step forward, leaving his white wolfs side. “Jon, of House Stark,” he says, “Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. Who gives her?” He asks as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Rhaenar,” your son shares happily. “Of House Targaryen. Heir to the Queen.”

“Princess Y/N,” Arya interjects. “Will you take this man?”

You take a step forward and grin brighter. “I take this man,” you agree without hesitation.

Jon lips tug wider as he gaze lingers for a moment longer as he takes your hand. You gently secure yours around his to walk closer to the Heart Tree and kneel before it.

You both then bow your heads as a token of submission, and join in prayer.

It’s not something you’re accustomed to but you only think of a simple prayer in hopes that his life nor the lives of the ones you care about get taken tonight, and that this baby within you is born healthy. That’s all.

After he’s done with his prayers he helps you to your feet and turns to face you with your hand secured in his. He caresses your face gently before he steps back to take off his fur cloak and walk behind you to carefully place it on your shoulders.

Supposedly what follows is him carrying you to the feast, but well that can’t happen tonight, so he stands before you and shares a lingering and enamored gaze before you close the gap to steal a sweet and deep kiss he quickly returns.

He cups your cheeks and deepens it more, making sure to savor what could be your last kiss ever. When he pulls back the few people that are gathered clap, and you remain in front of one another and press your foreheads against each other to cherish this moment. This blissful moment that is soon filled with the sound of Eraxis song, and Jon’s wolfs soft beautiful howl.

“I love you,” you murmur.

Jon smiles softly. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You cup his jaw and caress his cheek one last time before you both pull away and face your families.

“Congratulations,” Sam is the first one to tell Jon as he walks to him and gives him a quick embrace.

Jon scoffs softly and pats his friends back. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sams paramour approaches you with a beaming grin and curtsy’s. “Congratulations, princess.”

You grin in amusement and offer her a thankful nod. “Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

The woman offers you one last smile before she steps away, letting Jon speak now.

“Thank you for attending, now I hope you all can keep your promise and keep the ceremony a secret until we can tell the Queen and everyone else.”

His family share a knowing look, and Arya is the one that speaks for her siblings. “Of course we will.”

Jon's eyes drift to Theon, and the man offers Jon a stiff but assuring nod. When he looks to Sam, he immediately nods and assures him too.

“I swear. We swear.”

Jon nods, and now the reality of what you’re going to face hits again. That beautiful short lived bliss wears off and doom and dread hits you harder than ever.

This might be the last time you ever see Rhaenar and Jon. This might be your last day.

“Jon,” you call out before you can leave the Godswood.

He looks over and stops in his tracks as you slow down to a stop.

Rhaenar catches you fall behind and looks back.

“It’s okay, go, get Helios and meet me in my chambers.”

The boy nods and begins to walk off, but Jon then stops him. “Wait.”

Rhaenar is caught off guard, but waits where he is and watches Jon approach him.

“I just want to wish you good fortune,” Jon says as he stops before the boy. “You’ll be down protecting people at the crypts so it’s my last time seeing you until the battle is over.” He hesitates but after a small breath he cups the back of the boy's head and offers him a gentle smile. “It’s okay to be afraid, remember?”

Rhaenar sighs shakily and nods in comprehension.

“I hope you make it,” Rhaenar tells Jon. “And kill that ice bastard.”

You and Jon chuckle as Rhaenar smiles.

“I will,” Jon assures the boy and pulls his hand back to step away. “Now go on, listen to your mother.”

Rhaenar steals a glance at you one more time before he walks off, letting Jon face you again.

“Will you tell me that it’s okay to be scared,” you whisper as he gets close to you. “I’m meant to be the face of bravery, I’m a princess, a dragon rider, I am meant to inspire people, but…I’m scared.

Jon offers you a sweet smile and grabs your fidgeting hands. “That means you’re not stupid,” he says and lifts your hands to press a kiss on your knuckles. “And people will understand your fear, we’re fighting the dead. As long as you fight, the people will follow.”

You lower your gaze and let out a soft shaky sigh. “Will you promise me that you’ll stay alive?” You ask for comfort.

Jon cups your cheeks and whispers, “I will try.” He then lowers his hand and rubs your belly. “By the way, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

You grin shyly and meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you retort and lift your hand to cradle his cheek. “I’m glad that the truth didn’t change us.”

“I told you,” he sighs. “I won’t consider myself a Targaryen. Never.”

You begin to smirk. “Not even now that we’re married? You can be Jon Targaryen, husband to Y/N Targaryen.”

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” He quips with a partial grin.

You nod. “Very much.”

Jon grins and then steals one last lingering kiss from you, making your eyes instantly fill with tears.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “So much.”

You swallow thickly as you hold back your tears and reply, “I love you too.”

Jon pulls you in for one last lasting embrace before you break away and go your separate ways before the battle begins.

Now rather than wearing a wedding dress you have armor protecting your body. How sad is that?

Instead of a feast you’re holding your son tightly in your arms with tears welled in your eyes for what could be the last time. He usually complains that he’s getting too old to be treated like a child, but today as you wait for those horns to blow to announce the beginning of an end, he lets you cuddle with him. And his little orange hatchling nuzzles himself in between the both of you too

“Will you sing to me?” You ask Rhaenar quietly as you stroke his curly hair. “One more time.”

Rhaenar lets out a small breath before he begins to sing the song he loves in High Valyrian.

His voice quietly carries throughout the room, lolling his hatchling to sleep, blocking out the shouts from outside as people still worked, as they gathered. He had a way to make you forget for a moment the dread, and the violence that ensues.

For a moment there was peace as he sang the song. For a moment.

And then reality broke the short peace as horns were blown.

“You have your weapons right?” You ask as you both stand to your feet.

Rhaenar points to his dragon glass sword and pats his dragon glass daggers, and nods in confirmation. And you study his new shiny silver armor to check that everything was strapped and tight.

“Good,” you whisper and brush his bangs back.

“You?” He probes. “Do you have your weapons?”

You smirk and point to your double bladed dragon-glass spear by the door and pat your daggers, and nod in confirmation. “Yes I do.”

“Okay,” he sighs and walks out first, making sure to take Helios and grab his spear on the way out. You take yours too and walk him all the way to the crypts first, even if his guards were going to escort him and be with him until the battle was over.

Once again, he would’ve minded any other time, but not tonight. Tonight he hesitates to leave your side when you do reach the crypts. He looks down at the torch lit pathway and lets out a deep sigh before he turns to throw his arms around you.

“I love you, mama,” he mutters.

You laugh softly and hug him back tighter. “I love you too, my sweet boy.” You put on a brave face so he won’t feel as afraid and pull back to take in his beautiful tan face, his sweet brown eyes, his dark curly black hair, and his sweet brave smile before you press a kiss on his forehead and linger there for a moment longer. “Take care, swear to me.”

Rhaenar pulls back and offers you an assuring nod as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I swear,” he murmurs. “And you take care too. And keep my little brother safe.”

You chuckle breathlessly and nod as you step back before you stay down there with him to make sure he makes it throughout the night. “I love you my sweet boy.” You tell him one last time and wave before you turn around and head for Eraxis.

And luckily on your way out you run into Daenerys and Jon going to the same place. However, the moment Daenerys sees you she looks at you up and down before striding away faster.

You quickly look to Jon to ask what happened in a speechless manner, and all he does is sigh deeply and frown, letting you know that her reaction wasn’t due to anything good.

He probably told her about his parents, who he is.

Why couldn’t he wait if there is a tomorrow? At least then things wouldn’t be so tension filled at the moment of battle.

However, once you’re on Eraxis’s back flying over the armies formed in front of the castle, that anger you knew she held, that tension, none of it mattered. It all ceases to matter. Especially when you land on the snowy hill that overlooks it all; the castle, the armies that await for the dead, especially when all you hear is nothing but a dreadful silence.

All that matters is the dead, and you.

Even if you can’t see them below due to the darkness that envelopes the land, you know that now nothing stands between you and them. It was now or never, this fight.

You try to pump yourself with hope and desperation to win this fight. As flames light the Dothraki’s weapons below, that hope only grows.

Alas, when the Dothraki ride forward and every single flame gets snuffed out that burning hope falters. Once there’s darkness again, you’re rattled, more afraid. Yet anger also begins to take root.

That same anger is something Daenerys displays right away without a fault when she sees her people dying. And when she tries to act on it and get on her dragon to join the battle Jon stops her.

“The Night King is coming,” he tells her as he grabs her arm, making you narrow your gaze as you can’t help your jealousy from sprouting.

“The dead are already here,” Daenerys snaps back and yanks her arm away to turn away. She meets your gaze briefly but doesn’t add anything and continues towards Drogon.

Once her back is turned Jon and you meet each others gazes and share one last lingering and longing look before you climb on Eraxis.

You proceed to strap yourself on to secure yourself on your saddle, and then pat your dragon's neck for comfort as the wind brings the sound of the dead’s growl and groans the closer they get to the castle.

Now there’s no escaping them. They’re here, and you’re ready.

“<Fly,>” you order Eraxis.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Daenerys knows who Jon is, imagine when she finds out her niece is pregnant with his baby, and that they got married in secret 😗🫣 dance of dragons 2? 😗

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo

#fanfiction #damn-stark #sandstorm #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #got #got s8 #got fanfiction #got fanfic #jon snow #jon snow x targaryen!femreader #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x fem!reader #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #game of thrones fanfic #jaime lannister #bran #arya strak

[last-capy-hupping]

Okay, here it goes. I’m finally making a meta post on the Oath of Fëanor, with the goal of tackling a few takes that I’ve seen lately that I find very intriguing but ultimately not very persuasive, given how the Fëanorians actually act throughout the story:

1) the Fëanorians are required to kill you if you interact with the Silmarils in anyway (this seems to be a case of reading poetic language too literally and ambiguous commas)

2) the Fëanorians aren’t required to get the Silmarils back, just kill anyone who takes them, because the Oath was actually about avenging Finwë when it was originally made (I like this idea a lot, but I don’t think that it’s right because it doesn’t jibe with how Fëanor acts about the Silmarils nor with how his sons act)

3) the Siege of Angband constitutes inaction (it’s a perfectly sound strategy for fulfilling the Oath, given that the swearers are immortal)

So, let’s start with the first item on the agenda. (The second and third post in this series will complete it.)

The claim that the Oath requires the Fëanorians to kill anyone who so much as interacts with the Silmarils assumes two things: firstly, that the intentions of the Oath-takers matter less than the literal words and secondly that, that the language is literal, never idiomatic or poetical. In particular, that interpretation seems to rest on a very literal, non-contextual, non-poetic reading of the following passage:

“neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,

dread nor danger, not Doom itself,

shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,

whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,

finding keepeth or afar casteth

a Silmaril. This swear we all:

death we will deal him ere Day's ending,

woe unto world's end!”

I’m actually going to start with the first big clue that the language is poetic and not literal, which is the phrase “death we will deal him ere Day’s ending.” “Day” clearly refers to an age or an unspecified era, following the interpretation of many biblical scholars who’ve addressed the seven “days” of creation. It doesn’t make sense when taken literally. I’m quite confident that the Fëanorians didn’t intend to take down Morgoth or even reach him within a literal day.

So, what does “whoso hideth or hordeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or casteth afar a Silmaril” actually mean? It refers to anyone actively keeping a Silmaril from Fëanor and his sons. Let’s start with “taketh in hand”. That is not a phrase meant to be taken literally. If you take someone or something in hand, you’re not simply holding, touching, or picking them up. You’re claiming ownership and/or responsibility for that person or thing. So, at the very least, you have to either claim ownership of the Silmaril or actively keep it from the Fëanorians. This was clearly not a carefully considered Oath, but Fëanor was rallying the Ñoldor to follow him to Middle Earth. He was asking for help claiming the Silmarils back from Morgoth. It’s kind of unreasonable to assume that this passage literally, actually means that Fëanor would’ve been obliged to kill someone who picked up a Silmaril and handed it to him. I’d also argue that if someone willingly gives back a Silmaril, they’re not longer in the category of people who are hoarding it, hiding it, taking it in hand, keeping it away, or casting it afar.

Now, you could argue that there were loads of unintended consequences stemming from the Oath that were never intended and that this might be one more of them. I disagree though. I don’t think that it was an accident that the Oath named every type of non-Fëanorian except for the dwarves as people who were not allowed to claim or keep away the Silmarils from the Fëanorians. The published Silmarillion gives us example after example of Fëanor being fearful that others besides Melkor/Morgoth want the Silmarils. For example, on page 70 of the Kindle Edition, we read: “…for though at great feasts [Fëanor] would wear then blazing on his brow, at other times, they were guarded close, locked in the deep chambers of his hoard in Tirion. For Fëanor began to love the Silmarils with a greedy love, and grudged the sight of them to all save to his father and his seven sons.” Later, he also refuses to give the Silmarils to the Valar, who would use them to restore the Light of the Trees, and one of the reasons that he gives for his denial is that breaking the Silmarils open might kill him. So, we see here that he’s not just afraid of losing the Silmarils to Melkor or the other Valar. He’s afraid of losing them to anyone who isn’t Finwë or one of his sons. So, I’d argue that the wording of the Oath was actually very deliberate and intentional on his part at the very least. I’ve seen lots of people argue that the wording of the Oath made the Fëanorians do more than they intended to do when they swore it, but I don’t think that that’s true. At the very least, it wasn’t true for Fëanor. Now, you could reasonably argue that Fëanor would have wanted to kill anyone who had kept a Silmaril from him deliberately, even if they later surrendered it willingly, but I disagree with that interpretation because I think that it’s pretty clear that the intent behind the Oath was to ultimately reclaim the Silmarils at all costs. Threatening to kill those who later willingly surrendered the Silmarils would only make that goal harder to accomplish. On the other hand, killing elves who kept the Silmarils from Fëanor and his sons even after negotiations seems perfectly consistent with Fëanor’s intentions at the time of the Oath taking. It likely also coincides with his sons’ intentions at the time, since the text doesn’t suggest that any of them regretted the Oath until later, after the anger and fervor that led to its swearing died down, and they became more aware of its consequences for themselves and others.

It’s also worth noting that Fëanor’s sons repeatedly try to get the Silmarils back through negotiation, most notably with Thingol, Dior, and Elwing. They even attempt that with *Morgoth* himself. That’s how Maedhros gets captured. If the Oath required them to kill all of those who ever claimed a Silmaril, even if they later gave up that claim and returned it to them, why bother with negotiating? You could argue that they intended to just kill the Silmaril holders afterwards, but I’d respond that by attempting prolonged negotiation first with Doriath or Sirion, you’re only giving them time to build up their strength. The Fëanorians never besieged or blockaded Doriath and Sirion while negotiating or in the time leading up to the attacks. This serves as a contrast to how they dealt with Morgoth, particularly after they learned from Maedhros’ capture that he’d never surrender a Silmaril willingly. Plus, even if they intended treachery, their Oath was extremely public. Were they seriously assuming that none of the Ñoldor had never told the Sindarin about its wording? And if it was very clear that they’d kill you even if you willingly surrendered the Silmaril and renounced your claim to it…why don’t any of the holders in Doriath say that during the negotiations?

Furthermore, if anyone who’s ever touched or claimed a Silmaril is doomed to die, why does Maedhros try to track down and rescue Eluréd and Elúrin? Are we to believe that they never interacted with the Silmaril while Dior wore it, or that they weren’t heirs to his claim? And why not kill Elrond and Elros? They weren’t useful as hostages for reclaiming the Silmaril, so if the Oath actually doomed those who’d ever touched it claimed a Silmaril, why leave them alive?

Finally, even if the language is more important than the intent, I’d argue that the language is still vague enough that you could argue that anyone who gives up a Silmaril willingly is no longer a target of the Oath. However, since this is an Oath between the Fëanorians and Eru himself, I think that the intentions in their hearts at the time, which were clearly bad, greedy, and vengeful, matter at least as much as the language.

One last edit: if you give up a Silmaril willingly, you have, by definition stopped keeping, hoarding, hiding, or claiming ownership of it. The only action that seems un-doable is casting it away, though I guess that you could search really, really hard for it.

In part 2, we’ll discuss how the Oath definitely does require the sons of Fëanor to reclaim the Silmarils and how that was its goal. Sorry, Finwë, but I think that those jewels did end up becoming at least as important to Fëanor as you were. I’ll explain why in the next post.

#silmarillion #silm meta #oath of feanor #feanorians #Fëanor #sons of fëanor #the language is poetic #not literal #it wasn’t an accident that it required them to kill elves and men who refused to give up a Silmaril

[redhoodieone]

His Girl Part 2

Warnings: Language, SMUT, heartbreak, and fluffiness.

“Jay…” Y/N breathes against Jason’s lips. Her eyes shift from his emerald eyes to his adorable pout. “You don’t want this with me. You shouldn’t want this with me.”

Jason pulls back from her and his face falls. The look of heartbreak pains Y/N, but she can’t help but feel the way she feels, because why would someone so attractive and perfect like Jason want with a short, chubby, and plain looking girl like her?

Jason lifts Y/N’s chin so they can see eye to eye. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you. Sweetheart, when you first looked at me, I was done for. You know, I never believed in God. You know damn well I’m not the religious type, despite the jokes from the league who say I could have been a priest in another life,” he says with a small smile. He holds his hand up as if he’s taking an oath. “But I swear to God when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel. You stood there, you were lovely and gentle, and at that moment I knew something good had to exist in this fucked up world because you were brought into my life, and you made me want to be a better man...for you.”

“Dick’s right. He’s right about me. You don’t want me, Jay. I’m nothing special. I’m not beautiful. I’m not skinny. I’m not smart, funny, or even interesting,” Y/N admits.

“How can you even say that to me? Did you forget our talk last summer?” Jason says carefully, his gaze never breaking hers.

“I didn’t forget, Jay. I just don’t think we should start anything up between us. It’ll just-”

“So, what am I not good for you?” he snaps, his tone is harsh as he accuses her.

“What? No! I didn’t say that. Why are you so mad at me, Jay?” Y/N asks quietly.

“I’m not mad. I’m hurt,” Jason admits, before he decides he can’t stand the distance between them anymore. With both hands, he roughly grabs Y/N’s hips and pulls her body closer to his. He moves one hand up her back until he’s holding the back of her head; forcing her to keep her eyes on him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to see you talk to other guys? Do you know how difficult it is for me to stand by and see these other assholes get to touch you, kiss you, and fuck you? Do you realize how close I’ve gotten to ‘accidentally’ shooting Dickie-bird in his balls just because you were flirting with him? I couldn’t stand it sweetheart, and I still can’t.”

Y/N’s eyes widen in surprise at Jason’s confession. The pull is too strong for both of them to ignore. Jason takes a chance and lowers his head to kiss Y/N. His lips are initially warm and rough, but they fit perfectly against her gentle and soft lips. The second Y/N kisses Jason back with as much fervor, he realizes his feelings couldn’t be one-sided.

The kiss wasn’t deep yet. They barely pull back enough to breathe before Jason takes the reins and rests his forehead against hers. He teases her by leaning in to kiss her but then pulling back when her lips chase after his. She inhales sharply when his scent fills her nostrils; his exotic, smoky woods, sandalwood, and spices make her weak in her knees that she has to hold both his forearms to keep herself steady. Luckily, Jason manages to hold her up, and he brings her close enough to grind his evident bulge against her core. “Please...please let me show you how much I want you. Let me show you how beautiful you are to me and how much I want all of you,” Jason whispers against Y/N’s lips.

Jason’s green eyes burn into Y/N’s eyes. She licks her lips. “Okay,” she breathes out.

Jason surges forward and slams his mouth against Y/N’s. He wastes no time licking her bottom lip, seeking entrance to taste her and have her in ways he’s always imagined. When she opens her mouth wider, he falls deeper when he realizes her taste is addictive, and he knows this can’t be the last time he’ll kiss her. Their tongues rub and stroke each other’s, and he bites her bottom lip.

He pulls back only to see if she wants more. The look of lust in her eyes is enough. He carefully pushes her backwards until the back of her knees tough the bed. She crawls up to her pillow so she can lie down, her hair fans out around her, creating an illusion of an angelic halo.

Jason looks down at Y/N with adoration. He knows for a fact he’s never looked at a woman like this. He knows she’s the first and will be the last woman he’ll look at like this.

He can tell she’s nervous to make the next move. He smiles softly and begins to undress himself. Kicking off his boots and socks, he shrugs off his jacket and his Kevlar armor. He notices she’s watching intently, biting her bottom lip.

Jason can’t help but smirk. Once he shoves down his pants, he’s left in just his boxer briefs, which nearly exposes how hard his cock is for her.

He crawls on the bed until he’s hovering above her. His hands move to her pajama pants, but he doesn’t pull them down just yet.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jason whispers to her. His voice is deeper and rougher.

Y/N nods her head. “Yes, I want you, Jay,” she whispers back.

Jason kisses her softly to help her relax. He tugs her pajama pants down to her knees. He pulls back from her lips and sits up when he realizes she’s not wearing any panties. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. “No panties?” he teases.

“I...I don’t like to sleep with underwear on,” she confessions shyly. He thinks it’s cute when she blushes.

“That’s perfectly okay, doll. Now that I know, maybe I can join you in bed sometime?”

Y/N giggles at that as she watches Jason move down until his face is in front of her pussy. She quickly sits up and tries to cover her modesty.

“Wait, you-you don’t have to do that. It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Y/N stammers.

Jason smiles softly at her. He quickly sits up to kiss her, to get her to relax. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to sweetheart,” he says, as he helps Y/N remove her top so she’s completely naked in front of him. His hands rub her arms, chest, and stomach, which seems to help her lie back down. “I want to eat you. I want to eat this delicious, wet pussy so much that you’ll be cumming all over my face.”

Y/N blushes more as Jason grins smugly and winks at her before he lowers himself back down to lick her folds. She gasps out in surprise and reaches down to grab his dark hair to tug.

“Oh God,” she whines out.

“Fuck baby girl, you taste so fucking good. You’re sweeter than apple pie,” Jason moans out.

He sucks her clit on the borderline of pain and pleasure, and when he releases it, he can see her pupils dilate with lust.  

Jason smiles against her pussy and uses his fingers to part her folds so he can circle her clit with his tongue. He knows he has experience going down on women, but he also realizes that every woman is different. Deciding to show her a few different ways to cum, he switches up his methods. As he continues to rotate between licking and sucking Y/N’s clit, he pushes a finger inside to warm her up. And with all the noise she’s making, he knows he’s on the right path.

“Oh fuck...Jay. Finger me harder,” Y/N pleads.

He keeps his eyes on her. When she tries to close her eyes, he slaps her thigh. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I wanna see you cum,” he demands.

Y/N opens her eyes, and it makes everything better for him. Just feeling how tight and wet she is drives his cock to twitch hard in his underwear. He adds a second finger and strokes up against her walls. He can feel she’s close to cumming just by her clenching his fingers. He licks and sucks her clit faster and harder, as he drives a third finger inside her and rubs against her g-spot. He has her now. She’s going to cum for him and he’s excited as fuck.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, my God! Jay! I’m cumming!” Y/N cries out. She sits up and pulls his hair harder.

Jason keeps his eyes on her and hums for her to go ahead and cum. He refuses to take his eyes and mouth off her. He needs her to cum.

With his fingers fucking her pussy loud enough to create that wet, sopping sound, Jason wraps his mouth against Y/N’s pussy to catch her cum. He moans in delight at her taste, and he can feel his cock leaking more precum in his underwear. Once she calms down from her hard orgasm, he quickly stands up and pulls down his underwear.

Y/N is stunned to see Jason’s cock. She knew he was big, partly because of his pants and boxer briefs displaying his rather big bulge. But seeing it in person and up close is different. She knows he’s above average, but his cock is thicker than she imagined. She swallows hard when the red, swollen tip leaks precum.  

Once Jason’s completely naked, he climbs on top of her. Y/N reaches to stroke his cock, but he gently moves her hand away. “As much as I’d like you to touch my cock and maybe suck on it, I don’t want to cum that way. I want to cum in you,” Jason says softly.

When his cock brushes against her pussy, Y/N knew she needs inside her. “I want you to cum inside me. Please...please fuck me,” she pleads.

Hearing her beg does something to him. Jason kisses Y/N hard and moves his hand between them to push his cock inside her. She gasps breathlessly as he groans at how well she’s taking him. She’s tight, warm, and wet, and he knows he’s not going to last long. He looks down at her and his heart swells at the fact that she’s looking up at him as if he is her world. His hands move all over her body, tracing scars and stretch marks, as her own nails scratch down his arms and back.

Y/N takes Jason by surprise when she bites his jaw and giggles when he nips her neck. The intimacy between them is what makes them happier in the moment. But when the tip of his cock brushes against her g-spot, she clenches around his cock, causing his thrusts from going slow to fast and hard now.

“Jay...fuck me harder. Faster, please,” Y/N begs breathlessly.

Jason’s hips slam into hers, his pelvic bone rubs deliciously against her clit. She squeezes around him again, and he knows he won’t be able to last longer. “Okay, sweetheart, okay,” Jason chokes out. He angles his thrusts to be deeper and to hit her sweet spot every time.

She wraps her arms around him and brings his face down to kiss him. He moans against her mouth, and not being able to breathe properly is doing something to him. He quickens his thrusts and moves a hand in between them to rub her clit hard and fast to match his thrusts.

Y/N and Jason break apart to breathe and she throws her head back. He watches in awe at her falling apart because of him, her orgasm takes him by surprise. She cries out his name. She cums hard around his cock and soaks him in her sweet juices that forces his own orgasm out of him.

“Fuck...Y/N, fucking Christ,” Jason moans loudly. He grunts hard and moans when he slams deeper inside her, coating her insides with his seed. He squeezes her hips and thrusts a few more times until he’s sure she’s gotten all his cream.

When he pulls his cock out, he can feel himself get hard again from just seeing his cum seep out of her pussy.

Jason inhales hard and collapses next to her. His arms instantly wrap around her, and she willingly cuddles against him. Fear runs through him, though. “Please be mine...” he dares to whisper. He wonders if she even heard him. The fear of rejection scares him more than anything right now.

“Yes, I’ll be yours,” Y/N whispers back. She kisses his chest and lies her head back down on him. She falls asleep to his even breathing and his hand rubbing her back.

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

The next morning was a rude awakening for Dick Grayson. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. Out of him and his family, Jason was supposed to be the shallow, man whore who slept around with girl after girl every night. Jason was supposed to be less likely one to find a girl, actually fall in love with her and be serious. Because anyone who knows the Batboys knows each of them are viewed a certain way.

 Bruce is the playboy billionaire.

Dick is charming and sweet.

Jason is rough bad boy.

Tim is intelligent and kind.

Damian is a cute demon spawn.

And even Alfred is a badass savage.

 When Jason and Y/N announced their relationship, Dick smirked to himself. He knew there was no way Jason was ‘serious relationship material’ and he knew their relationship would end before it even started.

 He’ll fuck up. He always screws up because he inevitably fucks up everything he does, Dick thinks to himself. And once he does, I’ll be there for her, and she’ll be mine.

 But Jason never fucks up, not with Y/N. To everyone, Jason and Y/N are beautifully perfect together. Dick does manage to fix his friendship with Y/N, and the two are closer than they’ve ever been. It isn’t until after Jason and Y/N’s one year anniversary that Dick finally accepts their relationship.

 Because it wasn’t long until Jason got Bruce and Alfred’s blessing to propose to Y/N. The engagement ring is a beautiful black solitaire diamond, and the reason doesn’t confuse Dick at all, because Y/N isn’t like other diamonds.

 Their wedding is something out of a fairy tale storybook. Dick had to admit that seeing Y/N in a wedding dress made him cry, because he knew she would have the time of her life with Jason on the honeymoon.

 Three years later, Jason and Y/N announce they’re having their first child together, a boy, the news actually made Bruce tear up because Jason and Y/N were giving him his first grandson.

 Call it fucking karma, but Dick finally saw just how beautiful Y/N was, as a wife and a mother.

 But Dick was just a little too late.

 And now she was Jason’s.

 His girl.

#dc comics #batman #dc comics batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n smut #red hood #dick grayson

[youareunbearable]

Headcannon that Celebrimbor and Thranduil were childhood Frenemies because I don't like how the Mirkwood Elves were left out of everything that happened so pls enjoy this fliclet

---

Once the Feanorians touched down in Hithlum, Thingol sent his younger brother's brother in law Oropher to be his ambassador. Oropher, of course, brings his son Thranduil along because this is a great chance for diplomatic training

Maedhros, this is during the time Morgoth is sending his own persistent ambassadors, thinks it would also be a great time to start Celebrimbor on diplomatic training, because before this he was just in the forge with Curufin and Feanor. And it doesn't look like the rest of the Sons of Feanor are going to have kids so he'll be inheriting the crown one day.

So Celebrimbor and Thranduil are pushed together on children "play dates"

They hate it, they always fight with each other and have competitions and as soon as they see each other they will throw down and scream new insults they learned since the last time they met. Sometimes they spent entire visits only speaking to each other in their own native tounges and mock the other for not properly understanding what they are saying. This particular game didn't last long, but Tyelpe did become the first of the Noldor to speak Sindarin fluently with no accent and Thranduil enjoys the annoyed tick in Galadriel's typical serene expression when she hears him speak flawless Quenya with a Feanorian lisp

Oropher is concerned, being the youngest of 4 he never had an antagonistic relationship with any of them. But Maglor (the new depressed Noldor High King) just gives a small smile and shrugs. He grew up with 6 brothers and even more half cousins. Little Tyelpe and Thrandy are just playing like boys and future best friends do

And they keep up this frenenimes relationship even after Curufin moves them to Himland. When it gets sacked during Dagor Bragollach and Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor all flee south to their cousins home, Thranduil sends them some relief supplies. When Celebrimbor disown his father, Thranduil comes to visit and generally be annoying until Celebrimbor can stop feeling like shit

When Thranduil, his parents, and their people leave eastward after Thingol's death but before the second Kinslaying (for Oropher is older then the Sun and Moon, he is not about to be led by a boy not even in his 30th year, Maiar blood or not, and many Sindar agree with him) Celebrimbor travels with them and secures them safe passage through the Blue Mountains.

They both grieve when they hear of the Second Kinslaying, then the Third, and then when the East sinks under the waves. Not many in Lindon support Celebrimbor wearing the eight pointed star again, but Thranduil just rolls his eyes and tells him red looks dreadful with his complexion

During the Second Age when Thranduil gets married, Celebrimbor is invited to the wedding and vis versa when Celebrimbor marries Narvi

(Both marriages involve lots of teasing over their partners of choice. Thranduil laughs over the fact that of course a Noldor would marry a Dwarf, they are basically the same, what with their love of rocks and metal work. Celebrimbor rolls his eyes and snorts that he's surprised Thranduil didn't end up marrying an Ent, what with his love of trees, but he supposes that marrying a lady named "tree maid" is close enough. What next? Will he name his children "sapling" or "twig" or "leaf"? Thranduil shoves him off his chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor and growls that at least his children will have original names, and not share a name with two of his forefathers like Men)

They visit each other a lot during the second age, and Thranduil tries to help him as best he can during the fallout of Narvi's death, and when Celebrimbor is designing his rings of Power with that suspicious Maiar of his (who Celebrimbor SWEARS is helping him craft to work through the grief he has no other intentions) he had Thranduil (or Oropher) in mind when he created Vilya

When Thranduil heard about what happened to his friend and his land during the War of Elves and Sauron he grieved deeply. The only thing he had to remember his friend by was some forgotten blueprints of unfinished jewelry, an Age worth of letters (mostly written in Quenya, he of course had replied in proper Sindarin), a clumsy eight pointed star he laughingly embroidered onto the breast of Thranduil's favourite robe, a set of Sindarin long knives overly embellished with Noldorian swirls, and a box of white gems Celebrimbor hand crafted and left with a promise to come back once he finished his rings and use them to make a matching crown set for Thranduil and his wife to wear whenever he inherited the crown

("There may be even enough left over for a third crown. For your 'little leaf' to grow into whenever you two get around making one." Thranduil's wife laughed with Celebrimbor and sent her husband a leer that set his ears ablaze and Tyelpe's laughter began anew)

And enough regrets to haunt him for Ages. It seemed like bad things always came in three. Celebrimbor, his father, his new homeland. Thranduil led his people north, away from everything he had loved, and kept what remained close to his chest. After his wife was slain shortly after the birth of his son, he refused to lose anyone else. Greenwood the Great began to mirror his grief and became Mirkwood

It was almost another another Age before he decided to commission the Dwarves of Erebor to turn those precious white gems into the crowns Celebrimbor intended. Not for him and his now dead wife, but maybe for Legolas and his future partner. (His little leaf, he could hear Celebrimbor's laughter every time Legolas calls himself "Legolas Greenleaf" with that cheeky grin of his) And if Celebrimbor couldn't make them himself, he would be happy to let his Dwarven friends do the job for him

Thranduil almost burned down the mountain himself when they withheld those gems and one of the last pieces of his dear friend from him

Under the bone deep fear of watching a dragon from his nightmares sack the kingdom, he was a little pleased. Jewel thieves get their due

(He knows that Celebrimbor never swore his grandfather's Oath, but sometimes late at night he wonders if he still carried the curse of it. If that Oath and the Curse of Feanor are the reason his dearest friend died that awful way he did)

It was the beginning of a forth age when those sparking white gems were finally turned into the crowns they were destined to be. And Thranduil could almost hear Celebrimbor's delighted laughter as he watched his only son and heir, his little leaf, marry a dwarf.

When it came time to sail, Thranduil stayed with his people, he has coveted them for so long he now refused to leave unless he was forced too. Legolas, who had somehow made a small boat that could barely withhold the waves of the Western Sea, was greeted with a welcoming and joyful embrace by the Elf he only heard stories about

"Hail Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, Crafter of the Rings Of Power, Husband of Narvi son of Vilarvi of Durin's Folk, and most importantly, the dearest friend of my father!" Legolas greeted in flawless Quenya with a very noticeable Feanorian lisp. The gathered crowd twitched a little and Elrond (who was hoping of news of his sons) gave a sigh. "I have much to say, and so does my husband Gimli, but first I must give you my father's message!"

Legolas cleared his throat, and then with mock superior expression, one that made him look just like Thranduil, he said: "Celebrimbor you Spider Spawn of the Shadow, if you worked on my crown instead of those thrice damned Rings like you said, my son would never have married a Dwarf. Once I am reborn you better start running because I am going to burry you in my forest and chop down the tree you become with my anger alone!"

There was a startled gasp of silence on the shores of Valinor, before Celebrimbor burst into peels of joyful laughter. Legolas smiled at his honorary uncle and laughed with him

"As you can see, father missed you very much"

#celebrimbor #thranduil #legolas #lotr #silmarillion #tolkien #gigolas #oropher #while i was writing this i looked up Diors age and homie was 22 when he married his wife and died at 30 #how did any of the elves take him seriously??? he was an infant!!!! Who let this Infant Elf have kids??? #absolutely wild i can see oropher being like This is my new king?? I think not and peacing out with most of their people #which is why the second kinslaying went the way it did #anyways enough about dior he was just a bad PR move #I think Thrandy and Tyelpe were best friends your honour #Celebrimbor would have loved legolas and been his biggest supporter in marrying Gimli #if he was let out of Mandos Halls by the time the two of them sailed he would have laughed and adopted Legolas on the spot #Celebrimbor for Best Uncle

[nyashykyunnie]

Tw: childhood trauma, slight bit of anxiety

Hello, if you don't mind, could you write romantic comfort headcanons for Childe whose s/o has certain behaviours that indicate someone has hurt them in the past? For example, they tense up while thinking about the person who hurt them, and they have little to no interest in daily activities? Thank you (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

(Please delete this request if it makes you feel uncomfortable!)

A/N: Dw it's absolutely fine! More Childe Anon Req Comfort coming right up for you anon! And I’m sorry I dun really get that part with the “Little To No Interest” thing, I’m not confident about my comprehending skills so AAA I’m so sorry;((

Trigger Warnings!: Mentions of anxiety!

ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 𝚡 𝙶𝙽! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣: Mᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs Oғ Cʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ Aʙᴜsᴇ

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

.     　﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸.    ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　 ｡　☆　　　ﾟ ＊ 　 ｡　☆ ✦˖

Perceptive as ever, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. He knew something was wrong the moment he noticed your habits. 

He wont confront you about it, he’ll wait until you tell him yourself. It’s not good asking someone something blunt and it might lead to further misunderstandings. He wont rush you, Childe trusts you.

However, if he notices that is a bit severe, he wont hesitate a tad bit to step in.

But what alarmed him a lot was when he started to notice your face paled immediately. He just blinked and there you were- Standing with a look as if your soul was sucked out of you.

He immediately took action, he brought you somewhere private to sit you down. Childe will accompany you.

Tartaglia will try to divert your attention towards something else, he’ll start talking about his work. If that’s not working, he’ll rub circles on your back or trace his finger on your scalp. 

He’ll sometimes get up to fetch something to drink,.. Or maybe you want some comfort food? That’s fine, he’ll be back quickly with the tidbits you need.

He is really a patient one, he’s from a big family. He knows that it’ll take time before you tell him. 

And it’s fine by him, as long as you know that you’re not alone it’s alright.

However, once you do start telling him what’s wrong, his eyes immediately darkened in a dangerous why.

‘They...Did what?...To You?...’ His face, although composed- His insides were churning in absolute hatred and loath.

So this is why you are like this? This is why you have little to no interest in almost anything? This is why?

Tartaglia wanted to hunt down whoever did this to you and teach them a lesson.

Wounds may heal but the scars left behind engraves into the soul of a person and changes them drastically. Even the sightest cut can even discreetly change someone, what more if it’s more than just a wound?

“Y/N, babe, look at me” Childe softly cooes, removing his glove and cupping your cheek. “I’m here”

His cerulean blue orbs locking with yours as he rubbed his thumb at the back of your hand.

“ They’ve hurt you in the past, so that’s done. I know you’re scared because it’s now a scar inside you.” Childe said, his eyes not faltering to look at yours. “However I’ll help you heal.”

His gaze, firm and honest. Sincere and loving.

“I’ll help you move forward, I swear nothing can ever hurt you ever again” He pressed further, but not in a startling way. “You’re strong. Maybe you’ve heard this before, maybe you’re tired of hearing it- But I do not care. The broken can be fixed. There’s nothing beyond repair. You can start anew and I will be there with you. Every step, as slow or as fast as much as you’d like. I’ll match your pace. I will never let you be alone ever again.”

Childe made sure your eyes are locked on him and him only, so you can see him sincer he is right now. So you can see that this is a promise he will forever keep.

“I’m not going to tell you to just forget about it, no, saying that would just be like getting stabbed and getting told to just stop bleeding” He says. “It’ll take time for you to heal and it doesn’t matter to me.”

“The one who suffered from the past is you, the one dealing with the scars is you. However, the one who will heal from it is also you. You are no longer alone, I’ll say it as much as it takes to have you know that there is someone you can lean on when your anxiety comes attacking you. That someone is me,Y/N”

That’s right, you’re not alone. No matter how much you feel so unwanted and haunted by the past, remember that somewhere- someone is more than willing to give you a shoulder. Someone out there is more than willing to lead you to a tomorrow with no traces of melancholy.

Childe is willing, willing, to do it all for you. You matter to him so much than anyone would ever think, he’ll kneel down for you and you only. A villain, a hero, it doesn’t matter how anyone else sees him. It’s just you and the state of you now matters. No matter how many fears you have, he will comfort you. No matter how many scars you hide, he will help you heal from them. No matter how many tears you shed, he’ll wipe them for you.

You wont ever suffer from anything alone anymore now that he is here. It’s an oath of his now that nothing will ever bring you any harm ever again.

So just trust him, dont doubt him. There no strins attached behind him, there are no black intentions behind this. He is sincerer than he ever was. 

Take his hand and heal. No matter how hard it is, it’s fine. He’s there. 

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin comfort #genshin fluff #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe #childe x y/n #childe x reader #childe comfort #childe headcanons #childe imagines #childe scenarios

[koo-zy]

hello! do you have any fantasy/historical jungkook x reader fic recs ?

hello lovely!! i’m so sorry i missed this yesterday :( i was actually planning on reorganizing my tumblr because i feel like no fics are ever going to be able to be found my blog LOL so hopefully that’ll be done soon!!

as for the fantasy/historical fics.. i’m honestly not too sure what “fantasy” (do demons count..? soulmates..? werewolves????) typically includes so i’m just going to include a bunch of fics that hopefully fit in :”) here are the first ones that i thought of + summaries included in their main posts!

also.. i’m sure i missed a lot of amazing fics (mainly because i’m dumb as hell and don’t really know what can be included in “fantasy”) and would like to apologize in advance!! 

@inktae ’s entire masterlist (they have a lot of fantasy fics!)

while this isn’t just jungkook recs, @ficswithluv had a fantasy category a few weeks ago!

@kpopfanfictrash ‘s jungkook masterlist

@fortunexkookie ‘s jungkook masterlist

one shots!

énouement - @littlemisskookie Mulan!AU

War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook.

midas - @gukyi 

jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

i will not lose! - @jimlingss Magic!AU

A single bet - use every means to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you.

a piece of the moonlight - @/jimlingss Mulan!AU

For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

dynasty - @/jimlingss Historical!AU

It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

game of temptation ft. knj, myg, kth - @/jimlingss Succubus!AU 

As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it’s still hard to resist Taehyung, and there’s little you can do once you’ve been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don’t know your intentions are far from being angelic.

knot today - @kinktae

(IDK IF WEREWOLVES COUNT BUT JERHFBDSKNZX THIS IS REALLY GOOD!!)

When your first heat approaches and you are left partnerless, who better to turn to than your alpha roommate that you’ve spent the better half of your life hiding your feelings for?

ego - @luxekook Harry Potter!AU

(..i also don’t know if HP counts LOL)

in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs

stumbling - @hayjeon Prince!AU

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: hii! so the royal wedding of prince harry and meghan is today, and since my bias is JK and since i’m such a sucker for royal stuff, can i reuest a fic of bts all being royal of 7 different kingdom, and all of them being invited to jin’s wedding and the girl (oc) is also invited and kookie met her there, and eventually took an interest at her? the girl is also royalty from other kingdom. thanks!

werewolf!jungkook - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: Werewolf!jk? (im sorry ik it’s overused and unoriginal) where he and his mate have pups to take care of and they’re quite a mischievous bunch!

there for you - @cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jungkook is always known for doing things unapologetically, and it makes sense given how almost nothing gets under his skin—almost nothing, but maybe there’s an exception that takes a form of a muggleborn with the shy smile and quirky spells.

say you won’t let go - @/cupofteaguk Soulmates!AU

You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in 

new romantics - @/cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jeon Jungkook will go down in history as one of the best Quidditch players that ever graced the Hogwarts scene. It seems like he always gets what he wants—his life is very predictable in that sense. What he cannot predict, however, is the newest weekend employee wiping down the tables at the Three Broomsticks.

a cinderella story - @suhdays Modern Cinderella!AU

you are forced to work multiple jobs as you live under your stepmothers roof. unable to move out and strive for complete independence, you do what you can in order save enough. turns out, as a college student that is harder than you thought. so, you distract yourself by joining online chat groups in which you meet a boy that goes to your school. that boy? none other than the rugby star himself, jeon jeongguk. it doesn’t prove to be an issue until he asks to meet you at an upcoming halloween party. he’s never noticed you before so why not hide yourself in order to live your dreams, if only for a moment?

explorer - @1kook Alien!AU

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

rottenfolk - @junqkook Faerie!AU

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

the young wolf - @/junqkook Game of Thrones!AU

he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

the lighthouse - @rubycoast S2L!AU

(im not too sure if this is considered fantasy but its one of my favs!)

you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled.

black magic - @hansolmates​ Magic Uni!AU

a witch with an ambition for learning, you stumble across a crushing spell in the middle of the forbidden section. of course you have to try it out! what happens when the crushing spell not only has jeon jungkook crushing on you, but you crushing on him?

the sea & the storm - @jamaisjoons Fantasy!AU

the sea is a powerful mistress. she is calm and beautiful. she is mysterious and alluring. she is a force to be reckoned with. above all, however, she is lonely. until she meets him. fantasy au.

the lionheart’s oath - @sugaxjpg Knight & Princess!AU

There was no happy ending, no dragon slayer to save the kingdom and get the princess — there was only him: Jungkook. A simple orphan that was lucky enough to be invited into the castle, a former homeless thief that had found shelter in the form of an elysian heir. Now, after twelve years by your side, he was about to lose you to the world you sought to explore.

ghosts just wanna have fun - @/sugaxjpg Psychic & MedSchool!AU

When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

wartime child - @ktheist Wizard!AU

raising a baby in wartime isn’t easy. but when your baby starts showing signs of magical abilities, you’re forced to ring up the only other person you know he takes after: jeon jungkook.

birth of an empress - @/ktheist Dragon Slayer!AU

partners for three years and friends for longer, jungkook thought you’d remain so until he saw you with the knight at the merchant’s trade.

alternatively, the friendly neighborhood wizard trying to propose to the infamous dragon slayer in the middle of slaying a dragon? now, that’s classic.

series/two shots!

fear in your eyes - @/gukyi Werewolf!AU

(again, idk if werewolves count but hifksdjcx !!!!)

there’s a werewolf in that forest behind your house, they told you, and he’ll eat you before you can even beg for mercy. 

the worshiper series - @/jimlingss 

Long ago, there were gods who resided in Heaven -- existing to watch over and protect the universe. Each of them had their own flaws, trials and tribulations; some which were more sparing than others, but these are their stories...

a promise of freedom - @/jimlingss Wartime!AU

War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

one year, my love - @/hayjeon Historical!AU

You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year.

demigod!au drabbles - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: i have a supernatural au prompt! how bout daughter of hades/loner!reader and son of zeus/bully! jungkook?

into the woods - @/junqkook Goblin!AU

getting hurt and stumbling upon a goblin in the forest leaves you completely at his mercy, though you aren’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

lionheart - @/junqkook Magic!AU

as a sorcerer, it is of the utmost importance that you keep your magic a secret from everyone. when you become prince jungkook’s servant, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep your identity hidden; especially when you fall in love with him.

a royal exchange - @/hansolmates

she’s the man!au where the princess impersonates her brother yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement

knight!jungkook x princess!reader - @/ktheist

a series with 27 parts!

that’s all i can think of off the top of my head right now :(( not gonna lie, half of these probably don’t even fit into either of those categories and i know there are so so so many amazing fantasy/historical fics out there!! i wish i knew them all but i hope this helped a little bit! if anyone has any fic they’d like to rec, feel free to send it to meee :)

and finallyyyyy i leave my following page open for viewing as well so you can check out all of the authors i follow!! please show all of these authors (and many more) some love! <3

#jk2rec #jungkook: historical!au #jungkook: fantasy!au #historical!au #fantasy!au #inktae #kpopfanfictrash #fortunexkookie #littlemisskookie #gukyi #jimlingss #kinktae #luxekook #hayjeon #cupofteaguk #suhdays #1kook #junqkook #rubycoast #hansolmates #jamaisjoons #sugaxjpg #ktheist

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

In the Still of the Night

Here is my contribution for the Captain Swan Neverland New Year event! You guys, I am so excited to be writing again!!!! Thank you @xhookswenchx for beta reading this baby for me.  Kudos to the mods of @neverlandnewyear for thinking up and putting together this treasure that is Captain Swan in Neverland. Tag list at the end, please let me know if you ever want to be removed or added. 

Summary: Set after Henry is safe (no Pan switch) but before the gang is able to leave Neverland. When Emma is woken in the still of the night, from dreams of a devilishly handsome pirate captain, she decides she needs a midnight swim to cool off. In which Hook and a daringly open Emma have a meeting of the mind, body, and soul. 

     Rated M          8K          ao3           ffnet          Story under the cut, promise

It was the middle of the night when Emma woke, a sweltering, sweaty mess. “Why is this island so fucking hot,” she muttered into the darkness. Having a lascivious dream about Hook had absolutely naught to do with her elevated temperature, it was undoubtedly this goddamn jungle. Now that Pan had been conquered, and Henry was safe, Emma found she was having an increasingly difficult time keeping the smoldering, blue-eyed pirate off of her mind. She needed to get back to Storybrooke, back to some semblance of normalcy... or whatever. She silently cursed Gold for not having found a way to get her father home safely yet. 

Ripping the covers from her body, she got up from her bunk below Henry’s and checked on him. Seeing that he was sound asleep, she headed topside. The deck of the Jolly Roger was blessedly deserted. Emma leaned against the railing, looking toward the vast jungle that was Neverland and she shuddered despite the hot, humid air that surrounded her. The shudder wasn’t due to the jungle itself. Since they’d defeated Pan, Hook had shown the group many of the island’s hidden beauties. He had stories for every spot he showed them, some hilarious, some melancholy, some quite ordinary, and others downright terrifying. There were quaint trails, refreshing springs and ponds, fascinating wildlife and vibrant plant life. It was actually quite a dream destination when a maniacal man-boy wasn’t playing psycho. 

No, it wasn’t the jungle causing that shudder. She couldn’t get that goddamn kiss off her mind. Emma bit her lip as she reminisced about the way his lips had caressed hers, the way his tongue had slipped into her mouth hungrily but also tenderly. A one-time thing, she’d told Hook. Now if she could just maintain that lie, because that’s what it had been. She really needed Gold to find a way to magic David’s health back so they could get off this god forsaken island already. 

She decided that the time for sleep was past, she was wide awake now, with thoughts of that damn pirate. A midnight dip would be ideal, especially while everyone was asleep. Emma left the Jolly Roger and headed toward the secluded pond that Hook had shown them. Once they’d no longer had to worry about being attacked, they’d created a regular schedule for bathing, so everyone had their own time. Luckily, no one’s time was right now.

Traversing quietly through the jungle, Emma admired the beauty around her. The greenery was lush, the effulgent dew made it seem more alive than any plants she’d ever been around. The blossoms surrounding the path were some of the largest she’d ever seen - they were dazzling pinks and oranges. She wondered if she had missed all this in her haste, fatigue, and desperation while finding Henry, or if the jungle had only come to life since the man-child was no more. 

She followed the trail Hook had shown them, until she came upon the pond that was shrouded below an overhang at the base of what Hook had referred to as Dead Man’s Peak. The name hadn’t initially inspired comfort in the group, but when David explained to them that the water at the top of the peak was what had cured him, their perspectives changed. Emma swore there must be some restorative properties here at the base because she always felt rejuvenated when emerging from the water.

Stripping as soon as she broke the tree line, she discarded her clothes beneath a tree along the sandy shoreline. Her flesh pebbled as it met the open air, and she felt a freeness as she walked to the water’s edge. She dipped her toes in tentatively, knowing the water would be agreeable as always. Emma was immersed thigh deep before diving down below the surface and swimming toward the middle. 

The water sluiced around her body soothingly while she held her breath as long as she could, before breaking the surface. Emma pushed her hair back then ran her hands over her face before opening her eyes. She enjoyed this spot, a sandbar of sorts, deep enough to cover her body, shallow enough that she could still reach, and far enough from all surrounding shore should anyone happen upon her.

The silence that enveloped her was serene and she looked up at the star filled sky. A shooting star floated across the heavens, but just as Emma was about to make a wish, the water beside her opened up as something emerged. The scream that started to bubble up from deep within her, as a hundred thoughts filled her mind on what unimaginable Never-beast this could be, was cut off by a voice she was not expecting to hear.

“Evening Swan!”

“Jesus Christ, Hook!” Emma gasped. Thank god she was in shoulder deep water. “Wait, did you… were you watching when I… you know,” she asked while motioning toward her body.

“Did I what?” Hook asked, genuine confusion furrowing his brow.

“Did you see me undressing?”

“You wound me, Swan… I would never!”

“Oh, tonight you’re the gentleman?”

“I told you, I am always a gentleman,” he claimed in a rich tone as he took a step closer to her. “Spying on a lady as she undresses would be unthinkably bad form.”

“Then where the hell were you?” 

“I was underwater.”

“For the whole time?” she asked disbelievingly. 

“Aye. I’m a pirate, love, when you live a life on the water, it’s best you be able to hold your breath for longer than the average landlubber. Never know when you might find yourself keelhauled.”

“Landlubber,” Emma scoffed, “I can hold my breath just fine.” 

“I’ve no doubt you can, just not as long as meself,” he smirked.

Emma narrowed her eyes at the challenge in his tone. What was it about this man that had her wanting to comply with his every whim? She’d held her breath for as long as she could when she dove into the water, if he’d been under from the time she’d stripped until he popped up to interrupt her wish, that had to be like two full minutes? No way, she thought, he must have come up for air while she was under.

“Bet I can,” she challenged back.

“Is that so?” Hook asked, crowding her a little more, eyebrow cocked in interest. “And just what are the terms of this bet?”

If ever asked under oath, Emma would swear his eyebrows spoke a language all their own. “If I win, I get the Captain’s quarters,” Emma replied, crossing her arms over her chest smugly - as if she’d already won.

“I told you before, Swan, you and the lad should have my quarters.”

“I don’t want it given to me, I want to take it from you.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “such a stubborn lass. And if I win?”

“You tell me,” Emma said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed, as the tip of his tongue swept along his bottom lip. “How about…” he continued, tapping his pointer finger to his lips.

Emma leaned toward him with anticipation as he pondered the terms to set. 

“I get to ask you any question I want.”

“Seriously?” Emma sputtered, head tilting to the side, it was rhetorical at best, not an actual question. “You’re taking this gentleman schtick a little over the top. I thought you’d want me to flash my tits or another kiss?”

“I told you, love, I am always a gentleman, and as such, I would never want to take a kiss from you in victory, I want it given to me, willingly. I want you to want it as much as I do.”

Emma blushed as he spoke, damn him for being a chivalrous pirate. “Whatever,” Emma muttered, “I’m winning this bet anyway.”

“So, we have an accord?” he questioned, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“Deal,” Emma said, shaking his hand. “How will we know no one cheated?”

“I do have a code, Swan,” Hook scoffed, “pillaging and plundering, yes; swashbuckling, yes; swindling beautiful maidens, never.” He held his hand over his heart as if he were making a pledge. 

Emma smiled at the actual drama queen standing before her, laughing lightly, it felt good. “Okay, so how are we doing this thing?” Hook held up his hand like he was about to take an actual oath, and Emma was half inclined to high-five him, though she was sure that was not his intent. 

“Take my hand then,” he prompted, nodding his head toward his hand. Once her fingers were laced with his, he explained that he would count to three and they’d both submerge to the bottom, first one up was the loser, and the winner would know, because the loser would release the winner’s hand to reach the surface for air. 

On three they submerged, and Emma could not see a thing. Hook was inches from her, and the only indication was his hand in hers. Feeling the comfort of his grasp in the eerily dark abyss, she pondered over the fact that she’d interlocked their fingers, instead of just holding hands palm in palm. She really needed off this island, she couldn’t be falling for him. Life was too hard for a relationship. Or was it really too hard, the rarely heard from, softer side of Emma Swan’s mind butted in. It could be so easy, this voice told her. 

When Hook had told her that he would win her heart without any trickery, Emma’s heart had beat a little stronger just for him, she’d wanted to pull him into her arms to make out right there. Alas, there had still been the issue of her beloved child to save.

Would it really be so bad to let Hook try to win her heart though? He truly was a gentleman, a pirate scoundrel sometimes too, but it was part of his charm. Plus, her lie detector said that everything he’d told her regarding how he felt about her, about what the kiss exposed, it was all true.

Emma’s mind wandered back to Storybrooke, to what it might be like to have someone who understood her, someone who was like her, to spend time with. The squeeze he gave her hand at that moment had her picturing what it might be like to walk through town with him, hand in hand. Was that even something she could still do, be that vulnerable, for the world to see her care for a man? She’d been on her own for so long, independent; free from any man who could hold her heart with the possibility of crushing it. 

Suddenly she felt dizzy, head spinning and heart pounding loudly in her ears. Had she held her breath too long, or were her outlandish imaginings too much for her stoic heart? Releasing Hook’s hand, Emma rose to the surface and gulped in the air. Pushing water and hair from her face, she panted deeply. She wondered how long they’d been down there already as Hook continued his underwater mission. Leave it to him to not only win, but really show her up. 

A full minute later, Emma began to worry. Unless she’d been down there an inordinately short amount of time, he’d been under for at least two and a half minutes. Was that even possible? Had he passed out in his endeavor to “best her”? She started to actually worry for his health when another thirty seconds passed. 

“Goddammit Hook, where are you?” she muttered.

“Miss me, love?” 

“Oh, goddammit!” she yelled as she flailed so hard, she was pretty sure she’d just flashed her breasts unwittingly. The bastard wasn’t even out of breath when he popped up right in front of her. “Stop doing that,” she laughed as she pushed his chest. “Why’d you stay down so long, you big showoff?” 

“On the contrary, I could feel you thinking down there, the amount of body language just in your hand told me you were contemplating some things. I merely wished to give you enough time to escape, should this game have become too much for you.”

“Escape?” she scoffed.

“Now, now, Swan - we both know of your affinity to run,” he said lightly, no accusations or contempt in his voice.

“Says the pirate who sailed away when asked to be a part of something,” Emma retorted. 

“I came back, didn’t I?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow. “You, on the other hand, left me to be eaten by a giant atop that beanstalk.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she laughed. “I made a deal with Anton to release you after ten hours, I just needed a head start, in case you…” Emma’s voice lowered to a whisper, not wanting to voice her early assumptions about his motives and intentions.

“In case I betrayed you,” Hook finished. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, looking straight into his eyes, imploring him to believe the sincerity of her words. Although she’d had her reasons at the time, it didn’t make her feel less terrible now. 

“Long forgiven, milady,” he whispered in turn. Then, in the next breath, he was back to the cocky pirate she knew. “Now, I do believe I won, and per our accord, you owe me the fee of one truth.”

“Congratulations,” Emma offered, extending her hand to shake, “you won, fair and square.” No trickery, she thought. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, which was still underwater, so it didn’t make her look menacing at all as she jutted out her chin and raised both eyebrows in a silent challenge to do his worst. 

“Why thank you, Swan. Hmmm, what shall I ask you?” he spoke, as if pondering his many choices. “There are truly so many things I wish to learn about you, I want to know everything, really.”

Emma’s eyebrows lowered as a shy smile crept over her face. It was stupid, she knew, but having this man before her, admit that he wants to know everything about her made her feel… cherished, adored, wanted. It was a foreign feeling after so many years of being alone. “Well, you only get one free question,” she said, trying to deflect the saccharine sweet feelings he was stirring within her.

"Pity, that, but I do remember the terms of our agreement. I do have one question picked out that I simply must know the answer to, before I endeavor to learn more. Fair warning, I may not have an Emma Swan internal lie detector,” he said as he leaned in closer to her, “but as I told you before, you are a bit of an open book, so I’ll know if you’re twisting the truth.” 

“I would never,” Emma objected dramatically, holding a hand over her heart as he had so often done when feigning injury to his pride.

“Good,” he replied, taking a step even closer. “Then tell me, love, when you said our kiss was a one time thing, did you mean it? And if you did mean it when you said it, do you feel the same now?”

 His close proximity was making her feel a little less confident than the facade she was putting on, but Emma didn’t break the heady eye contact he’d made, a beautiful shade of blue, looking into her, reading her. And how was the kohl that rimmed his eyes unaffected by the water? She might have to pillage some of that from him, it put her realm’s cosmetics to shame. God he was gorgeous as the moonlight shined down on them, she’d never noticed the hint of red to the scruff along his sharp jawline. “That’s two questions,” she murmured breathily as she thought of nibbling along that jawline. 

“Shall I rephrase?”

“Oh, the hell with it, I never meant it,” she confessed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her bare chest against his and kissing him soundly. 

As their lips collided hungrily, over and over, Emma was pretty sure she heard Hook mumbling thanks to the gods. She felt a little of that same relief, as she finally admitted that denying herself this thing that she wanted was ridiculous now that everyone was safe. Running her fingers through his thick hair, she gave it a little tug, angling his head so she could deepen the kiss. The groan he elicited was sinful and it kind of made Emma want to rub herself all over him. 

Instead she ran her other hand over his chest, deciding to take her time, she’d wanted to feel that chest hair since the first time she’d seen it proudly on display. It wasn’t quite what she expected since they were both wet and it was matted to his chest. She smirked when he jumped, his hand tightening involuntarily in her hair as she ran a thumb over his nipple. 

“A little sensitive, Captain?” she teased, looking up at him through her long lashes.

“Aye,” Hook chuckled, “‘s been awhile.”

It’d been a long dry spell for her as well. And it’d been even longer since feeling any true emotion when with a man. It had merely been scratching an itch for so long that she was a little scared what this all meant. The tingling, unadulterated want she felt in every nerve of her body far outweighed the fear though. “Touch me,” she whispered as she wrapped both arms around his waist.

 “Bloody Hell, you’ll be the death of me, woman,” he muttered as he kissed her once more. He wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her in close. Trailing a path from her mouth to her ear, he bit gently on her lobe, and it was his turn to smirk as a shiver ran through Emma’s entire body.  “Would you be opposed to taking this back on land?” 

“We just got clean, I don’t want sand in every crack and crevice,” she giggled while wrinkling her nose. 

“Aye, that would be less than optimal,” Hook agreed, “though the place I have in mind won’t get your nether regions sandy.”

“What’s wrong with right here, right now?” Emma challenged. She was pulled up short when Hook’s cheeks went pink and he scratched behind his ear as he did so often when he was feeling slightly unsure of himself. Truth be told, Emma found it cute, although she’d never tell him that, she doubted the fearsome pirate captain wanted cute to be correlated to his reputation. 

“It’s just, I’d rather…”

Brushing the hair from his forehead, Emma smoothed her thumb over the worry line that creased his brow.  “What’s wrong?” she asked. When he made no attempt to answer, Emma decided to employ his own tactics against him. “Try something new, Hook. It’s called trust.”

Emma internally cheered as one of Hook’s mega watt smiles overtook his face. The smile that showed those adorable (another word she was sure he would not want associated with him) dimples, and crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

“Touché lass,” he conceded, “I’d rather be able to have use of all my appendages.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, gazing very obviously in the direction of his most manly appendage. “Ummm, it felt like it was working just fine to me.” 

“Christ, Swan,” he chuckled, “I assure you, everything is ready, willing, and able in that department. I’d like my hook.”

Emma’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she thought, not for the first time, about what that hook would feel like against her heated skin. 

“It’s okay, love, if it repulses you, I can just wear the brace without the hook.” 

Emma shook her head, a frown downturning her brows and her lips, “Stop-”

“But I assure you,” Hook continued without letting Emma speak, “if the hook repulses you, the wound will surely-”

Emma’s hand over his mouth was more effective in shutting him up. “Stop it,” she demanded, “right now.” 

Hook was a little taken aback by being commanded by the fiery version of Emma, he’d seen her fiery side before, and he liked it, he liked every part of her. He wasn’t taken aback by her fire, rather he wasn’t used to being bossed around. He was the boss. But as he stood there, with her hand over his mouth, he realized he’d follow her orders any day. 

“Do you think I’m unaware that you don’t have a left hand?”

Hook shook his head in the negative, since her hand was still covering his mouth.

“Do you think I’m so shallow as to be repulsed by your hook or your brace or your wound?”

Hook took longer to answer this time, contemplating what he’d said and what she was asking. He supposed his words may have left room for misinterpretation. Slowly shaking his head no again, Emma removed her hand from his mouth.

“Good,” she stated simply, reaching for his left wrist before he even realized she'd made a move. 

His head spun when he felt Emma’s touch upon his scarred flesh and his knee-jerk reaction was to pull away from her grasp. He struggled to find the words through the haze. “It was not my intent to imply you are shallow, Emma. It is my own reticence.” 

“Trust me,” she whispered as she took his left wrist again. Wrapping both of her hands around his forearm and blunt wrist. Emma repeated the words comfortingly as she placed the arm he was so ashamed of between her breasts and held it there, where he could feel her heart beating. 

“Your hook, your brace, or just this,” she squeezed his wrist, “has no bearing on how I feel about you. I care about you, Hook.” Her voice sounded shaky, even in her own ears. “You came back for me, you helped save my son, you make me feel wanted, you make me feel good about being me.” Removing one hand from his damaged skin, Emma wrapped it around the back of his neck and pulled his forehead to hers before closing her eyes and continuing. “I’m not ready for this part, and I apologize, because that is my hang up.”

“Hang up?” he questions.

“A simpleton’s way of saying reticence,” she answers with a small smile before continuing. “I hate words, they make things real, and messy, and although I mean everything I’m saying, that’s all I can handle right now. Please just…” she inhaled sharply as she tried to articulate her plea to let this be enough. 

“I understand,” he whispered, voice just as shaky as Emma’s. He placed his hand on her cheek, lovingly caressing the softness of her lower lip. “And I do trust you, love.” He pecked her lips once before continuing. “I know you don’t like words, that much was clear from the start,” he said with a knowing smile and another peck to her lips, “but I’d like to respond, if you’re amenable?”

Emma nodded her head, eyes still closed, still reeling from her own confessions. 

Hook kissed her gently again before prodding her to open her eyes. “I want you to see the truth of my words.” 

Emma inhaled deeply, then opened her eyes to look at him. She bit her lip, a nervous habit from her teen years, as she waited for his words.

“I want to be the one to bite this lip,” Hook growled, as he used his thumb to massage her lip from her teeth.

“Truth,” Emma giggled despite herself, nodding to let him know her lie detector was working.

Hook waggled his eyebrows and smirked at her, before resuming his more resolute demeanor. “I have never felt more naturally drawn to a woman than I do with you. Your fire and passion brought my dormant heart back to life, and for the first time in decades upon decades, I want to be a better version of myself, a version that has been long forgotten, the old Killian Jones who was an honorable man, with good intentions, and hope in his heart, not revenge.”

“You may have lost your way for a time, but you’re still an honorable man, Killian.”

“Gods above,” Hook murmured as he wrapped both arms around Emma and pulled her into nothing more than a loving embrace. He was in love with her, but now was not the time. Emma would undoubtedly run if any grand declarations were made. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable maybe ever and he longed to hear her call him by his given name again. 

“Emma? Hook?! What the hell?”

Emma froze in Hook’s embrace as the familiar, and annoying, and currently very judgmental voice sounded from the shore.

“Bollocks,” Hook cursed. “How shall we handle this, darling?”

“Can we just pretend he’s not there,” she deadpanned, face still buried in her neck, trying to keep reality at bay.

“Somehow I doubt that will work, but you are The Savior, you could give it a go.”

Emma sighed deeply before turning around in Hook’s arms, her back to his chest, so she could face their interloper. She placed her hands over his hand and wrist where they were wrapped around her waist. It was still dark as she faced Neal, so hopefully he wouldn’t see the eyeroll she’d just given him when she saw this silhouette of his hands on his hips like some outraged father. 

“Good morning, Neal,” she called to the shore cheerfully. “I must have lost track of time, I didn’t realize it was already your shift for bathing.”

“It’s not,” he muttered, “it’s still the middle- not the fucking point,” he interrupted himself. “It’s not your shift either, what the hell are you doing out here?”

As much as Emma wanted to tell Neal that she and Hook were doing exactly what he assumed they were doing, she abstained.  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she snapped. 

“It is my business,” he snarled back, “we’re supposed to be here for Henry.”

“Don’t you dare!” Emma started, voice rising with rightfully earned indignation. “We came here to save Henry who is now safe and sound aboard the Jolly, but the reason we are here is because your deranged fiancée dragged him through a portal to sacrifice him to a madman.” 

“So you’re just going to throw away any chance of rekindling what we had, of being a family with Henry; so you can get laid by a dirty pirate.”

Emma pulled Hook’s arms around her tighter, keeping him anchored to her when she felt him start to pull away. She didn’t need these two getting into it again. 

“Oi! I bathe quite frequently, mate,” Hook quipped. “I was doing so when Swan and I happened upon each other.”

“Shut up, Hook,” Neal retorted.

“The one good thing that came from us, was Henry, but our relationship is long over. There is nothing to rekindle,” Emma sighed. She didn’t want to be mean, but she needed Neal to understand that she wanted nothing to do with him romantically. And she was not going to be lectured by the man who’d already blown up her life once. “Maybe one day, you and I can be friends for Henry’s sake, but that is the most we will ever be.”

“Ems, you don’t mean that. You’re under his thrall, it’s not real.”

Emma completely ignored the bait, choosing instead to stop this exchange in its tracks. “Hook and I are kind of busy,” she said with a lighthearted tone, while turning back around to face Hook. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she called over her shoulder, ”If there’s nothing else, we’ll see you later.”

“You mark my words Emma, when he abandons you after taking what he wants, you’re going to look back and regret this moment.”

“He’s stuck around through more shit than you ever did,” she called back, looking straight into Hook’s eyes.

Properly dismissed, Neal stormed off, muttering curses the whole way.

Emma dropped her head to Hook’s chest, exhaling with relief. “That felt good,” she said. 

“Well done, lass, though I’ve yet to see you fail, so I am not surprised Baelfire is no match for you. But perhaps we should make our way back as well,” Hook suggested. “I do believe he will be stirring the pot, come morning. You may want to be there to head off the storm.”

“I don’t care if he goes back to tell everyone, it’s not like it’s a lie, and at least this way, they will know we’re safe, and not missing. With any luck, we’ll be left alone for a bit,” she purred.

“Are you sure your parents will approve of you spending time with a dirty, one-handed pirate with a drinking problem?”

Emma’s head jerked up and she eyed him scrutinously. “First, you need to get Pan and Neal out of your head. Second, the only person who gets to decide who I spend my time with, or how I spend it, is me. And third, how do you know I don’t want you to be dirty,” she teased as she took command of his mouth with her own. 

Not giving him a chance to think further, Emma quickly kissed him again. She slid her tongue past his lips, rolling it against Hook’s, who was quick to reciprocate. She wrapped her lips around his tongue and sucked on it, eliciting one of the sexiest noises she’d ever heard. It was half growling and half begging for more. The buoyancy helped him to easily lift her and she instinctively surrounded his body with her legs.

Hook broke the kiss, in favor of exploration. His hot mouth trailed down Emma’s neck, licking here and nibbling there, never too rough, he didn’t wish to mark her, at least not where it would be visible. He palmed one of her breasts with his hand while running his thumb over her already pebbled peak. “Gods you are perfect,” he murmured before taking her other breast in his mouth and alternating between gently suckling and the graze of his teeth. 

Emma moaned softly in pleasure and torment as Hook worked her up, her clit throbbed and she longed to feel his hand or his mouth between her legs. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she pulled his head back and gazed into his eyes, want and desire evident in her pupils which were blown wide and the way her tongue licked salaciously over her bottom lip before she bit down on it. 

She unwrapped her legs from around Hook’s torso, in favor of standing again. Sliding her hands down his back, she squeezed his ass cheeks before pressing her body against his. “I want you,” she whispered when she felt his hardness against her stomach. Emma reached between them to wrap her hand around his thick length.

“Swan,” Hook choked out, pulling her hand gently away from his overly eager cock. “I really don’t want this to be over before it starts.”

Emma smiled knowingly, the very thought of making him come early amping up her need. “Okay, you lead,” she agreed.

“Come with me.” Hook led her toward the far end of the pond, which was actually far larger than she’d realized. They rounded a large looming rock which cloaked the entrance to a small cave by the shore.

“You just know all the secret spots, don’t you?”

“I discovered many hiding spots over the years I spent on this cursed island,” Hook acknowledged. “I usually walk to this side of the water’s edge to deposit all my belongings before bathing. One can never be too safe with the keeping of his hook.” Extending his hand to Emma, he led her out of the water and into the shelter. 

They entered far enough to have a little privacy, but not so far as to be pitched in blackness. Hook pulled her over to a natural, rock-formed shelf. “Do you want a towel, milady? Perhaps my shirt?”

“I want you,” Emma growled, yanking on his hand and pulling him flush against her body and attacking his mouth again.

“Mmmm, as you wish,” he uttered between ardent kisses. 

Emma whined when he broke away from her again, “Hook!”

“Patience, darling,” he teased. Then he quickly grabbed his jacket and his towel, laying first the jacket down on the cave floor, followed by the towel. “So you don’t get sand in every crack and crevice,” he advised with a mock bow. 

Emma laughed at his naked bow before tackling him to the makeshift bed and straddling his hips. She wove the fingers of her left hand with his right, and wrapped her other hand around his wrist before pinning them above his head. 

She didn’t miss the way he jumped when she embraced his wrist, a fleeting look of helplessness crossing over his face. She kissed him softly, tenderly, wanting to calm his nerves about his perceived flaw. When she felt his body relax against hers, she started to trail kisses across the line of his jaw before veering back up to his ear. “Has anyone ever told you, you are beyond gorgeous?” she whispered before sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

“I tell myself this all the time, but it does sound much lovelier on your luscious lips.”

“These lips?” Emma asked, sitting up just slightly and running her tongue along her bottom lip.

“Aye, the very ones,” Hook struggled to get out of her hold, as he tried leaning up to taste her lips.

Emma kept a firm hold on him though, enjoying this little bit of control. She could feel his cock against her ass, hard for her, twitching each time she nibbled and sucked at his skin. She continued to trail kisses downward, along his neck, across his pecs. His hips thrusted upwards when she bit down on his nipple and flicked her tongue over the sensitive flesh. “Patience,” she mimicked his earlier command. 

Hook’s melodramatic exhale made her giggle as she scooted further down his body, gently rubbing her wet core along his cock. “Bloody hell!” Hook cursed while deftly flipping them over.

“Don’t you want to see what else these luscious lips can do?” she asked with a wicked grin. 

“Gods above, I do. But I swear you will unman me the moment you wrap your lips around me.”

Emma smirked at him, eyes alight with lust.

“You little minx, you like that idea don’t you?” 

“Maybe,” she admitted, a confession really, despite the ambiguity of the answer. She’d already resumed stroking him.

“Fuck,” Hook hissed at her touch. He was torn between his ego needing to pleasure her first and his baser instincts demanding he let her do her worst. 

Emma watched Hook, saw him struggle with the decision, his eyes squeezing shut when she ran her thumb over his tip. Without waiting for his answer, Emma rolled them back over and licked from his base to his tip before sucking the head of his cock into her mouth while continuing to pump him.

  Her clit ached as she reveled in the wrecked expression on his face, Hook was watching her every move, lip pinned between his teeth as he struggled to hold out. She knew he was close when his hand balled into a white knuckled fist on his stomach and she gently cupped his balls to massage them. The sound that left his mouth was positively feral as he came hard, warm and wet in her mouth.

She savored the moment, he hadn’t lasted long, and she’d been the one to do that to him. But that was all she had, a fleeting moment before she was being rolled to her back. 

Hook held her in his blunted arm and dove in for a kiss, not caring at all that his taste was still on her tongue. He smiled against her lips when he felt her spreading her legs beneath him. “Eager, are we?” he asked between kisses.

“Don’t tease,” she panted into his mouth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Hook slowly caressed his hand down her neck, stopping to play with her breasts for just a moment before continuing down to where he knew she was desperate to be touched. He parted her lips with two fingers and slid his middle finger into the warm wetness waiting for him. “Gods, Swan, you’re soaked.” His cock was already coming back to life as he thought about sliding into her wet heat.

Emma’s eyes rolled shut as Hook massaged her clit with her slippery wetness and any response she could’ve made was forgotten. Her mouth parted with an involuntary whimper when he switched it up, suddenly, but oh so easily slipping two fingers deep inside her. She contracted around his fingers, then pushed down, welcoming the penetration. 

Hook fucked her with his fingers, circling his thumb over her clit, while watching her cheeks flush pink and her breasts bounce as she rode his hand. Longing to taste her, he repositioned himself between her legs, chuckling at her whine of protest when he had to stop for a moment. 

“Oh fuck,” she panted when he resumed loving her clit, this time with his tongue. He alternated between licks and flicks and sucking. Emma’s head spun dizzily, she’d experienced oral sex, but apparently she had never experienced mind blowing oral sex. She threaded both hands into his hair and tried desperately not to be too rough. “Oh my god, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

Hook chose that moment to thrust his fingers back inside her and Emma was gone, she came harder than she ever had, warm and tingly and wet as Hook continued to thrust his fingers into her and suck on her clit. She saw stars or dots or something behind her eyelids and there was a rush of waves nearby, or maybe that was just the adrenaline coursing in her ears. The little aftershocks pulsing and throbbing in her clit were heavenly and oh my god, that was fucking amazing, she thought.

“Get up here,” she purred, pulling on his hair.

“It seems someone was just as primed as I was,” Hook smirked as he slid back up the length of her body.

Emma silenced his smugness by wrapping her legs around waist and flipping him to his back. The rush of air that left Hook’s chest made her chuckle as she placed her hands on his cheeks and whispered to him between kisses. “Well, you’re very, very skilled,” she praised.

“You set the bar very high, love.”

Emma beamed at his compliment, her cheeks warming. She wasn’t sure what it was about this man that made her feel unlike she’d ever felt with another man. Like she was special and desired, it made her feel sexually free in a way she never had. Sitting astride Hook’s solid body, she caressed her hands along his chest, exploring his now dry chest hair, it was just as thick and glorious as she’d imagined. 

Emma could see the scars littering his flesh and she’d felt more when they’d been in the water and her hands had explored the expanse of his back. She wondered how rough his life had been to have this many physical scars. Her heart constricted a bit at that thought, especially already knowing he had just as many emotional scars as she did. She was both taken aback and a little frightened when she realized she wanted to know so much more about Hook. Maybe it was time to stop running from good things, Emma thought, her mind once again weighing the pros and cons of a relationship. Her train of thought was lewdly interrupted by a thrust of Hook’s hips, his hardness tapping at her back.

“Ready so soon, pirate,” she said in a husky tone while rising up on her knees and guiding him to her core. She ran the tip of his cock through her wet folds, both of them moaning with unadulterated lust. 

“Fuck yes,” he growled, thrusting his hips upward again. 

Emma cried out as his tip slipped inside her, a wave of arousal pooling and her belly tightening with want. She slid down his generous length, slowly savoring the drag against her slippery walls. She planted both hands on his chest and stilled her movements when he was fully seated, adjusting to his size. 

“You alright, love?” Hook asked, squeezing her hip gently while he circled his thumb over her hip bone.

She nodded her head and opened her eyes, which she didn’t realize she’d shut, to gaze down at the gorgeous man below her. “You feel good,” she praised, lifting her hips and sinking back down on to him. Emma set a languid pace, delighting in the sensation of fucking, the drag along her walls, angling herself so he hit that spot.

“That’s it, lass, take what you want,” Hook encouraged as Emma rode him; slowly at first, then building in pace as her cheeks flushed and a light sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead. He wished, not for the first time tonight, to be able to touch her with two hands. He encouraged her to touch her breasts as he changed course to play with her clit. 

Emma’s thighs began to burn as she worked to bring them both to that sweet edge of release, and the delicious friction between them built higher and higher. She palmed her breasts, tweaking her nipples and watched as Hook thumbed her clit in time with her thrusts. His hooded eyes roamed her body, and he bit down on his lip as he watched his cock disappear inside her heat over and over. She liked watching him watch her and the small grunts he gave each time she impaled herself and ground against him were hot. Emma found herself at the edge of bliss again and she whimpered as Hook began thrusting up into her.

Hook was having a hard time controlling his ardor, he wanted to flip them and plunge deeply into her. She was a vision, flushed pink, sweaty, breasts bouncing as she rode him to the edge. And then he heard her...

“Come with me, Killian,” she panted.

...and he was undone. The plea in her tone as she said his name and the massage of her walls against his cock as she began to come, ended him. He came hard and hot with a cry of her name, filling her with his seed until it began to spill as she continued to ride him through both of their releases. 

As euphoria traveled throughout her body, Emma slumped into Hook’s body. She’d never felt so gratified as her entire being thrummed with bliss. Hook turned them to their sides and kissed her fervently. Wrapping both her arms around him, Emma gave as good as she got, their tongues and lips engaging lovingly. She lost track of all time as they lay together, parting only when they needed breath. “That was-”

Hook covered her mouth much as she had covered his earlier. “Don’t,” he whispered with a pleading look in his eyes.

Emma wrapped her fingers around his palm and removed his hand, giggling quietly. “I didn’t mean it the first time, and I damn sure wouldn’t mean it this time,” she assured him, noting how his shoulders sagged in relief. “I was going to say that was amazing… brilliant,” she murmured into his ear. 

Hook chuckled, remembering the time he’d said those words to her. “Aye, Swan, we still make quite the team.”

Emma could only smile at the seamless harmony that flowed between them. And she kissed him once more before snuggling into him. 

As a sated exhaustion made itself known in her body, Emma rejoiced that it was still dark outside of the cave. A vigorous yawn and stretch wracked her body, and Killian chuckled lightly again.

“Did I wear you out?” 

Emma laughed as the same yawn tore through Hook, no sooner had he spoken his teasing words. “I think we wore each other out,” she snickered. 

“Aye lass, I believe you’re right. How about we get washed up and head back to the Jolly? I’ll give you the captain’s quarters, even though you lost.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Brag much?”

“What is the fun in winning a wager if I cannot gloat?”

“Such a pirate,” she muttered before rolling him to his back again. “How about we share the captain’s quarters?”

“Deal,” Hook accepted without hesitation. 

A half hour later, they were standing in the cave, bathed, and mostly dressed, Hook had gone to get Emma’s clothes for her from the opposite shoreline. 

“Shall we?” Hook asked, offering Emma his hand. He frowned when she made no attempt to move.

“I’d rather…” she started, a blush coloring her cheeks.

“Ah, I understand,” Hook said, quickly understanding. “Shall we head back in separate directions? Or perhaps, I’ll just stay here for a bit and come back later in the morning.”

Emma rolled her eyes again, this time with a bit of frustration, as she placed her hands on her hips. “That is not what I was going to say.”

Hook raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for her to explain.

“Has nothing I’ve said tonight gotten through to you? Or did that mind blowing sex make you forget?” She took his heavier than expected leather duster from where he had it draped over his arm and turned around to lay it out on the cave floor. 

Turning to face Hook again, she cupped his face in both hands. “Let’s recap, I like how you make me feel, I’m not worried about everyone finding out, best oral ever, sensational sex, no running away. I fancy you, Killian.” Emma finished her statement with a gentle kiss.

The gobsmacked look on Hook’s face made her laugh out loud. “I was going to say I’d rather spend the rest of the night here with you. We already know everyone else will know we’re safe. Even if Neal doesn’t outright blab; if Mary Margaret and David start to worry, he won’t hesitate to spill what he knows.” 

“You fancy me, love?”

Despite heavily stroking his ego by admitting he was the best she’d ever been with, it figured the part he’d pick up on was the closest she’d get to any kind of outright confession of feelings. Emma smacked her hand to her forehead. “Yes, Killian, I fancy you. Don’t get all cocky about it.”

“On my honor, I’ll not get cocky,” he promised before leaning in to kiss her, “as I quite fancy you as well. But you already know that.”  

Laying down on his jacket, the two snuggled together, Emma in panties and Hook’s shirt and Hook in his birthday suit.

“You needed to get naked again to go to sleep?” Emma asked with a little sarcasm in her tone.

“I’ll have you know that style and comfort do not go hand in hand, Swan. Those leathers, though appealing to the eye, do not make for great sleep clothes. Besides, all pirate’s know the only way to sleep when there’s a lovely lass in his bed, is in the nude. You know… easy access.”

“Why am I not surprised by that, Killian?”

“I’ll never tire of hearing you call me that,” he answered. 

“Killian,” she whispered.

“Aye, love?”

“Nothing, I just wanted you to hear me say it again.”

A boyish smile broke out over Killian’s face as he pulled her in tighter to his side. “Good night, Swan.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

The End

Tagging some lovely shipmates - please let me know if you don’t want to be tagged - or if you’re reading and want me to tag you. 

@laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @wordsmith-storyweaver @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @wyntereyez @hooklineandswan @teamhook @let-it-raines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard  @tiganasummertree@apromisednightcap  @xemmaloveskillianx @elizabeethan @cocohook38 @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @timeless-love-story @girl-in-a-tiny-box @thesschesthair @galadriel26 @ultraluckycatnd @lifeinahole27 @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @djlbg @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @delightfully-difficult-pirate @thejollyswan @csalltheway @xarandomdreamx @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove @resident-of-storybrooke @mcakers @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes​

#csnlny #cs fan fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs is my otp forever

[tinyboxxtink]

"Clueless" *Part 3*

Okay so my dog ended up being totally fine, and luckily I had most of this written beforehand. <3

PS- REALLY shouldn't have watched the actual movie while writing this...lulz. Count how many actual lines from the movie you catch.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Tag List:

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@wanniiieeee

@milkshqke

@gibbs274

@aprildecker-blog

@objection-argumentative

@word-scribbless

@stars-in-the-skies-world

-----

He drove back up the Beach House, but you and Ariel had abandoned it for a loft in the city, no forwarding address. He asked himself why he was putting so much effort just to get back in contact with you. He couldn’t explain it, it was like something against logic.

He dialed Ariel’s number.

IGNORE.

Redial.

IGNORE.

Text: “Answer your phone!!!”

Redial.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to Y/N,”

“Well she doesn't want to talk to you,”

“What did you tell her, Ariel?”

“The truth,”

“I don’t...I can’t even begin to imagine what that means in your language,”

“Oh whatever Raf, what does it matter what I told her? She’s MY friend, not yours!”

“You don’t OWN her Ariel,”

“Don’t I?” She smirked. “I feed her, I clothe her, I give her a roof to sleep under. I even gave her a cute necklace with her name on it, like a collar,” she smirked.

"You're evil," he sneered.

“I’m a saint,” She scoffed. “Do you know where that girl would be without me? Do you know the years it would take in a therapist's office to heal the emotional trauma I so selflessly saved her from? Her life will be enriched and better because of me, how many girls can say that about you?"

“Oh right, like helping her hasn’t served you any purpose?”

“What purpose could it possibly have?”

“Please, if I ever saw you do anything less than 90% selfish I’d die of shock,”

“Oh that would be reason enough for me,”

“Look, I get it. You've never had a mother so you're treating her like your personal Barbie doll,"

“And what, you wanna be her Prince Ken? Or, lawyer Ken,”

“She’s NOT a Barbie doll!”

“You’re right, she’s not. So I’m not going to let you play with her emotions,”

“What does that even mean? For fuck’s sake Ariel, I just want to be her mentor,”

“Really?” Rafael could hear her rolling her eyes through the phone. “You’re trying THIS hard to mentor some girl you met less than 24 hours ago? REALLY,” She chuckled.

“I may not be ‘Harvard’ smart BRO, but I’m not stupid. I know when a guy has let’s say, less than moral intentions with a girl,”

“It’s not like that,” He growled. “She’s a sweet girl, Ariel. And I’m not going to let you try and change her into your clone,”

“Wha--my clone? Please, Raf she could NEVER reach my level. Believe me, I’ve tried for four years. She’s a good sidekick,”

“This isn’t over,”

“Isn’t it? You have ZERO idea where we are,”

“Please, there’s maybe 5 places in Manhattan you’ll go, and they’re all on the Upper East Side. It’s not hard,”

“Well then, I guess we’ll see who’s better at hide and seek!”

CLICK.

------

Ariel rolled her eyes with a smile just as you walked in the living room.

“Who was that?” You asked, toweling your hair from the shower you had just exited.

“Mom,” She rolled her eyes. “She wanted to make sure we weren’t tearing this place up,”

“Oh?” You asked, suddenly hopeful. “Was she going to ask Rafael to check?”

“What? NO,” Ariel shut down that thought quickly. “I assured her she didn’t need to send that dog over here to sniff around you anymore,”

“Ariel,” You rolled your eyes with a sigh. “I’m a big girl,”

“I know sweetie,” She walked over and scrunched your face. “Such a big girl,”

“Whatever,” You rolled your eyes again walking back to the bedroom.

“Hey…” Ariel grabbed the TV remote. “Do you wanna watch Clueless?”

“What? ….Why?”

“I don’t know, you mentioned it yesterday and now I can’t stop thinking about a young Paul Rudd,”

“....Who looks exactly like present Paul Rudd,” You laughed.

“I know right? I want the magic face cream he must use,” She giggled as you both sat down on the couch to watch the movie.

----

“See, Cher isn’t a bad person, right? She saved Tai,” Ariel gestured to the TV.

“Am I Tai in this situation?” You eyed her.

“Well, yeah,” She shrugged. “Duh,”

“I’ll take it, I love Brittany Murphy,” You shrugged.

“RIP,” Ariel made a sign of the cross with a kiss looking up to heaven. “We should pour one out for her,”

“On your mom’s thousand dollar rug?”

“Okay, so maybe just pour one for us,”

Her phone vibrated wildly; it vibrated so hard it fell off the coffee table onto the floor. You picked it up to put it back, but you happened to glance at the screen.

BHOLE BARBA: You can’t keep her from me forever, Ariel

Wha….keep who from him? You? Did...was he...did Ariel….?

“Alright, who’s ready for mimosas?!” Ariel said in a singsongy voice as she returned with two flutes of champagne.

“What is this?” You held the phone up to her. She read it, her eyes grew wide.

“I...He’s talking about the Adele CD I borrowed from him forever ago, he’s weirdly possessive about ‘her’,”

“Ariel,” You interrupted her with a stern face.

“What?” She played dumb.

“...How could you do this to me?” You asked with a hurt expression.

“Do what?” She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Protect you from my loser ex brother?”

“You--! Oh my god,” You couldn’t believe it. Your own best friend was trying to mess with your happiness?

“Oh come on Y/N, it’s not that big of a--” She rolled her eyes with a laugh, pissing you off even more.

“It IS a big deal!” Tears stung your eyes, you hated that you started crying when you got angry. How pathetic was that?

“Why? You can’t possibly be in love with him or something,” She scoffed.

“NO! Of course not,” You crossed your arms. “But he could help me with school, with my career! Don’t you want me to get a good job, eventually move out of here?”

“Maybe I don’t!” She yelled suddenly.

“...What?” You asked in disbelief.

“Look, Y/N,” She sighed. “I...you...we both know under normal circumstances, we would never be friends,”

“...I mean, I guess…” You shrugged.

“Oh come on,” She gave you a look. “You’d have to explain every sentence you spoke to me,” She had crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh come on Ariel,” You sighed and sat next to her. “You’re NOT stupid,”

“I’m stupider than you!” She cried.

“...More stupid,” You corrected her.

“See?” She sniffled.

“Okay, but-- still,” You took her hand. "You're my best friend. Do you think that if I don't have to live with you anymore, I won't be your friend?"

"Maybe…" She looked at the floor.

"Ariel!" You cried. "Really? Come on,"

"You come on!" She was actually getting upset now. "Look, Y/N. I don't have...friends,"

"What?" You snorted. "You have the biggest social circle I know!"

"Yeah but--" she tried to find the right words. "They're not like….friends, friends ya know? They're more like…. followers, or leeches, of--"

"Sycophants," you chuckled. She did surround herself with as many people who would tell her she was amazing as possible.

"I don't know what that means but probably, yes," She nodded. “You’re the only one who I can actually talk to, you’re like my little sister,”

“....Right, so…? You think I’ll just give all that up if I move out? If I don’t need you financially anymore?”

“Maybe…” She mumbled. “But ALSO, if that stupid asshole gets into your head about me!”

“Oh God…” You put a hand over your head. “Ariel,” You took both of her hands and looked at her very seriously.

“You are my absolute best friend in this entire world, no…’boy’ could change that! I’ve known you so long, I know you completely. Nothing he could tell me would make me turn on you, I swear it,”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Really! You held a hand up like an oath. “AND, even if-- WHEN, I get financially stable and can live on my own two feet, I will ALWAYS be your friend,” You used the oath hand and placed it in hers again. “I swear it,”

“....Okay, but absolutely ZERO sleepovers here,”

“Oh, my god, ARIEL,” You gasped. “I JUST want to talk to him about law stuff!”

“Yeah, that’s what he said too,” She rolled her eyes, not believing either of you.

“He did?” You felt your face fall.

“Ah HA! See? Disappointment!”

“Shut up,” You hit her. “I don’t care, we should just be professional anyway,”

“Uh huh,” She nodded sarcastically.

“Are you going to give me his number or not?” You gave her a look.

“No,”

“ARIEL,” You crossed your arms.

“No, then you’re going to immediately call him and give him ALL the power,” She wagged a finger at you. “I’m going to give him YOUR number, and if he calls you, he calls you,”

“Ariel…” You gave her another look.

“What? You don’t believe me?” She feigned offense.

“I really don’t,” You shook your head.

“Alright FINE,” She pulled out her phone and opened her texts with Rafael, typed in your number and hit SEND.

“Happy?” She showed you her phone.

“....Maybe,” You hid the giddiness that was building in your stomach.

Almost IMMEDIATELY after sending the text, your phone lit up wildly.

“Good god I’m gonna get out of here before the nerdy phone sex starts,” She ran out of the room with her mimosa in tow.

“Shut up!” You hissed, mentally preparing yourself for this phone call. The phone call you’d been waiting for for days, even when you thought he was a “player”. You took a deep breath and hit ANSWER:

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah who’s this?” You asked coyly.

“It’s...Rafael, Barba…”

“I’m sorry, who?” You teased.

“Ariel’s….brother?” He skipped the asterisk that went along with “Brother”.

“Ohhhh right right right,” You nodded, keeping him nervous. “Yeah, Ariel told me all about you,”

“I knew it,” He growled thinking about Ariel and her lies. “Whatever she said, she’s lying,”

“Oh so you don’t want to be my mentor?”

“Wha--?” He was shocked. Did Ariel actually change her mind? Or dare he think...a change of heart?

“Yes! I mean, I do! I absolutely do!” He may have said that a little too overzealous, so he dialed it back. “I mean, if I have some time I’d be up for it, if that’s okay with you,”

“I might, maybe…” You were twirling your hair in your fingers. “When do you think you might have time?”

“Well you know I was thinking--” He started, but there was a knock at the door.

“Oh sorry, one second,” You got up and walked over to the door and swung it open to reveal Rafael standing there, right in front of you. He was dressed in a black suit with a pink tie. As amazing as he looked in street clothes, you thought you might mount him right there in that suit.

“I have some time right now,” He smiled, acting as if he was still on the phone. You couldn’t help yourself, you leapt into his arms and kissed him, HARD.

-------

“Hello? Y/N?”

You snapped back to reality, Rafael was talking to you on the phone.

“Oh! Um, Yeah, sorry what?”

“I said I have some time right now, if you wanna meet for coffee or something,” He half laughed, still enchanted by your awkwardness.

“Yes! Sure! I...let me just get dressed, just text me the address, I’ll meet you in a few,” You were so glad he couldn’t see how beet red you were from that little fantasy you had just been in.

“Sounds good,” You could hear him smile; even through the phone it made you weak in the knees.

You hung up and ran to Ariel’s room, hoping she’d help you get dressed.

What could you wear to impress him?

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #clueless #rafael barba imagine

[writefightandflightclub]

“One word from you and I will jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.” - First Love / Late Spring (Mitski)

Pairing + genre: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader. Hurt / comfort + angst.

Summary: Santi is the sorta man who keeps his promises, and he promised to be there for you always and forever. All you have to do is say the word.

Author’s note: this one hurt me. Word count: 6k (SORRY!)

Warnings: panic attack  / aftermath = a major / central theme. Allusions to prior trauma (non-specific). One mention of blood. ANGST.

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.” - Frankie Morales

Years of cruel awakenings in the military had made Pope an especially light sleeper. Luckily, out here in the suburbs, he was significantly less likely to be awoken with a grenade through the window. So, when his cell phone rings, wresting him rudely from slumber, he almost allows himself to be blasé about it. To just hit the red button and turn over.

But it’s still pitch dark. Too late -or too early- for this wake-up call to be something routine. So, Pope’s arm pokes out from beneath the covers as he fumbles blindly for his phone. He brings it to his ear wordlessly, voice still grogged by sleep. If he expects anything at all, it’s for the caller to be Catfish - drunk and checking-in on his sorry ass again.

“Santi?”

Instead, it is your panicked voice -swaddled in tell-tale signs of danger- which slices through the dark like the blade of an enemy combatant, yanking Pope harshly from his haze. Flinging off the coiled ropes of sleep, he is instantly firing on all cylinders, his body responding in much the same way as he might to enemy fire; preparing to counter a threat. To eliminate whatever is hurting you, with as much speed and precision as possible.

“Shit. I’ll be right there.”

Pope throws the covers off and he’s already awake and moving, even before he can comprehend exactly what’s wrong. He knows enough. He knows that something is wrong. And he knows he’s going to be there for you, like he promised he always would be.

He tugs on his nearest sweats and tumbles through his house in the dark, adrenaline pumping through him as he barrels his way across the landing, stubbing his toe more than once on the strewn piles of unpacked boxes. Pope’s breath seethes through his teeth and he curses, momentarily wondering if he’s grown soft since he was discharged; he could swear bullet wounds never used to slow him down as much as a big toe clipped on the corner of a box.

Continuing to shake the remaining webs of sleep from his head -and actually remembering the layout of his new house- Pope presses on. He throws himself down his staircase, missing the last five stairs. He is straining to decipher your words on the other end of the line all the while, to little avail.

He speedily wrestles on a jacket and scoops his car keys out of the bowl by his front door, quickly toeing on odd shoes before he scrambles from his house and slots himself behind the wheel of his truck. Pope’s heart is hammering blood around his body as he slots his cell into the car phone holder and powers the car down his driveway, all less than a minute from waking.

He’s a mess of worry as he hears you cry blearily through the speaker, and he bridges his fingers against his forehead in frustration when he can barely interpret a single word of it.

“Cariño, listen. I’ll be right there. You at home?”

All he can make out is a “no” and “driving” and not much else, and he panics.

“Fuck.”, he curses, under his breath, as he realises he’s not going to get anything useful out of you in your current state.

Pope sucks air in through his teeth with frustration. He can’t eliminate the threat if he doesn’t know what it is, and there’s nothing Santi finds more terrifying than not knowing what he’s up against. Nothing more terrifying than being unable to execute a plan. To fix a problem with lethal precision.

“Just sit tight, okay? Just stay there. I’m coming to you, cariño.”

He pulls up a tracker app to establish where you are, and he puts pedal to the metal, driving far faster than he should. There’s no way he’s going to let a speed limit or some pesky stop lights stand between him and getting to you as quickly as possible.

Following directions to your location, Santi eventually finds your truck strewn in the middle of an intersection, door flung open. It looks reminiscent of something from out in the field, as if you’ve been strewn from your vehicle by a blast.

As Pope pulls around, his eagle eyes immediately locate your shadowed form crouching on the lip of the sidewalk, face buried to your knees. He parks abysmally, his heart throbbing, and legs it over to you, his movements tactical and efficient.

When he reaches you, Pope crouches down in front of you without a care for those bad knees of his. When he reaches you, everything ceases to be tactical or lethal. Everything about him is suddenly soft and haphazard, and he’s pawing gently at you and looking over you for any harm, examining your eyes for clues as you regard him like a sheepish animal.

You don’t appear to be physically hurt, but your skin is sheening, your face tear-stained, hands trembling and eyes glassy. 

“Sweetie. Hermosa, look at me. What happened?” Pope asks, his voice both soothing and insistent as he gingerly tips your head upward with his strong hand to search your vacant eyes.

You don’t answer though, and so, recognising the aftermath of a likely panic attack -knowing how they manifest for you- Pope comes to sit behind you on the sidewalk edge, slotting his legs either side of the trunk of your body and wrapping you firmly in the circumference of him. He pulls you tightly to his chest, bundling your clammy arms and hands into his embrace.

Pope shushes and soothes and rocks you. He brushes your hair back from your sweaty face. He lets your tears fall wet on to his hands as he clasps them in front of you. And through it, Pope does his best to present a picture of calm, despite his terror at seeing you so distressed. He forces his breathing to remain slow and deep and steady, until your own stunted breaths are somewhat in sync with the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“I got you. You’re safe,” he mumbles into your hair, into the crook of your neck, hooking his head over your shoulder, all stubble and grizzled curls nuzzling up against you. “You’re safe. You know that, cariño?” He soothes, encourages. “Tell me yes, baby. Come on.”

“Yeah,” you finally push out, voice scrubbed clean. 

The inflection of your voice hurts Santi. Boy, does he know that feeling. Your voice sounds strung out; tense, and spread thin. Somehow you sound on high alert, burning and raw... but at the same time, empty and numb. Like a shocked, ravaged fruit, scooped-out.

It manifests differently for Pope -nightmares mainly- but he knows. He understands. You’d both done more than your share of dark things that insisted on following you out from the military. The resulting pain had always been a bedfellow lying under the covers between you, pushing you further and further apart as it nuzzled its way into your chests, causing hearts to crash and ribs to bruise like roll cages.

“You’re ok, sweetie. You’re doing good.”, he reminds you. “That’s it.”

You’re still tense against him, all of your muscles stacked and coiled like an angry snake, your legs bouncing agitatedly; yet at the same time there is no intention in your body. You are aimless. Firing on all cylinders but with no target - nothing in your sight. No tangible threat to eliminate.

Pope knows all too well that the most elusive enemy of all is the kind in your head. Still, your breaths become slower, more level. And now that your physical symptoms appear to be calming, body levelling, Santi tries his best to bring your mind back too. Tries to ground you in everything real and tangible. 

“Focus up for me, ok? You know the drill. What can you smell?”

You are silent, and he gives you a gentle jostle in his arms. He wishes he could see your face properly, but you are still staring dead ahead. 

“Come on, hermosa. Try for me.”, he pleads, and something must finally reach you.

When your voice finally comes, to Pope it’s like the first bloom of spring after a long winter.

“I can smell peach trees. Balmy air. Gasoline.”

He finally unclenches a little himself, as you begin talking. “Good. What can you see?”

Your hair brushes against his neck as you subtly swivel your head around the scene. “Grey. Asphalt. A badly parked car. But also... spring. Buds and blades of grass peeking through the cracks.”

Santi similarly scans his eyes around the intersection and empty lot in your view. “Shit. You’re fuckin’ poetic, baby.” He would have just said trucks. Maybe would’ve recited a few number plates he’d accidentally memorised already - old habits die hard.

Pope smiles softly to himself as he is reminded of the way you see things. Differently. More softly. You always saw him more softly. You didn’t see him as a killer. You saw the buds peeping through the cracks. You loved him like spring.

“You’re doing good, cariño. Keep it up. What can you hear?”

“Your voice. The hum of the pylons against the hot, damp air.”

Santi is calm, practically mesmerised by you as you speak. He swallows thickly, as he holds you against him. “What can you feel?”

You take a deep breath then, before speaking, your chest straining against his circling arms as your rib cage expands. Your voice is fuller when it flows from your lips, and it is only then - finally, that you sink into him, allowing relief to take you. “I can feel you.”

“You back with me, huh? Come on, keep going. Let’s finish this.”, he encourages, his breath billowing over the back of your neck.

“I can feel... my heart in my chest, the air on my face. Wet tears there. Your warm skin on mine, and your body sturdy against me. Your breath warm, your stubble rough on my neck. The hairs on your arms tickling against me. I can feel the metal bobbles of your chain digging into the flesh of my shoulder.”

Your hands start to slip over Pope’s arms and hands as you become more and more grounded, seeking out more textures. Touch always grounds you like nothing else.

The more grounded you become - the more your touch skims over him- the more Pope rises, swept away like spring blossoms on balmy air, sweet and helpless. Then, your fingers skim over his watch, running over its glassy face. Over the ridges of his knuckles. You stop abruptly when you reach the cool, smooth wedding band on his ring finger.

Pope tries not to let his heart break into pieces as you pause, rotating the ring ever so slightly between your fingertips. 

Grounded, back to yourself, you swivel your head towards Pope, turning to where his face nestles at the junction of your shoulder. “I feel... safe,” you say, bringing your palm up to the side of his face, your stare no longer vacant like a house with empty windows, but lit with the soft glow of home.

You’ve come back to him, and you’re inviting him in. 

“You are safe. I’ve got your six, ok?”

“I know you do. And I’ve got your zero through twelve.”

Pope smiles sentimentally, as you recite your old phrase, the feeling bittersweet like unripe peaches.

How he wishes you would really come back to him. Invite him in.

Pope narrows his eyes fondly at you. You have mascara streaking down your cheeks. Tear-plumped eyes. And you’re beautiful. He could kiss you. Wants to. But this moment is not about his comfort, so, instead, he presses his palm over yours and asks you gently:

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He feels you stiffen slightly against him.

“Take your time.”, he soothes, running his fingers up and down your arms, absent-mindedly dipping his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume. Light notes of first loves and late spring. 

“It’s dumb,” you say, leaning your head back on to his chest. “I was driving home from...”, you appear to cut yourself off, snapping your lips shut, and it is only then that Santi properly clocks your attire.

Oh. Okay. Well, shit.

That’s a “date” dress if ever he saw one.

He wants to either fight or to retreat. To take some action, deploy some strategy. He wants to beg you to be with him instead. He wants to. But he tries to swallow his heartache down. This isn’t a time for his pain. So, he simply buries it right down with all the rest; shutting himself off. Eyes becoming vacant windows. 

“And then what?” he prompts softly, neutrally, giving you an easy way to bridge the glaring gap in your story.

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You shake your head disbelievingly as you recall it. “A car backfired behind me. It became bullets,” you continue, voice monotone, brow troubled, eyes searching like the sweep of headlights. “Tires screeching became screams. The stop light glaring down on my hands, became red like blood.” You shrug, tugging in a long breath only to huff it out in frustration, voice hollowed-out again. “Then, I was back there, Santi. I was right back there. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

Pope smooths his hands over your shoulders as he feels your muscles recoil against him. This is one of the times he doesn’t envy your poetry, at all. When your trauma is a scribe which can translate everyday things into a metaphor for your pain. All Pope can offer is to look at you with comprehension. Understanding. It’s no use telling you it wasn’t real. He knows how real it can feel, in the moment. All he can do is gently kiss your hair. Hold you a little tighter. Be here for you, like he promised.

Pope wishes he could take all this pain from you. If there was a way, he gladly would. In a heartbeat. But a fine job he did of that; when he was with you, he had only seemed to hurt you more.

He shakes the clingy webs of pain from his own mind. The nightmares clawing at him sometimes even while waking. “Then what?” Santi probes gently.

“I guess I got out of the truck. Parked like a shithead. And that’s when I called you.”

You twist your head back towards him, nipping your lip guiltily between your teeth in realisation. “I’m so sorry. It’s so late.”

Pope’s face becomes pinched and he looks down at the asphalt. “Don’t apologise,” he says sincerely. “I promised you always and forever. I still mean that.”

Gratefully, seemingly overcome with broiling emotion, you press a chaste, sentimental kiss to Pope’s lips, even as other more broken promises linger and mingle in the air between you.

With the shock of your lips on his, Pope finally stands, helping you delicately to your feet with him. “You wanna walk it off or shall we drive straight home?” Well, shit. It’s not his home anymore. “I mean, I’ll drive you... you know what I mean,” he trails off, sheepishly. 

You fold your arms over yourself, separating from him. But still you say warmly: “Can we go home, Santi?”

He looks at you, forcing his eyes to remain warm and soft. Guarding the perimeter of his heart. Refusing to let the pain creep in. Still, he knows a late frost can kill off those shoots which dare to venture out into the fickle sunlight. He won’t let happiness bloom either.

Instead, he wraps one sturdy arm around you -giving your shoulders a squeeze- and nods, insisting he’ll be right back with you as soon as he’s parked your truck up “less like a shithead”. He promises to swing by and collect if for you later but for now, you bundle into his truck and he leans across you to clip you securely into the passenger seat.

Then, Pope drives. Much more calmly than he had en route to you, keeping the movements of the car as soporific as possible as he winds through the quiet, dimly lit suburbs.

Every now and again, his eyes flick over to check on you. Your head is turned away from him, as you watch the dark scenes slip by the black hole of the window pane.

“You don’t have to watch me, Santi,” you say softly. “I’m okay.”

He swears you must have eyes in the back of your head. Or maybe you know him too well.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, dubiously.

You turn towards him then and stupidly he looks away, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road rather than looking at you directly. As if he might turn to stone if he your eyes meet his. 

God, he wants to look at you. He’s missed your face far too much to waste so much time not looking.

“I’m okay.”, you insist again.

“I know,” he says softly. Not with any pity, mind; only empathy. Pope’s good with other people’s pain. It’s his own he can’t get a handle on. Too much baggage to carry.

“I really thought I had it under control.”, you say, your prior conviction wavering.

His eyes flick to you then, your gazes finally meeting and sparking like the switch to a warm, porch light. Familiar. Instantly warm.

“You did, until you didn’t,” he says plainly. “And you will again.”

You throw your hand on to Pope’s thigh to deliver a grateful squeeze, but then you’re looking out of the window again. As if you can’t have too much of him at once; can’t give too much of yourself at once. Can’t open up all your rooms lest you might invite him in to stay. Keep him distant like a guest in the parlour. Keep your head turned as if you’re walking away from him and you can’t look back, only ahead. Don’t invite him into your bed.

With a sigh, and a bridged hand rasping over the stubble at his clenched jaw, Pope pulls the truck into your driveway, engine gently humming until he slips the key out of the ignition.

He pats your thigh this time, to break your stare out of the black hole of the window. You look back at him wistfully. “Come on then, drama queen.”, he teases, boldly, his heart thrilling when the faintest ghost of a smile glints in your eyes.

Pope opens up the front door and leads you upstairs, following the familiar route to the master bedroom. He guides you to the edge of the bed, with a broad hand on the small of your back, and settles you down before flicking on the bedside lamp, a soft glow pooling in the room. Then, he gets down on his bad knees again to ease off your shoes.

His eyes flick around. Pope is always observing. Now he’s observing your life without him. He glances over to your tented paperback on the bedside table. He guesses you’ve started sleeping on his side of the bed since he’s been gone, then? He decides to push that hurt down with all the rest as he wonders vaguely if that was to feel closer to him. His face becomes taut.

“Santi?” you breathe, sucking his attention back as he kneels in front of you, and he deliberately softens his face. Your hands are pressed firmly down on your thighs, as if you need to weigh them down. As if your hands could so easily rise up to wind in his curls, like a spring breeze through a mess and flurry of cherry blossoms. You always saw something fresh in him. Saw poetry. Always saw what was possible, rather than the winters he had weathered.

You were always looking ahead. Oh, how he’d tried to look with you. To believe that he could still bloom. But that summer never came. He was simply glimpses of buds through cracks, never flowering.

“You wanna take a bath?”, Pope asks, throwing up the words like a shield, standing up stiffly. 

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That sounds nice. My muscles hurt.”

“Ok.”, he says, as brightly as possible. “I’ll draw you a bath, Princesa. And I’ll make you some warm lemonade while the water’s running. We got lemonade?”

Shit. He said it again. “We.”

Old habits die hard.

He supposes he can forgive himself the mistake, as he’s here with his home, in his house.

Shit. Your house. It’s your house now.

So, Pope potters busily around your house and sees to what you need, seeing ghosts of his own happiness and pain as he ambles from room to room. Trauma penning dark poetry across everyday scenes.

An apparition of you dancing to Metallica in the kitchen while you cook up pancakes. An image of you splayed out across the couch as you snuggle down, smile broad, ready for a day of watching Disney movies with him, arms outstretched to tug him in to your embrace. 

The kitchen floor where you’d had The Talk. Where you’d cried together for hours, backs up against the cabinets and knees drawn in to your chests until you’d finally decided. Decided that it hurt so much to be with him, that the inconceivable hurt of being apart would somehow feel like relief. Pope could never forgive himself for that. For hurting you that much. All he’d ever tried to do was keep his pain away from you, but it had still found you. It had snook around his perimeter and taken you down.

Always a killer. Always lethal.  Would he ever be anything else?

Pope’s pain flares again now but he pushes it down. Pushes it down again. Pushes it down. And he pads almost serenely up the stairs, coming to your aid. Coming to your aid, like always.

He lets you have a few sips of the warm, sugary lemonade. An old custom to steady the nerves after such a draining event - without resorting to hard liquor, at least. Once you’ve had plenty, Pope bends and lifts you from your perch on the bed, unceremoniously carrying you, bridal style, to the en suite. He sets you gently down by the edge of the tub.

Still not seeming entirely like yourself -still shaken and likely completely sapped from the earlier onslaught- Pope takes matters into his own hands.

“Okay, first things first, Winter Soldier,” he grins gently, taking in your mascara-smudged eyes. “Where’s that bottle of oily shit you rub on your face?”

You smile tentatively, grasping a bottle from the bathroom counter. “I can do it,” you state.

“I know, but you don’t have to, Princesa. Just let me take care of you.” Gently, but insistently, Pope takes the bottle from your hands and grabs a handful of those cotton rounds he’s watched you use before. He asks you to sit on the edge of the tub and tip your face-up to him, and he wipes the mess away from you as best he can.  

Once he’s disposed of the cotton rounds and rinsed his hands, he turns back to you, asking reverently, “Can I help you get your dress off?”

He sees mild apprehension flash across your face at the thought of him undressing you. He’d hate more than anything to make you uncomfortable. After all, just because he’s seen you naked before doesn’t mean he’s entitled to now. So, he waves his finger in the air mysteriously before receding into the bedroom.

Pope returns momentarily, with a big, loose nightshirt from your sleepwear drawer, gathering the material in his fingers until it forms a loop he can ease on over your head.

“You with me, cariño?” he asks. “Do that magic fuckin’ thing. Whip your bra out of your sleeve.”

Catching his gist, you let the shirt fall over you, shimmying yourself out of your dress and underwear whilst preserving your modesty. Pope offers an arm to hold you steady as you step one leg and then the next out of your clothing, respectfully averting his gaze all the while. Then, his arm steadies you as you step over the edge of the tub and into the warm, welcoming water.

For a moment, you don’t lie down. You just stand there. You look so vulnerable in that moment that Pope can’t help but reach out for your hand to grip in his. He watches in earnest as a question rises on your lips.

“Will you stay with me?” you ask him in the smallest of voices, clutching his hand tightly.

“What do you think I’m doing, hermosa?” he whispers, his eyes kind and smiling.

With that, your eyes brim with grateful tears. But you evidently feel free to crouch and then stretch yourself out in the tub. You submerge yourself fully for a moment in the warm bubbly depths, the stirring water wafting aromatic scents of spring around the room.

Pope watches as you dip yourself and arise from out of the water like a mermaid, your hair slicked back from your face and your soaked t-shirt clinging to your skin. 

“Mi sirenita,” Pope breathes affectionately, suddenly unable to push it all down.

He loves you, and old habits die hard.

“Santi?” you suspire, water droplets beading on your eyelashes like diamonds.

“Yeah?” Pope asks with apprehension, feeling like he’s about to stray out of secure territory.

“Get in with me?”

Santi hesitates, rasping his hand over his stubble again. Wishing he had his baseball cap to pull down over his eyes to obscure his emotions. For real? You want him to climb into the tub with you?

Pope examines your eyes for any sign of danger. Of hunger. But you simply look like you’re hurting. Like you need him. And Pope will always be there when you need him. He doesn’t know another way.

“Sure,” he gives in with a nod of his head, voice soft. “Make some room behind you.”

You oblige, folding your knees so he has room to slip in. Pope kicks off his shoes and -still in his t-shirt and sweatpants- plunges into the water. His clothes quickly become clingy and heavy with wetness, but he slots himself in behind you, wrapping his arms like he had on that sidewalk, and you languish your head back on his firm yet comfortable chest.

You both recline there wordlessly, until you seem entirely calm. Until all the bubbles have burst, and the water starts to feel cold. You both lie there as long as you possibly can.

Eventually, you wrap your arms around yourself too, your hands coming to rest on top of Pope’s. Your touch traverses absent-mindedly over his fingers, his knuckles, and again, inevitably over his wedding band.

Pope can feel the questions almost writhing their way out of your body, like coiled snakes. More than likely, you’re about to ask him why he still wears it. Why his sorry ass can’t seem to think about ever taking it off. Still, as you tug in a breath to launch your words, it suspires out of you as wordlessly as it arrived. Perhaps you’d felt him tense against you and decided to spare him the humiliation. Perhaps you didn’t want to hear his answer.

A few minutes later, when you eventually find the inclination to speak again, the words launched on your breath aren’t questions at all. Your hands skim over his arms, your fingertips pruning and wet, your bathtub touch slick and kissing whelks on to his skin.

“I... I wanted to take care of you too. But you wouldn’t let me.” You pause momentarily, breath caught in your chest as if you’re awaiting retaliation. When all you get back is silence, you take that as license to continue, your voice achingly small and trembling. “I worry that you stopped fighting for us because you didn’t believe you were worth fighting for. And, Santi, mi alma, I just need you to know that you were always good enough. You were never too broken for me. I wanted to take care of you, and I just...” You pause to huff air out between your lips, like you’re about to deliver a punch, or maybe like you’re preparing to be struck by one. “...Even if it doesn’t end up being me. Please, let someone take care of you next time, okay?”

Pope stills against you as your fingers worry over his. He feels like his heart has risen into his throat and that he’s choking on it. He feels like everything he has pushed down for so long is fighting to burst out. He lifts his hands away from yours to palm the tears from his face, very suddenly realising how cold the water has gone.

But he still can’t find the words to name his pain. Now is when he envies your poetry. Pope only knows how to use his words a shield, or to attack. He doesn’t know how to make flowers out of them.

“Ok, come on, sugar. Time to get out, ok?”

You shift forward, folding in on your knees, and Pope is staring at the back of your head again, as if his love for you only exists now in a house of mirrors. You’re looking ahead, to the next time, the next love, and yet he is still lost. Still stuck. He can’t find a route out of his pain.

He couldn’t be who you needed. Even when all you’d needed this whole time was him. He couldn’t even be that. He’d shut himself down. Shut himself off from you because he thought his pain would wreck you. And that was the thing that had wrecked you, in the end; that he was gone. Trapped in a house of mirrors. Vacant behind his eyes, which has used to glow like warm, familiar porch lights. He wouldn’t let you in. He wanted to. But he couldn’t find the door.

You heave yourself out of the tub and finally spin towards him. He sees the tears on your own cheeks too. “Yeah. Time to get out,” you intone glumly.

Pope knows you’re not only talking about the tub. It’s time. To finally look ahead.

You offer him your hand and he emerges from the water, his clothes sodden.

“¿Si soy una sirena? Tu eres Flounder.” The atmosphere is too heavy to laugh, but you tentatively chew on a fond smile. “What are you gonna wear now, idiota?” you ask.

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Pope admits, then looks at you quizzically when he registers your playful words. “Pero yo soy Sebastian, por supuesto. ¡No soy ese pececito feo!”

Your smile expands, just a little. “I still have some of your old stuff. Don’t be mad - I kept that Metallica t-shirt, for one.” 

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Pope chides, eyes shining softly.

You squeeze his hand and disappear momentarily to find him some clothes, turning away as you both towel off and dress side-by-side.

“Ok, well I better leave you to it.” Pope suggests abruptly, if only to shield himself. You seem better. Happier. He should leave before his own pain drags you down again. Or before he lets himself feel happy. 

“Stay, Santi. Let’s just be broken together, for a minute.”

He looks at you, pained, as if you’re being cruel to him, his heart fluttering like a bird in his rib cage.

“Please?” you beg in a broken, resigned voice. Scooped-out, wringing your hands together. “It feels like the end...” your face scrunches up as you bite back tears “...so please just stay one more time. Just lay on your side of the bed, and fall asleep next to me? Please.”

Pope tries to remember all the bullet wounds he’s suffered, because he could swear this hurts more. He could swear he’s bleeding out as you plead with him. As you talk about this ending. Pope always called you “mi Vida”, so it’s no wonder that your words feel like death; like the cruellest kind of poetry.

As he faces you, Pope’s blood is pounding in his body like he’s getting ready to run. When did you start to feel like a threat? Weren’t you on the same team?

“Santi.”

Still, one word from you, and Pope can’t refuse.

“Okay,” he agrees. Anything for you, even if it hurts him. “Go ahead and get under the covers.”

You oblige and he flicks out the light before coming to lie next to you on top of the duvet. On “his side” of the bed.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, his words like flowers as he throws an arm over the shadowed form of you. 

One word from you and Pope is there. No matter what you need.

But when it comes to his own pain? The pain that was always a shadowed bedfellow between you? Pope can’t find the words. He doesn’t have your poetry. He can’t imagine the possibility of healing. Of blooming.

Being stalked by a threat he can’t name? Can’t give form to? Nothing scares Pope more than a target he can’t fight, because if he can’t fight it, how in the hell can he protect you from it? How could he protect you from his pain? From all of his bullshit?

One word from you and Pope would jump.

He would jump off of that ledge he’s on and fall right into your love again. He would love you like he did in late spring. When the air had smelled like peaches.

Pope would do it differently this time. He would let things bloom. Or, he would at least try. He would try to find the words, like you always do.

He wishes. He wishes you would invite him back in. Wishes you would say the word. But nothing ever comes.

You’re already falling asleep by his side, maybe for the last time.

So, instead, Pope’s gone by the time morning comes. You find his ring laid out on your dresser, along with a note.

“Mi vida. I’m here for you any time of the day or night. Always and forever. Siempre te querré, mi alma. I know I fucked some things up, but I sure as hell don’t need a ring to keep that promise. Santi xxx xxx P.s. Me llevé mi camisa Metallica - I’ll have Frankie drop it back to you, cariño. Looks better on you anyway. xxx xxx.”

Maybe one day Pope would learn to accept that some things are messy. That not everything can be solved with precision. That sometimes, instead of trying to fix everything, it’s okay to be broken; together.

Pope had broken many promises to you along the way, when he became the soldier who had stopped fighting. But there was at least one he could keep.

If you need him, he’ll be there for you.

Always and forever.

************************

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.

How am I doing so far, boys? Doing okay? Yikes. I’m nervous. Okay.

That’s how I know -yeah, I’ve got this- that you two are going to make it work. Because Pope doesn’t know how to let people down, not once they’re on his team. He keeps fighting, no matter what.

He’s the kinda guy you want watching your six. Once he is, you’ll never look back, and you shouldn’t. Because you two are a team now, and everything is ahead of you. You’re a team for life.

Husband and wife.

And you know what my absolute favourite thing about all of this is? Mi hermano. You have found a woman who has your back too.

Todos, you know what she replies when Pope says “I’ve got your six”? She says “I’ve got your zero through twelve”. Isn’t that a-fucking adorable? Even if it is tactically questionable. Jejejejejeje. (I know, I know, laughing at my own jokes.) So, man. Pope. Santiago. I know you can be a stubborn ass, but let her take care of you too, okay?

You deserve it, hermano. I love you.

So, cheers, to the bride and groom. By the way... I don’t know how Pope bagged this one ‘cause she’s way out of his league... For real. But... Oh shit, where was I? Oh yeah, that’s it.... thank you, Tom. You finally came in useful. Jejejejejeje.

Yeah. Cheers, to the bride and groom.

You’re not soldiers anymore, and you don’t need to follow orders. Only your hearts. (Damn right you’re crying. I pulled out all the stops for this, you sap.) But, my dear, dear friends. You don’t technically need to fight anymore, but may you always keep fighting.

Stay with me...

Keep fighting for each other. If you do that, I know you two are destined for a lifetime of happiness. I know we tease you for being a sap and being whipped but honestly, my man, your love? The two of you, together as a team? It’s beautiful, bro.

That’s squad goals right there.

And, Princesa? Pope’s knees might give out imminently. (We have a sweepstake that they’ll give out during the first dance. Jejejejejejeje.)

But his love for you? Chiquita, that ain’t ever gonna quit.

(You ready for this?)

Just like that man’s ass!

Woo! Yes- fuckin’ killin’ this speech, right? Not a dry eye in the house. Pope’s bawling like a mother fuckin’ baby. (Sorry for the language, abuela.)

Right, what was I saying? Thanks, Tom. Getting some mileage out of you today. Makes a fuckin’ change. Jejejejejejejeje.

I was saying, chiquita, that... wow. This man’s love for you? That’s always and forever. And I know, I know he’ll keep that promise. Because Pope is the kinda man who keeps his promises.”

~ Excerpt from Frankie “Catfish” Morales’ triumphant best man speech, on the happiest day of your life. The day you married Santiago Garcia. 

***********************

You awake, and you roll Pope’s ring in between your fingers.

“¿Santi, mi corazón? Ven a casa. Come home.”

You wish he would come home.

Most of all, you wish you could find the courage to say the word.

THE END

Want more? Here’s my first Santi one-shot, which has angst and smut: Ride or Die.

I write for Poe (my main man), Santi, Nathan, Evgeni, Finn. Masterlist here. 

Feedback in an ask or comment will make my day.

Thank you for reading!

Tagging (let me know if you wanna be added / removed from Santi tag-list!)

@darksideofclarke @yougottakeeponkeepinon @damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @mylifeliterally @shakespeareanwannabe  @woakiees​ @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @damndamer0n​ @itsamedeemoney​ ​ @spider-starry​ @starryeyedstories​

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santi #triple frontier #frankie morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #pedro pascal

[twokisses]

hello! i would love you to write something for the physical affection prompt(s) - my favourite is 6. chasing someone’s lips after they pull away, with an option on 16. kissing knuckles

thanks very much for the prompts!! i did my best to combine them. hope you like this 💖

(also up on my ao3! link in bio)

-

Cravens are nightmarish creatures. Much like ravens but about five times as large; with sleek, jet-black feathers and beady eyes as big as dinner plates. There are two of them in the wooded clearing with Baz. (Two more than he’d have ever liked to see in his lifetime.) One is collapsed in a repulsive heap of joints and feathers by his feet, twitching with the aftereffects of his magic. The other—judging by the chaotic sounds of squawking, flapping, and a litany of mage curse words—is still twisting through the air like a demon sent from hell to finish Simon Snow off.

They were actually sent by the Humdrum. That telltale scratchy dryness in the air is still lingering in Baz’s throat, though it’s lessened now that one of the assassins is dead. When he looks up from his kill, he sees Snow darting around the other side of the clearing, trying to get his own. The Sword of Mages is glinting in his right hand. He’s trying to jam it into one of the bird’s sides as it flits around him, but the horrid thing’s beak is at least as long as Baz’s arm, and terrifyingly sharp. It keeps jabbing at Snow whenever he gets too close.

Dead in the air would do it. Instantly. (It’s what Baz used for his bird.) But Snow trusts his magic too little, even if his sword isn’t helping him as much as usual now. Baz considers not helping at all. (Since it is purely due to Snow’s presence here—his usual aggravating suspicion of Baz’s intentions in sneaking out to the Wavering Wood—that brought the cravens on Baz at all.) If he wanted, he could just leave. Let the Chosen One save himself and the day, once again. Write it off as well-deserved karma.

But the thought only lasts an instant—an instant controlled by Old Family conditioning and practiced hatred. The next moment, he’s leaping over his dead bird and sprinting towards Snow, readjusting his grip on his wand.

He’s just opened his mouth to cast the spell for him—but a yell of horror comes out before he can.

The craven got lucky—or maybe it really is smarter than Snow. Because one moment the shoulder of Snow’s school shirt is shining an unblemished, snowy white under the sun; and the next, it’s blooming with an alarming shade of red. More alarming still—Snow’s yell of pain, and the way he crumples in on himself, clutching a hand to his shoulder.

“Simon!”

Baz kills the craven with a viciousness he didn’t know he had. A sickening, full thump echoes through the trees as it hits the ground.

Then Baz is running to Simon.

He’s collapsed against a tree. Sword lying at a skewed angle in the grass, legs arranged awkwardly in front of him; as if he fell before he could orient himself and didn't have the energy to readjust. Baz can hear the sound of his breathing from here—it’s laboured and harsh—and though his hand is still clamped over his shoulder, the smell of hot, fresh blood hits Baz like he’s just run into a wall. It stops him in his tracks so suddenly and violently that he shudders in place.

Snow looks up at him.

Baz sees him realise; his eyes dart down to his own shoulder, then back up again. He starts reaching for his sword—

“Don’t,” Baz says, quickly. Through clenched (still normal) teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Snow says. “Sure.” His voice is breathy. Weak.

“I swear it. I will—with magic, if you want.”

He isn’t even entirely sure that would work. The spell requires true conviction in the oath—and he’s lost half his mind from the smell of Snow’s blood already.

But he also knows that he loves him. That’s the greatest conviction he has.

Snow is eyeing him warily now, his hand curled loosely around the engraved hilt of his sword. Chest rising and falling hard. Too hard.

“Snow,” Baz says. “Put the sword aside.”

After a long, hard silence—with far-off birds twittering as if nothing has gone wrong in the world—Snow does.

The wound looks terrible up-close—even worse than Baz initially thought—and so is the smell. He has to close his eyes and count to ten, keeping his jaw firmly locked in place, before the danger of his fangs popping out lessens. He’s surprised they haven’t already, but it must help that his belly is full with squirrels’ blood. It’s like having a buffet laid out in front of you after you’ve already stuffed yourself with a three-course meal. Enticing, but rejectable.

Snow’s flesh has been cut open from shoulder to chest. The gash ends just shy of his heart.

Baz knows that his face must be showing everything—every little, shameful thing he’s ever felt—as he peels Snow’s hand away from the wound, but he can’t find it in himself to hide it. Can’t mask the reaction to seeing Simon hurt this badly, this close. It’s the shock, more than anything, that he can’t control. But there must be pain in the mix somewhere too—because he can see Snow’s face in his periphery. Pinched up in confusion.

“Baz—” he begins.

“Just shut up, Snow.”

It must be the shock for Snow too. He falls quiet.

Healing magic takes more—and gives more—energy than other kinds. It’s about the transference of one mage’s wellbeing to the other. An infusion of their strength and vitality. Even as Baz murmurs the right spells to sew Simon back together, even as he sees Simon growing stronger, he feels himself sagging.

Further into Snow, actually. Closer. Though he’s trying not to. His hands are feather-light over the skin surrounding the wound, but his elbow must be digging something fierce into Snow’s abdomen, because he feels Snow’s hand—the bloody one, but Baz can’t really care at the moment—come up to support it.

Snow’s face is very close. His lips. Baz can feel his breath on his cheek, even through the sheet of hair he’s let fall over it, to cover his eyes. Because Snow had been looking at him too closely before. His eyes flickering over and over across Baz’s face, his hands, his no-doubt shivering expression in the face of the horrific injury before him. This way, Snow might be able to see his mouth (flat) and his jaw (locked), but not his eyes. Baz can’t let him see his eyes. (He’s seen too much already.)

“Baz,” Snow says. He sounds stronger now, yet it comes out soft. Right next to Baz’s ear. “Why are you doing this?”

Baz doesn’t answer.

“You killed the craven for me too.”

“I didn’t do it for you. If I’d let it run amok, it could have gone after the school.” But it doesn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears.

“Baz.”

Then Snow’s fingers are on his cheek.

Baz can’t help it. He jerks away from the touch—and Snow’s hand freezes. But it was instinctual. After years and years of hiding, and lying, pretending, Snow’s hands on him feel like they burn. Like Baz has finally, properly fucked it up and slipped—right into the fire he’d been avoiding. He probably has.

What he should have done, when this all happened, was cast a spell over his shoulder to staunch the bleeding, then left Snow to find his way back to the school. Or he should have stopped once he’d healed the worst of the injury—“I’m not stupid enough to commit a murder on school grounds, Snow,” he could have said, or, “I said I wanted an audience when I finished you off”—but he didn’t.

Instead, he’s kneeling in Snow’s space, with one hand against his heart through his shirt.

And Simon has just touched his cheek. Baz is looking at him; surprised, uncertain, blinking wildly. Simon’s mouth is open—it’s always open—and his eyes are cut-outs of the sky.

When Baz does nothing but continue staring, Simon moves, and this time, Baz doesn’t—except for the helpless fluttering of his eyelashes as Simon’s fingers skim his cheek, brushing his hair away and tucking it behind his ear. They don’t leave him after, either. Trailing instead down to Baz’s jaw, running up the line of it to his chin…

“Baz?” Simon whispers again. “Why’d you do it?”

Baz lifts his eyes to Simon’s—and then, before he can stop himself, lowers them to his lips.

Then Simon Snow is leaning up and kissing him.

It’s everything. Everything Baz has dreamt of, and more. Simon’s lips are warm—his tongue even warmer when it pushes past Baz’s lips into his mouth. Baz makes a helpless sound into the kiss, and he thinks he feels a smile at the corners of Simon’s lips. His fingers are firm against Baz’s chin now, holding him still and then pulling him closer. And for once, Baz doesn’t resent the years of experience Snow has had with Wellbelove, because the way he kisses now… Crowley.

It’s when Simon strains his shoulder a bit too far, Baz thinks, that he gasps a bit into Baz’s mouth, and begins sinking back against the tree—but Baz follows. (Mortifyingly, perhaps. But he can’t find it in himself to care.) Chasing the taste of him as he moves away. He stops himself right before he collides with Snow’s mouth again, and while Snow does look surprised at first—eyes moving restlessly over Baz’s face, as if searching for a clue—his expression quickly shifts into something much softer. Much. Like this has confirmed something he was wondering about. His smile is so sweet and lopsided that Baz feels his heart tug in his chest.

“Alright,” Simon says quietly. “Guess I know why now.”

Baz swallows. Shakes his head slightly. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Simon says, without pause. And his smile gets even wider than before. “Yeah, guess I am.”

“I’m going to heal you now,” Baz says.

“Okay.”

And he does—while holding Simon Snow’s hand in his, while fighting off a smile the entire time. Snow doesn’t bother to. He smiles at Baz until he falls asleep; it’s the healing magic. It works a bit like Normal painkillers—light doses make you drowsy, larger ones (such as the one Simon’s just received) can knock you right out.

The sky overhead has turned just as shy as Baz by now—blushing in shades of red and pink. It’ll be time for dinner in the Great Hall. But he’ll wait here until Simon wakes up; it shouldn’t take too long. A half hour, forty-five minutes, tops. In the meantime he’s more than happy to spend the time staring at Snow without restraint, for once. Watching his eyes flicker underneath his eyelids as he dreams, and brushing his thumb over his knuckles.

They’re scraped, his knuckles. Cravens’ talons are just as lethal as their beaks, and Simon was in closer range than Baz was, since he was using his sword. Baz didn’t even notice it earlier. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have had the magic in him to tend to it—but now he thinks he might manage it. He can feel light flushes of magic at the tips of his fingers as he thinks about healing the shallow cuts in Simon’s skin—and then… he does something he’s never done before. He casts a Kiss it better.

It’s a family spell, one he’s only ever heard his mother use, on his father. Back when he was little, Father would always be testing some new farming spell or machine he’d made, royally cutting himself up in the process. His mother would laugh and chastise him for it, then cast the spell, and kiss him. On the cheek, or the arm or hand, wherever he’d hurt himself.

It’s a spell that only works if the giver and receiver see each other as family. If they love each other that much.

Baz isn’t sure why he casts it.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know what he and Simon are to each other now, what that kiss—that fucking kiss—even meant, and he wants to. Or maybe it’s just that the bubbling emotions in his chest need a way to reach Simon somehow, and the spell might be the closest they can get. (Just for now, he’s hoping. Not forever.) Maybe it’s just because he’s giddy, still—high off the thrill of being kissed by his only love and isn’t thinking straight because of it.

Either way, he does it. And then he lifts Simon’s hand to his mouth, and presses his lips to his knuckles. Closes his eyes so he can really feel it, and also because he’s slightly afraid to see what might happen. Or what might not.

One, two, three counts later, he pulls away.

Simon’s hand has healed.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fic #carry on fic #wayward son #carry on fanfiction #wayward son fanfic #m:fic

[lightwithinthedarknessu]

A Crown to Adorn

Starting off #sokaiweek2021 with a fluffy one-shot! 

Wrote a little fluffy one-shot for Day 1 of @sokaiweek Prompt: King and Queen. Childhood memories for #sokai and a cute flower date! A time of healing and reminiscence, adorned with flowers fit for a King and Queen.

A03:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32511775 

Fanfiction. net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13918369/1/A-Crown-to-Adorn

A Crown to Adorn

*.*.*.*

“Wear a crown of flowers on your head, let its roots reach your heart.” – Kabir

*.*.*.*

The smell of the grass, the warmth of the sun on their faces, and the slight scent of honeysuckle wafting through the canopy above was the perfect complement to an otherwise ordinary day. Ordinary, that word seemed to slip into her mind with a lithe bump, nestling into her heart but leaving behind a tinge of anxiety. Was it good to cherish something even if you knew it wouldn’t last? Those words danced within her mind as warm rays of light kissed her cheeks.

Living in the moment. Cherishing those small moments of reprieve-sometimes Kairi had to keep reminding herself to do that. Whether it be taking in deep breaths of the salty air or cherishing the soft sensation of sand squished between her toes- those small insignificant moments she needed to hold close. The way the wind hit her face as Sora and Riku rushed past her in one of their many races or the sensation of cold droplets hitting her face during one of their many water fights. Those moments, they would rush back at her all at once during those times she was alone, listless, and longing for their company.

Somehow, Kairi knew that today would be one of those many moments she held close to her heart. She took in a deep breath, savoring the crisp air hitting her lungs.

The Kingdom of Corona was as beautiful as Sora had claimed it would be. Filled with flora and fauna, clean air, and warm bathes in sunshine. Even the few heartless around were, she had to admit, cute in their own way. Made her almost sad to pummel them, but once she found herself attacking in unison alongside Sora- every thought she had just melted away. He always seemed to do that, make her feel as if she could do anything, be anything. It sounded silly but- his light made hers stronger somehow. It radiated within her a warmth that felt so comforting she never wanted it to leave.  

After clearing the area, they had decided to take a quick swim in the spring nearby and were now sunning themselves like a couple of lizards on the forest floor. They had taken off their shoes and fully let themselves relax for what felt like an eternity. Peaceful, it was so peaceful that Kairi felt she could fall into a sleep here without a care in the world.  

“I’m glad you brought me here. It’s so pretty.” Kairi turned to Sora, her eyes welling with shimmering light. After hours of training, Sora had dropped by unannounced, unattended by the other two little half-pints, to whisk her away for a “well-deserved break” as he put it. At the time he had a shy grin on his face, letting her know that really, he had just wanted to see her. Not that she minded. She wanted to see him too.

“I had to! I mean you love flowers and well the beach back home isn’t as green as this. Heck, I hadn’t even seen some of the plants here before. It’s really something- all those worlds we wanted to see- just there’s always something new.” Sora blurted out, his excitement burgeoning behind an uncontrollable grin. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward. “Sorry, I’m getting a bit too excited. I’ve been wanting to show you all these new things for so long. Every time I see something I think, “Kairi and Riku need to see this!”

Kairi giggled. Sora did seem to be holding in boundless energy every time she saw him. “I want to see it all with you. I mean, we always wanted to travel and learn everything we could. Even just seeing this world makes me want to go to all kinds of places with you- and Riku too…” Kairi tucked a stray piece of hair from her face. She felt almost embarrassed to say anything more- to tell him that really, she wanted to just run away with him right now. Leave it all behind. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? They had to face Xehanort. Even if that meant risking their lives. Still, that incredible wanderlust creaked within her bones. Even now her heart began to beat faster at the thought of Sora whisking her away to world after world. She could just picture it-brisk walks on stardust touched beaches, huddling close in frigid snow-kissed air, or dancing on the tips of their toes across warm cobblestones-

Everything. Just experience it all-together- hand in hand in a world all their own.

Kairi felt something lightly fall on her head. A light gasp escaped her lips at the sensation. It tickled her eyelashes as she looked up to greet Sora’s impish grin. Her hand reached up to touch the delicate petals of a ring of flowers he had placed on her head. Her eyes widened. “When did you…”

“Oh just while you were humming to yourself earlier. Did I do a good job? I mean I’m not as good at connecting them together as you…but I did have a good teacher.” Sora winked.

Tears pricked the edges of her eyes. When they were children, Kairi often spent her time near the shore picking small wildflowers and clover. One of the few things she remembered about her grandmother was her love of flowers and the way she used to weave together flower crowns. It used to make her feel like she was almost home again, weaving the flowers together, creating something from nothing. It was cathartic. For hours she would lose herself in the action- maybe that was why piecing shells together also soon became second nature. Once, Sora sat down next to her, and watched intently as she connected each stem of clover flower without asking any questions. When she was done, he told her how pretty it was and how “he wanted one too.”

For a few days after school, they would go down to the shore, make flower crowns, and pretend they were a King and Queen of the flower people. Well, the last part was entirely Sora’s idea. When she thought back on it- Kairi wondered if Sora did that to help her feel better about being homesick. She had missed her grandmother so badly back then. Every day she felt so alone. But then…Sora was there. And Riku…and the three of them found new things to do together.

Back then, Kairi hadn’t paid a second thought to the idea that most boys wouldn’t find what she was doing that interesting. Thinking about it now, Sora probably only said he wanted one too so she wouldn’t feel lonely- after all…she wasn’t the fastest runner or could hold her own at the time in a mock sword fight. What she was good at was making things, connecting flowers, shells, and bits of shattered sea glass into stars shapes or crowns. Her room back home was filled with makeshift stars, unfinished and marred imitations of the charm Sora now held close as an oath to her. Her childish fantasies of an unbreakable connection, made real and whole through a brush of their fingers as she passed the charm to him. Her fingertips warmed as she recalled his touch.

Now, with the newly coronated flower crown atop her reddened locks-Kairi felt that same bubbling joy well up inside her.

Kairi couldn’t believe Sora had still remembered that time or well had even retained his “flower-tying skills” as he used to call it. Sora had remembered a time that even she had pushed back deep into the depths of her heart. “I think that you retained some skill.” Kairi puffed out her chest. “But I think I’m still the master. So, I’m going to work my magic! It’s only fair that you have one to match.”

Sora chuckled and placed both hands behind his head. “Well, I guess we’re off flower picking then huh?” His hips swayed from side to side, his legs acting listless as if they hadn’t moved in hours.

Kairi bounced up on her heels, feeling a renewed vigor in her veins. “Yep! Lead the way, King!”

“King?” Sora’s jaw slacked. “Gosh, when you say it like that it only reminds me of “the King.”

Kairi lightly patted Sora on the shoulder. “Now, now.” Kairi chided. “There can be more than one King and Kings of different things. He may be “the King” but you- you’re my Flower King right?” An impish grin filled her cheeks. Sora blinked a few times before averting his eyes. She could swear a tinge of red was on the tips of his ears.

“Geez flower King? Don’t tell Riku, or Donald or Goofy- I’ll never live that down.”

“But I’m the flower Queen- we have to match!”  Kairi pointed an accusatory finger at him. Sora jumped back a beat, his deep blue eyes tinged with uncertainty. Soon, his eyes swirled with glimmering sunshine, his smile so subtle she found herself itching to gently brush her fingers across his lips. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

“Okay, I mean if you are I have to be then.” Sora put a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. Though clearly uncomfortable, there was a hint of joy in those words. Poking fun at him like this was almost too nostalgic. With ease, she slid her hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze. He recoiled slightly before sheepishly squeezing her hand back. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers, but she knew- he was just a tad shy still.

Hand in hand they traversed the woods searching for violet, azure, and fuchsia hues. Their still bare feet brushing against rough patches of dirt and slick grass, staining their toes a light green as they went. The morning dew, still kissing the tips of their hair, kept them cool against the ever-rising sun. Every flower they came across seemed more beautiful than the rest- they gathered until they were spilling out onto the ground beneath them. Sora sneezed a few times, sending them flying much more than he would have liked. The air filled with laughter as they collected them all again, each time regretting having over-prepared their bounty.

They returned to the clearing in no time at all-and she set about her work. Connecting the flowers together wasn’t hard- but choosing which flowers suited Sora best- well that took some thinking. Baby’s breath, delicate and kind, hydrangeas as blue and calming as the sea, red carnations brandishing the passionate courage in his heart, and yellow calla lilies to represent his happy disposition. When she was done- it was a crown only befitting him. When she held it up against the light, the shadows cast across her face danced- truly she could think of it as her best work yet. Smirking and a bit too proud, Kairi stood up and delicately laid the crown atop her “King’s” head.

“I, Flower Queen Kairi dub thee- Sora- Flower King.” In a grand bow, Kairi placed a hand over her heart, glancing up at him with mischief and mirth.

Sora’s wide toothy grin greeted her. “It’s an honor!” He paused, searching his mind before snapping his fingers in the realization of something important. “Does it look Kingly?”

“I think it suits you, just as mine suits me.” Kairi spun on her heels, dancing as she delicately brushed the petals she adorned. She gave Sora a taunting wink as she thrust out her hand. “I’d say a dance is in order, sire.”

A deep laugh escaped his chest as Sora jumped up to grab her hand and pull her close. Their eyes connected as if a thread between them became taught, sure, and certain that the entire world around them could just melt away into nothing, and it would all be alright. One step, then two, a sway and a swish, he even threw in a twirl or two as they danced to the bubbling brook and twilling birds. The melody in their hearts flowed and swirled at a tempo that pulled her into a sense of weightlessness. The countless times she dreamed of the two of them, blissfully dancing, suddenly made it real.

It was real, him, her, this moment. It was a sensation, a scent, a feeling she wanted to bottle up and keep close- like an herbarium filled with preserved flowers. Bright, opulent, and ever so warm. As their dance slowed, and her heart settled, Kairi leaned her head on Sora’s shoulder, letting herself melt into his rising chest. It was then Kairi knew that home wasn’t ever far anymore. That homesickness had long flitted away like petals in the wind once she let Sora into her heart. Now, every time she thought of their memories, these moments, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat…Kairi knew somehow she was always closer to home.

 Years Before

*.*.*.*

The bluff at the edge of town was filled with clover flowers. Though she had been warned with a stern shake of the mayor’s finger, and a disapproving huff or two from the town elders, Kairi always found herself foraging for flowers here. The wind blowing through her hair, and the misty salt air gently caressing her chubby cheeks made her feel more at home here than anywhere else on the island.  In the afternoon quiet, only the rumbling low roar of the waves had been keeping her company. Lightly and carefully, she hummed a melody as she worked, losing herself in knot after knot.

*.*.*.*

“What do you think she’s doing?” Sora muttered in a hushed tone, trying to keep his usually loud voice as quiet as possible. He was huddled on his haunches behind a large hedge, practically wiggling to keep himself from falling over. He and Riku had followed Kairi from a distance like two ducks up the winding hillside. When they had seen her leaving the Mayor’s house she had been stomping and letting out a long-winded sigh or two. Riku had said that she was “probably angry” and that it mostly had to do with her going off alone. Sora, being extremely curious about Kairi ever since she had arrived on the beach, had never not kept watch over her. So, Riku being Riku had suggested they follow her, knowing well that Sora would have found himself trailing after her absentmindedly.

Riku let out a sigh and shook his head. “She’s going to make something again. The last time she came back down from here she had a crown of flowers in her hands. That’s probably what she plans on doing.”

“Hmm, that seems more lonely than fun. She’s all by herself.” Sora pursed his lips, his nose scrunching up. He crossed his arms and readjusted his drooping bum with a light hop. “Seems like it’d be better to do with more people.”

Riku raised a brow, then smirked as he realized something important. “You know, if you want to join her nothing’s stopping you. We can go back to the play island any old time.”

“But it feels like if I go over now, I’d be like- I don’t know- I’d um make her mad…”

“Mad?”

“You always say I talk too much. Kairi seems a bit scared when I do that.” Sora looked down at his fidgeting toes. “Still, I think she’s lonely.”

“She just doesn’t know much about us yet. And well you do talk a lot. My dad says sometimes though that just being near someone without saying anything is enough.” Riku crossed his arms, and nodded, certain his father’s words were true.

“Really Riku?”

“Yeah, Really.” Riku put a hand on Sora’s head and gave his hair a quick ruffle. “Now, no more waiting!” Riku placed both hands on Sora’s back and pushed him forward- not even worried if he would fall over on his face. Usually, he did, and Sora had to brace himself for a fall that didn’t come. Instead, he found himself balancing on one foot and staring into the wide cerulean eyes of a frightened girl.

*.*.*.*

When a rustling bounded behind her Kairi gasped and found herself on her feet, her hands clutched close to her chest. A familiar head of spikes was what first caught her eyes, then the twigs and leaves sticking out every-which-way, followed by the shy grin of a boy caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Geez, Sora! You scared me!” Kairi tucked her hair behind her ear as if she were suddenly aware of her own messy mop.

“Sorry, Kairi! Me and Riku were just…” Sora paused to look behind him. Not a soul was in sight. “Aw man, where’d he go? We were just talking about…ugh never mind.” Sora stood up straight and puffed out his chest as he shook the stray twigs and leaves from his head. Once he was done, he placed both hands behind his head. “So…what-cha doing?”

“Making flower crowns…” Kairi mumbled under her breath, feeling herself carefully enunciate each word. Sora was nice, after all, he was the one who found her on the beach that day. But a part of her felt scared, nervous, and a bit rumbly in her tummy when she talked to him. He was always so bright, and his grin was wider than his face. Kairi didn’t know how to be around him. Kairi turned her back to him and smoothed the ends of her dress.

“Okay.” Sora uttered. He continued to stare at her, unmoved until she decided to sit back down among her work. As she picked more flowers, she began to take more glances over at Sora. He watched her intently, swaying from side to side on the edges of his sandals. He stayed that way for a beat then promptly plopped down next to her. Kairi’s breath hitched in her throat at the sudden invasion in her little bubble. But Sora didn’t say anything, although his face was twisted into an unnatural frown, alerting her he really did want to say something.

Kairi tried her best to get back to her crown, but she fumbled with shaky fingers as she tied the tiny stems together. Her lips moved into a fine line, her teeth biting down into the corners of her cheeks. Again, soon she became lost in the motions, not even noticing Sora get up and go look around. Moments later he dropped back down next to her, this time, with a handful of clovers.

“It’s really pretty.” Sora blurted out. His eyes were wide, expectant.

A shivering jolt went through her back, and Kairi shyly looked back down at her completed crown. He said it was pretty, what she made. A slight hint of pride wafted through her chest. “Thanks…”

“I-I want one too!” Sora’s voice was louder than he intended, for Kairi almost fell back at the sudden noise. She made sure to quickly put on a smile for the boy looked almost as if he would cry if he knew she was scared.

“Okay, I’ll teach you.” Kairi found a new strength in her voice. She was more confident now. A voice inside her heart, but from where she didn’t know, whispered caressing words.

Whenever you feel lonely, look to the flowers. Surround yourself with them, let them take root in your heart. Every moment may seem small, but you can make them bigger and more beautiful. For those moments when you’re alone, the flowers will remind you of me and of those who love you. That light in your heart will continue to bloom and grow, as long as you let it. Adorn your head with a crown of flowers, my dear. Adorn the head of the one you love. Find that light, never lose sight of it.

  Notes:

Thank you for reading! This fic was inspired by the prompt King and Queen for SoKai Week 2021. Visiting Sora and Kairi's childhood and what they meant to each other during that time was pure joy. I hope that this little bundle of fluff reminds you of the wonder of picking flowers as a child, and how even the smallest acts of kindness can mean the world to someone else. I tried to add in some of Sora's flowers from his herbarium by super groupies as well as flowers that spoke to his personality. Fun fact: Clover flowers were something that I would gather when I was a child, and luckily they do grow at least in Hawaii at high elevations, so it's possible they could be on the mainland in Destiny Islands!

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#sokaiweek2021 #sokaiweek #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfiction #sokai #sora and kairi #kairi #sora #kingdomheartsfanfiction #KH #kingdomhearts

[xiyao-feels]

Part Three: Claims about JGY

Intro - Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4

JGY

1) JGY has the authority to teach NHS the SoC

He does teach him, and there's no suggestion from anyone involved that he didn't.

In MDZS, the SoC is explicitly one of the Lan's exclusive teachings, and NMJ objects to LXC teaching it to JGY on those grounds; LXC's response to this includes the fact that it can't be leaking it since JGY is their sworn brother, a consideration which would not extend to NHS. I'm not saying that LXC would necessarily deny NHS the chance to learn it (if he were in fact capable of playing it; it's noted as very difficult), but there is no way that JGY has the authority to teach it to NHS without LXC's permission. Nor does NHS seem to be making any efforts to hide what he's playing (in front of both NMJ and some of the Nie men JGY was just playing in front of), so it doesn't seem as though JGY was playing on that to get NHS to keep in a secret. I grant you the plan is stupid enough as it is, but if he'd obtained permission from LXC to teach NHS that would elevate it to new heights of idiocy.

In CQL, the guqin conversation is missing a great deal of what we see in MDZS, and that includes the exchange about it being a Lan exclusive teaching. Nevertheless, we're not given any reason to suppose it's not—and all later discussion of it pretty much follows on MDZS, where it is.

2) JGY involves NHS in his killing of NMJ

He teaches him the corrupted SoC. Now, as in part one, I think MDZS canon suggests this would result in NHS actually helping NMJ, but that's clearly not what the movie is going for.

In MDZS, JGY consistently defends NHS from and to NMJ, as you've seen in some of the quotes in the previous sections. Moreover, after NHS burns his hands when NMJ burns NHS' things, he's the one who orders medicine prepared and comforts him, advises him to go back to his room and rest, and tries to keep him from provoking NMJ; and then, after NHS has run off and locked himself in his room, refusing to open it to anyone to allow them to deliver the medicine, and while NMJ is still furious about NHS' defiance, accepts the medicine and plans to take it to NHS' rooms after he's finished with NMJ (ch 49-50). He does not involve NHS in his plan to kill NMJ.

In CQL, again, we see rather fewer of JGY and NHS' interactions during this time period—which doesn't mean that they don't happen, just that we don't see it. Again, when CQL doesn't say something, I tend to assume it matches MDZS unless I have a specific reason to believe otherwise—CQL kind of relies on this, in fact, otherwise you have questions like "wait what the heck was JGY trying to dig up in the temple". Regardless of whether you agree with that argument, JGY does hold NHS back and prevent him from running towards a qi-deviating NMJ. Although I've seen it interpreted as cruel, he likely prevents NHS from getting himself killed or injured (as happens in MDZS, where NMJ wounds NHS (ch 50)). And this is of course not strictly part of the text, but I'll observe that ZZJ has said that he thinks JGY would regret allowing NHS to witness NMJ's qi-deviation. There is, regardless, no evidence in CQL that JGY used NHS in his plan to kill NMJ.

3) JGY can straightforwardly prevent NMJ's violence via the SoC

We see him do this when NMJ is about to punch NHS; he's obviously hurrying a little, but the SoC works clearly and quickly.

In both MDZS and CQL, he shows no sign of an ability to do this. Instead he just has to deal with NMJ attacking him. When he can prevent NMJ's violence towards him, it's literally just that he manages to talk him down; JGY is, in fact, incredibly vulnerable to NMJ's violence.

We see more of NMJ targeting JGY in MDZS (see next point), but in neither MDZS nor CQL does JGY show any sign of being able to stop NMJ's violence by playing a few quick measures.

Granted, this is mostly a replay about the SoC being able to stop NMJ's violence quickly even when used by someone with weak cultivation. But it's a very important point.

4) Someone other than JGY is the main target of NMJ's violence.

This isn't an explicit claim, but while NMJ is violent on more than one occasion, at no point is JGY his target, nor (from what I can tell) is it suggested he usually is. Rather, NHS and the Nie men are made to stand out as NMJ's victims.

In MDZS, JGY is absolutely the main target of NMJ's violence;* although he does burn NHS' things, leading to NHS' hands being burnt when he tries to save them, and later injures various people (including NHS!) when he qi-deviates, he does this latter /because he is hallucinating they are JGY/. He calls JGY out at the stairs and /publically/—in front of various Jin disciples!—and not only humiliates him but also kicks him down the stairs then draws his sabre on him with intent to kill him (all this after trying to hit him very first thing after they go outside). Earlier, of course, we see him try to kill MY after MY has just killed WRH and saved his life, and his final qi-deviation is immediately preceded by him kicking open a door to slaughter JGY on the spot for the crime of being upset to LXC about how NMJ treats him…ostensibly combined with him being polite and friendly to NMJ's face, but the last time JGY was anything but, NMJ tried to kill him, and indeed LXC is advising JGY against "provok[ing]" NMJ "again," presumably by talking back to him as he did at the stairs (ch 50).

In ch 118—before the stairs incident, and I think it must have been before the Chang clan are killed too—XY asks if JGY's bruise is from NMJ. Although in fact it is not (and observe JGY's response: “If he were the one who did it, do you think I could still be standing here and talking to you?”), the possibility of NMJ's violence towards JGY is clearly present. In ch 32, when WWX sees some kids playing, although we're told that LFZ is the most popular character and although the text is replete with indications that at this point in time he is both powerful and well-respected, there is /still/ the general knowledge that NMJ is going to threaten JGY and JGY is going to flee:

“Nie MingJue” raised swung his fist, “So what if you’re the Chief Cultivator. You’re still my youngest brother. You’ll have to run away whenever you see me anyways.”

“Jin GuangYao” did indeed cooperate and maintain his character. Flinching his shoulders, he quickly ran away.

See also WWX's comment in the first Empathy chapter, when he's surprised at watching NMJ and MY get along: 'Wei WuXian had heard too much of those jokes of how “LianFang-Zun fled whenever he heard that ChiFeng-Zun arrived”.'

We're even told that the brotherhood oath they swore was unusually violent!

NMJ's determination to kill JGY lasts even into his own death—that's /why/ JGY dismembers him and sets such strong seals on him, so that NMJ's fierce corpse won't kill him. NMJ's violence towards JGY is a central part of both of their narratives, and shows up all throughout the text.

*Well, NMJ is also very pro-Wen-killing, but on an individual level.

In CQL this is a little more complicated. NMJ seems perhaps generally less violent? Certainly we are shown less of his violence, and in e.g. the confrontation in Sun Palace he is not constantly attempting to get to JGY while LXC blocks his blows and explains things. In episode 36, although we still see the children playing, the exchange is a little modified; we're still told JGY is scared of NMJ, but the NMJ kid doesn't raise a fist or anything like that, and the JGY child doesn't run away. Nevertheless, NMJ is clearly hostile to JGY, and his violence at the stairs is the same: attempting to hit him the moment they arrive outside, kicking him down the stairs, and then drawing his sabre on him to try and kill him. The difference is that in CQL, JGY survives because NMJ qi-deviates, whereas in MDZS he would likely have died had LXC not intervened. The emphasis on NMJ's violence towards JGY is much less present in CQL; nevertheless, JGY is still the primary target of what violence we do see.

5) JGY is easily replaceable, indeed at all replaceable, as a subordinate

FJ does not explicitly say this, but NZH seems to be very well-integrated and to have been there a while, and there's no suggestion he is in any way less than a perfect subordinate, or that JGY was better. As though to emphasize this, we see him dive in front of NMJ to take a blow (as with MY in CQL)—and, of course, he has the good grace to die when NMJ tries to kill him. One of the rather underspecified Nie cultivators also flings himself in front of NMJ, taking a blow to save his life (although, to be entirely fair, willingness to take a blow for NMJ is probably the way in which MY /is/ most easily replaceable).

In MDZS, MY's competence as NMJ's subordinate, and indeed the extraordinary level of his competence, are fundamental to his and NMJ's relationship. Consider these quotes from ch. 49:

After he left, Nie MingJue switched to another deputy. Wei WuXian, however, felt that the new one was always a few beats slower. Meng Yao was an unusually clever talent. He could understand what wasn’t said, and perform to the best with the simplest orders. He was efficient and never slacked. Anyone used to him wouldn’t be able to refrain from comparing him with others.

and

Nie MingJue was never close to people. He rarely opened up to anyone. Though he finally managed to obtain a competent, trustworthy subordinate, whose character and capabilities he approved, he found that the subordinate’s true colors were nothing like what he had thought they were. It was only natural that his reaction was so extreme.

Moreover, it's WWX's conclusion in ch 49 that part of the reason NMJ agrees to swear brotherhood with JGY is JGY's extraordinary talent:

From [WWX's] observations, aside from how Lan XiChen brought it up, having always hoped that the two would reconcile, the most important factor was probably the gratitude of saving his life and writing the letters. To be precise, in his past battles, he had more-or-less depended on the information that Meng Yao sent over through Lan XiChen. He still thought that Jin GuangYao was a talented person whom one would rarely come upon, and intended on leading him back onto the right path. However, Jin GuangYao wasn’t his subordinate anymore. Only after they became sworn brothers would he have the status and the position to urge Jin GuangYao, like how he disciplined his younger brother, Nie HuaiSang.

This is also part of LXC's attempt to reassure JGY that NMJ has not entirely turned against him, in ch 50:

Lan XiChen, “He has always cherished your talent, hoping that you would choose the right path.

JGY's extraordinary competence is very much central to their relationship, and the /fact/ that he has to be so extraordinarily competent to achieve any recognition is central to the themes of the text.

In CQL, again, this is less explicit. However, in episode 10 NHS praises him and WWX and JC are impressed by his talent; the captain, the only other high-up Nie man we get an individual sense of, seems rather less impressive. Moreover, at the stairs, when confronting JGY about XY's imprisonment, NMJ says what did I tell you back in Qinghe (about wanting XY dead), i.e. when JGY was his servant, suggesting he still views JGY in the framework of that relationship and at least possibly suggesting that he still misses JGY in that position.

In the interests of justice I will also bring up the important claims about the characters I noticed that /do/ have significant textual support: first, that NMJ is very good at fighting; second, that NHS and NMJ are each other's most important people. (It technically also gets that NHS hates practicing the sabre, but given the way it contextualizes this I'm not giving them any points for that one.) FJ also claims that lying to someone to keep them from knowing something that would hurt them is an expression of love—although in MDZS this goes rather the other way around, with NMJ keeping things from NHS, considered in isolation it does fit in with similar expressions of love in CQL/MDZS.

Now, I want to be clear, I'm not actually being as thorough as I possibly could. To do that, I would have to watch it multiple times and think things over for at /least/ a month, and even aside from the poor anon who's waiting on the answer to the question "what do they erase about NHS and JGY," I have absolutely no desire to spend that kind of time with the film.

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#fj negativity #more than one tag could contain #anger burned in his heart #we can't change places #long meta

[janeykath318]

Once Upon A Time (WinterShock Fantasy AU)

Once upon a time there lived a happy, mischievous Princess named Darcy. Sadly orphaned at a young age, she was surrounded by loving caregivers, who taught her how to be a good, but kind ruler. 

When Princess Darcy was just twelve years old, the regent Lord Phillip noticed she showed signs of being gifted with magic, a rare ability in that land. 

After some consultation with Darcy’s other guardians, he decided she should learn how to use her gift and Darcy started magic classes. By the time she was sixteen, she had learned many useful spells and was becoming better at controlling her magic. 

In history class, she learned of the great wars between the evil practitioners of black magic known as Hydra and the wizards and knights of the kingdom. 

Hydra had been defeated, but at the cost of many lives, including those of the stouthearted Sir Steven Rogers and Sir James Barnes, whose great deeds lived on in story and song. Darcy passed by their portraits in the great hall and wished she could have known those great men. Sir James she found especially appealing with his mirth filled grey-blue eyes, well-shaped face and dark brown hair.

As her twenty-first birthday approached and she readied to take up the mantle of queen, many suitors sought her hand. Most of them didn’t make it past Lord Phillip, who carefully questioned them to gauge their character and intentions, and the few who did did not arouse Darcy’s interest. 

Then came the shocking revelation that Sir Steven had been found alive, having been encased in an enchanted block of ice for seventy years. He was brought to the castle and tended to by physicians and healers before Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas questioned him. Finally, they were finished and allowed Darcy to have an audience with him. 

Excited to meet one of the heroic men of history, she perked up when Lord Phillip brought him into her reception room. 

He was tall, with a powerful physique, golden hair, and melancholy blue eyes. 

“Sir Steven!” She greeted, as he bowed before. 

“Your highness,” he replied politely. 

“We are glad to find you alive against all odds. How do you feel after your awakening?”

“Physically well, but I struggle to reconcile with the passage of time, your highness,” he answered with surprising honesty. Nearly all of my contemporaries are dead or nearly dead and I as yet do not know how to restart my life.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Darcy said gently, heart aching for the man who’d given up everything for the kingdom. “But just know that if you need a friendly ear to talk to, I am happy to lend mine. Anything you need, just say the word and Phillip will see to it.” 

Over the next few months, Steven and Darcy made friends and he told her many stories of his adventures with Sir James, or Bucky, as Steven called him. 

Unfortunately, with six months to go before Darcy’s coronation as queen, Hydra began to make its presence known again with the reappearance of their legendary assassin, The Winter Soldier, who felled several wizards and was rumored to be sent after the princess herself. Alarmed, Phillip increased the number of Darcy’s bodyguards and brought in the renowned Lady Natasha for extra security and help planning against Hydra’s threats. 

Much as she liked Steven, Darcy chafed at having him everywhere. Her complaints fell on deaf ears, however. Lord Nicholas and Lord Phillip were on high alert and stood firm. 

One day, Darcy and Steven walked through the great hall together and he shared anecdotes of several of the royals depicted on its walls. When they reached Sir James’s portrait, Steven fell silent for several moments, grief so raw in his face that Darcy turned away out of respect.

“It must still seem fresh to you,” she said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss, Steven.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” he sighed. “Yes, to me it seems like it only happened a few days ago. We were ambushed on a treacherous mountain pass. I tried my hardest to reach him, but he lost his hold and…….fell.” 

He swallowed hard, struggling with the memory.

“I know he would have liked you,” he told the Princess. “Bucky appreciated your type of humor and wit. He also was fascinated with magic, albeit only mildly had a very small ability in that area.”

“Sir James had magic?” Darcy asked, even more intrigued.

“He did,” Steve confirmed with a faint smile. “Mostly used it to annoy me: make my armor turn weird colors, grow out my beard to an unnatural length, give my horse a purple tail.” 

Darcy chuckled. “What a rascal. Did I tell you how I gave Phillip a toupee once?”

Steve looked at her in amused disbelief. 

“No, but I must know now.”

For several weeks, the period of watchfulness continued, but nothing happened and Darcy began to hope that the danger wasn’t coming after all, then one night she was awakened abruptly by Natasha.

“Get up your highness. Your life is in danger.” 

“Wha-huh?” Darcy replied sleepily, brain struggling to come to. A pile of clothing was thrown onto her bed.

“Hydra. They nearly killed Lord Nicholas in a late raid. Put on the disguise and pack one bag. We need to get you out of here. Steven is waiting with the horses.”

Numbly, Darcy dressed in the plain gown and dark cloak Natasha had provided and quickly packed a few belongings, hoping desperately her friends were safe. 

Natasha led her out through the secret underground exit that led out behind the stables where Steven was waiting, armored and well armed. 

“What happened?” Darcy whispered as she mounted the horse behind Natasha. He was a good rider herself, but in the dark and under threat, she was more than happy to have the expert take the reins. 

“The Winter Soldier attacked,” Steve said grimly. “I fended him off, but he will likely be back. We are headed for the stronghold of Lord Anthony deep in the mountains. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

The journey was long and hard, taking almost the whole night. They were only a few miles away, when they were overtaken by a black knight on a black horse, covered head to toe in armor, the only mark on him a red star on his silver left arm. 

Steve muttered an oath.

“The Winter Soldier!” He muttered. “Get down!”

Darcy obeyed. She heard the sounds of swords clashing as Steve fought the intruder, then there was a ping! Sound and metal hit the ground and Steve cried out “Bucky!” In an anguished tone followed by a deeper voice saying “Who the hell is Bucky?” 

Now it was Natasha’s turn to swear, but she stuck close to Darcy. Peering up a bit, she could see the tall knight, his helmet now gone, revealing dark brown hair and finely shaped jaw. Her heart jumped into her throat. It was Sir James! He looked completely cold and menacing, but there was something so dead in his eyes, she knew there was something wildly amiss. 

Reaching out with her magic, she sensed the thick cloak of dark magic upon him and guessed Hydra had him under some spell. 

“What do you want?” She heard Steve ask.

“My mission is the Princess. Hand her over. They want her alive.”

“Over my dead body,” Steve growled. 

“Very well.” 

The swords clashed again and the struggle began again. This time, she could tell it was going badly for Steve. 

Darcy couldn’t stand it anymore. She stood up, brushing off Natasha’s restraining arm and walked over to the scene of the fight. Steve was now bleeding on the ground, still trying to get Bucky to remember him. James had his sword at Steve’s throat and was ready to plunge it in when Steve murmured, “I’m with you to the end of the line.”

This made The Soldier pause and the cold expression in his eyes was replaced with a flash of recognition followed by pure panic. 

Darcy stepped forward.

“Don’t kill him! I’ll surrender.”

James whirled around to face her, confusion written all over his face. 

“What are you doing, your highness?” She heard Steve hiss out, but Darcy had a plan and she needed to get closer. 

“You surrender?” James repeated dully.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Do what you have to do.”

He stalked towards her with his knife drawn, and Darcy stood stock still, waiting for the right moment. She knew a spell she was pretty sure would work, but it would likely leave her exhausted. At this point, exhausted was preferable to dead and she had to try to help James. 

Summoning every ounce of magical strength she could, she cried out, “Restore!” and held out her hands.

Bolts of magical energy sparked from her fingertips and connected with James, wrapping around his head. The energy warred with the darkness and caused it to dissipate and vanish. 

James fell over unconscious.

“What did you do?” Steve asked, having dragged himself painfully over to his friend.

“A restoration spell. Hydra was controlling his mind. I cancelled it out,” Darcy sighed, suddenly exhausted. 

“Can we bring him to the stronghold? It might be some time before he wakes.”

Steve looked at his friend and nodded. 

“We will. I really hope you are right, your highness.”

Between the three of them, they managed to haul James to the gates of the stronghold. It took rather longer to convince Lord Anthony to let him in, but Darcy shamelessly pulled rank on the man and he finally relented. 

She was almost stumbling with exhaustion by the time they reached the keep and Natasha almost carried her off to the guest chamber provided.

“I want to be there when he wakes up!”’she protested.

“He may not wake up for some time,” Natasha answered. “Your spell is still working on him. Please rest, your highness. He won’t get away, I promise.”

So Darcy finally agreed and shortly fell into deep slumber. She awoke rather disoriented and very rumpled. 

“Ugh. I look like a hag, not a Princess!” She moaned, repulsed by her reflection in the mirror. She managed to get herself into a somewhat respectable state when Natasha came for her.

“Is he awake?” Darcy asked eagerly. 

“Yes. He awoke about an hour ago and seems to be himself again. He recognized Steve.”

“That is wonderful news! Please take me to him.”

Natasha obliged and showed Darcy into the room where a bandaged and rather battered looking Steve sat beside James. Darcy felt a pang of remorse for not trying a healing spell on him. 

Both men got to their feet as she entered, Steve rather shakily. 

“Bucky, this is her highness Princess Darcy. She is strong in good magic and wove the spell that freed you from Hydra. I trust you rested well, Your highness?”

“I did, but sit down, Steven, before you fall down. You need to see the healers.” 

“Just what I’ve been telling him….wait PRINCESS Darcy? You saved me?”

James’s voice was filled with awe and wonder as he looked at her, blue eyes now clear and sharp like in his portrait. Oh, heavens, he was incredibly handsome and for a moment she was speechless as they stared at each other. Finally, Bucky shook himself and knelt before her, bowing his head. 

“Where are my manners? Forgive me your highness. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I am your devoted servant henceforth.” 

“Sir James, I am very happy to see you in your own mind. I am so relieved that it worked,” Darcy assured him, holding out her hand to show him she accepted his thanks. He kissed it, looking reverently into her eyes and Darcy felt her heart skip a beat. She could feel the unspoken connection between them. 

“You and Steven will be honored as heroes,” she declared. 

“Steven is well deserving,” James agreed, a shadow falling over his face. “I do not know that I am deserving to hold the title of knight anymore. The things I have done would sicken you.”

“You mean the things Hydra forced you to do?” Darcy responded. “Hydra’s deeds do sicken me, but the reason you became their captive in the first place was because you were fighting to end their reign of terror. You will not be held liable for something you had no control over.”

“You are very gracious, your highness,” James said gratefully. 

Darcy turned to Steven next and gently scolded him for not getting his wounds tended to before using a healing spell on him.

Lord Anthony came in to check on his guests and give them an update on the situation at the Castle.

“Hydra had infiltrated some of the guard and it has been difficult to weed them out,” he informed them. “Jasper Sitwell and Lord Alexander are both Hydra and have vowed to take over the kingdom. I am sending reinforcements as soon as I can.”

Anger stirred in Darcy. 

“The traitors! I will kick their posteriors!!” 

Steve looked startled at her uncouth language, but Anthony grinned and James’s mouth twitched in amusement. 

“I like the spirit, your highness, but it’s safer for you to remain here. My stronghold has magical defenses and right now, you are Hydra’s number one target. There is a large bounty on your head.”

Darcy turned pale and gripped a nearby table for support. 

She was almost shaking with rage and fear, but told herself to calm down. She had to be strong for her country. 

“I can’t just sit back here while you all risk your lives. You know I can defend myself with my magic,” she reminded them. 

“You can, but the ratio of Hydra to loyal soldiers is much too high and we cannot risk losing you,” Natasha reminded her. “You’re the last of your family line.”

Darcy deflated at this painful reminder. She knew Natasha was right and she couldn’t endanger the throne by rushing headlong into danger, but she hated the thought of waiting all by herself. 

In the end, James volunteered to stay with her as protection duty, being a most powerful warrior. She couldn’t help but be pleased at his company, despite the circumstances. 

Before Anthony and the army departed, she took care to lay helpful enchantments upon Steve’s sword and Shield and Natasha’s knives and the archers’ bows. 

Satisfied at last, she saw them off with well wishes and turned back to James, who walked beside her back to the luxurious library that she’d picked out as the room to hole up in. 

“Come sit by me, James,” she requested. “You can be vigilant in comfort.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he responded, carefully seating himself beside her. Up close, she could see how well built he was and how strong his arms were. She had to stifle a sudden urge to feel his biceps: both the flesh and the metal one. 

“Did Hydra equip you with the metal arm?” she asked. 

“They did,” James confirmed. “I lost my arm in the fall that led to my capture. They designed it to be another weapon. I shudder to think of how much blood it has spilled.” 

He clenched and unclenched his metal fist, sad blue eyes looking reproachfully at it. 

“Maybe we can get you a new one once we’ve stomped them out once and for all,” she suggested. “I know Stark would love to upstage them and make a better one. He is very gifted in that area.”

“You are very thoughtful, your highness,” he said, giving her another grateful look that brought a lump to her throat. The poor man was clearly not used to being treated like a human and it hurt her to think of. 

“Please call me Darcy,” she requested. “There’s no one else around and it gets old hearing “your highness” all the time.”

“Darcy,” he repeated, saying her name reverently. “What a lovely name.” 

The next few days were trying ones for the Princess as she waited for news from the battle. James told her many stories of his and Steve’s adventures and she told him about her childhood and her mishaps while learning magic.

James admitted one of the reasons he’d stayed behind was because he feared Hydra would speak the words to him that would trigger his Winter Soldier persona.

“You mean you didn’t stay because of my captivating beauty and charm?” Darcy said teasingly. 

“Now, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he said, flushing a bit. You are very pleasant to be around. I just thought you should be made aware there still might be traces of the spell in me.”

“We’ll have you examined by our best wizards,” Darcy promised, anxious to reassure him. “Their knowledge is greater than mine and they will be able to rid you of any lingering effects.”

“I hope so,” James murmured. “I really hope so.”

He looked at her for a long moment with an expression that made her heartbeat quicken before he sighed and looked sad again, as if longing for something out of his reach. 

She saw that expression several more times over the next few days and wished she could comfort him. 

Five days later, a messenger returned to the stronghold to bring news both good and bad. The good news was that the Hydra uprising had been crushed and its members dead or in custody. The bad news: the chaos had stirred up a legendary dragon, who was headed straight for the palace. 

James thought Darcy should stay at the stronghold, but she overruled him.

“I appreciate your consideration, but I must return and oversee the investigation. I need to talk to the wizards about you as well. I cannot hide any longer. I will go mad.”

He’d sighed and gone to bring the horses around. 

The journey back was done as stealthily as possible, and Darcy watched James with interest as he skillfully and silently guided them along the journey, always on high alert. She felt safer with him than any of her bodyguards, good as they were. This knight had had his senses honed to a razor sharpness that was unlike anything she’d seen. She wondered if part of it was due to his latent magic powers and if he’d ever used them. But magic was not a topic he seemed willing to discuss, other than the moment he’d thanked her for rescuing him from it. 

They returned to a palace that was very chaotic, evidence of fighting all around it and grim faced guards everywhere.

Darcy went straight to Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas who were in consultation with Lord Anthony, all three looking very somber. 

“I am relieved to see you safely returned, your highness,” said Lord Nicholas. “Thank you,” she told him. “I am also relieved to find you well. I heard you met up with the Winter Soldier.”

“I did and I broke the spell that held him a prisoner,” Darcy told them proudly. “Phillip, Nicholas, may I present Sir James Barnes? I assure you, he is no threat.”

The men looked shocked and wary, but Darcy made them talk to James and confirm that he was, indeed, an ally and in his right mind. 

“Where is Steven?” James asked nervously, looking around for his friend.

Phillip sighed. 

“He is in the infirmary. He suffered grievous injury fighting Hydra and had previous untreated injuries that led to his collapse.”

Darcy sighed and James groaned.

“Typical of the imbecile,” he muttered. “Never could take care of himself.” 

“What?” He said bluntly at the questioning looks the Lords were giving him.

“He just laid there and would have let me—the Soldier—kill him, if the Princess hadn’t intervened. The one time he decides to back down from a fight….” James sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, I have noticed that trend with him,” Lord Phillip admitted, almost smiling at James’s aggravation. “We enchanted the door of his room so that he cannot get out until the healers have finished with him.”

Darcy smiled her approval. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Phillip,” she said fondly. 

“Unfortunately, we will need him at his full strength sooner rather than later,” Lord Nicholas sighed. “The dragons are but a three days journey away.”

As soon as Steven was recovered, they began making plans for defending against the dragon horde, who were led by a large purple beast named Thanos. 

Thanos had obliterated many cities in neighboring realms with his terrible breath and destructive claws and he had fifty fearsome fellow dragons with him. It was going to be a very difficult fight. Darcy went around giving motivational speeches to the troops and leaders in between making sure the citizens were evacuated to the mountain strongholds. She stood on a balcony looking out over the city, hoping it wouldn’t be its last day of existence.

“The last of the refugees are about to depart for the mountains, your highness,” Steven reported, James standing beside him. “Are you certain we cannot persuade you to go with them?” 

“Very certain,” Darcy said firmly. “My place is here.” 

He nodded, then smiled. “I understand. I too, would chafe at being denied the chance to defend my country.”

James heaved a deep sigh. 

“There are two of them,” he muttered in a disgruntled tone that had Darcy and Steven chuckling. 

“You will get used to it, James,” Darcy said lightly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. 

The following day, Thanos and his dragon army arrived, blasting fire and roaring ferociously. The army was ready for them and put up a good fight, slaying quite a few, before they could get into the city. The tide soon turned against them, though, as Thanos’s power was unleashed and death and destruction rained down. Darcy was safely inside the tower and fretting about the increasingly grim reports coming in from the battlefield. 

“If we could just get Thanos, we would actually stand a chance!” She said, pacing in frustration. 

“Unfortunately, Thanos appears to be untouchable,” Nicholas reported, stress making his eyelid twitch rapidly. “He has a power far beyond anything we’ve faced before. Melts people before they get near him. Normal shields are ineffective.”

“What about magic?” She asked.

“The only spells that might work have to be within twenty paces,” Nicholas mused. “And all our wizards are either wounded, dead, or busy.” 

A plan began to take root in Darcy’s mind. It was crazy and might not even work, but at this point, what did she have left to lose?

“Phillip, would the enchantment on Steve’s shield stand up to Thanos’s breath?” She asked. 

“Yes, for a few minutes, but Steve does not have magic.”

“He doesn’t have to. I do,” she told them.

Phillip frowned. 

“What spell would they have taught you that would fell Thanos?”

Darcy smiled. 

They pleaded and argued and begged her not to, but Princess Darcy prevailed. 

“What kind of ruler will I be if I am not willing to give my life to protect my people?” She’d told them. 

Phillip had closed his eyes, but nodded, unable to dispute this. 

After giving a few quick orders, Darcy put on some armor and went out to face Thanos. It wasn’t hard to find him, bring huge and purple and all. He was even more fearsome up close, huge claws and fiery breath wreaking havoc upon the city and its people. Darcy swallowed. She had to stop him before he spilled any more blood. Searching for Steven, she found him finishing off a young red dragon. 

“Steven!”

He looked up, shocked to see her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, panting heavily. 

“I think I know how to stop Thanos, but I need your help. Where’s James?”

“Over there,” Steve jerked his head to the left. “Do you need him, too?”

“Yes. For my plan to work we need all three of us.”

James was not pleased to see Darcy in battle and even less so when he heard her plan.

“Eight out of ten cases, that spell kills the caster, too! We can’t lose you, Princess. Surely, there’s some other way.” 

His blue eyes were desperate and pleading as he spoke, and Darcy’s own heart hurt a bit. She would have loved to agree and have the chance at deepening her friendship with him into something more, but if they all died due to a dragon, that wouldn’t happen anyway. She would hold out hope she could be in the two out of ten. 

Darcy smiled sadly. “The only other wizards that know this spell are incapacitated or dead. I’m so sorry, James. I have to protect my people.” 

For a brief moment, he looked as if she’d ripped out his heart and trampled it under foot, then the expressionless soldier’s mask returned and he simply nodded.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Steve will cover us with his shield so that I can get close enough to cast the spell, which will block his airway and allow James to stab him in his soft underbelly. Be quick about it so he doesn’t crash down on top of you,” she urged James. He didn’t look like he cared much about being crushed at this point, but he nodded. 

She shook both their hands, then took a deep breath. 

“Let’s go.”

Steve held up his magical shield over them as they approached Thanos. She could feel the intense heat around them, but the magic did its job and soon they were within range.

She held out her hands and began chanting, energy swirling through her as she summoned everything she had to hurl at the dragon. 

Thanos laughed evilly and blasted fire at them, which bounced off the shield. Knowing the protection would not last long and not wanting to get Steve and James killed, Darcy quickly spoke the rest of the spell, then flung the energy toward the dragon’s snout. It wrapped around and went down his nostrils, thickening up and causing him to sit up and choke and gasp for breath, clutching his nose.

James darted forward and the last thing Darcy heard as the life drained out of her was the terrible scream from Thanos as the knight’s sword plunged into him. 

She came back to consciousness in a plain white room, birds singing outside the window.

“Is this the afterlife or did I survive?” She wondered aloud. 

There was a gasp and James suddenly lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on the side of the bed.

“I assure you, you’re very much alive, Princess,” he told her, voice trembling with emotion. The usual very polished knight looked haggard and unkempt, eyes red and bloodshot. 

“I was one of the lucky two out of ten?” She asked, warmth spreading through her at how he was looking at her. 

“Not at first,” added another voice. Steven was beaming at her from the doorway, relief showing strongly in his amiable face. 

“What do you mean?” She asked curiously.

“When we finished off Thanos, I picked you up and there was no breath in you. No pulse. Nothing.” 

Steven looked pained at the memory and Darcy looked back at James, whose lips were quivering. 

“Bucky here insisted on carrying your…...body…...back to the palace,” Steve continued. “Somehow, you started breathing again on the way there. We really have no idea why. Maybe the healers can tell us.” 

“Wow,” Darcy breathed, a smile blossoming on her face. “So the dragon army was defeated?”

“Soundly,” Steven assured her. “The kingdom is saved. You’re a hero, Princess. They’re ready to crown you queen right now.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait,” Darcy said with feigned haughtiness. “I refuse to be crowned until I’m able to be fully fabulous again.”

Steve barked out a laugh and Bucky’s shoulders shook. Lifting his head, he looked at her through tear-filled eyes.

“Princess, you’re always fabulous,” he told her sincerely. 

A healer bustled in, interrupting the moment. Darcy was a little annoyed, but she let herself be examined with no fuss and took the opportunity to ask about why she had come back to life.

Healer Cho smiled. 

“We believe that the one who carried you in has the gift of Healing Touch, which in some cases, can revive a person. Sir James, you have some magic in you, right?” 

Bucky nodded, wide-eyed at the realization. 

“I couldn’t heal people before, and as the Winter Soldier, I was forced to use what magic I had solely for evil,” he said thoughtfully.  “I’ve never tried magic since.”

“Sometimes these gifts develop later, James. You may not have known it was there, but it was,” Helen told him gently. 

“As for you, your highness, a day or so of rest and you should be back on your feet again. Do you feel in need of food?”

Darcy nodded enthusiastically and Helen departed to get her a tray, looking very pleased. 

“Buck, You saved the Princess,” Steve commented proudly.

Bucky, who’d been staring at his hand in disbelief, looked into Darcy’s eyes as she grabbed the hand and kissed it.

“My hero!” she sighed, giving him a dopey smile that somehow tripped something in him to release the emotion he’d been trying to hold back. Steve thoughtfully shut the door and retreated to the corner again. Darcy kept holding James’s hand and whispered soothing words to him as he cried. The poor man had been through so much, and she was determined to help make his new life as happy as possible. 

“It killed me to see you lifeless,” he whispered, when he’d finally calmed. “I’ve become very attached to you in the short time I’ve known you. I know you probably wouldn’t want to be courted by a man like me, but if you did, well…..”

“Who says I wouldn’t want to court you?” Darcy retorted. “I would very much like to court you, James. “You’re brave, you’re selfless, you’re funny, you’re an awesome warrior, and you’re exceedingly handsome. Don’t think I haven’t been wanting to run my fingers through your glorious mane since the day we met.”

James blushed bright red. 

“However, no courting can happen if you don’t take care of yourself.”  She told him. “As your princess, I command you to eat, bathe, and sleep before you return. “You’re clearly exhausted. Steven will make sure this is carried out, won’t you, Sir Steven?” 

Darcy’s firm tone had Steven nodding quickly. 

“I will, your highness,” he declared, looking pointedly at James. “I attempted to previously, but he refused to leave your side, the stubborn mule.”

“You hypocrite,” James shot back, grinning at them both. “But I will happily follow your commands, Princess.”

Getting to his feet, he kissed her hand and gently released it.

“I will be back.” he promised. 

“You’d better!” she called after him. 

Falling back on the pillows, Darcy held the hand he’d kissed to her cheek, dreamily thinking about him kissing her on the lips. 

Five Months later

The coronation of Queen Darcy was a day of jubilation and partying, a national holiday having been decreed for the occasion. Throngs of people had arrived in the city to witness the grand event and the city, which had recovered  from the Hydra and the Dragon invasions, was decorated to within an inch of its life.

Darcy stood in the hall, dressed in a deep green formal gown and rich red robes, trying to calm her nerves. There were a lot of eyes on her today and she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself. 

Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas were busily going over the schedule with Lady Natasha and the royal guards and Darcy was going over her speech once again in her head. 

There was a clanking of metal, and she saw her favorite knights approaching, both looking impeccable and stunning. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” she greeted warmly. “You’re looking magnificent.” 

They bowed gracefully.

“Thank you, your highness. So are you,” Steve replied.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” James said, giving her a look that made her blush. He was quite the master at those looks, as she’d learned during their courtship. There had been quite a stir when it was announced that the soon to be Queen was betrothed to the former Winter Soldier, but happily, the critics were vastly outnumbered by the supporters, as he was now seen as a hero after saving her life. Darcy had been highly  lauded herself and was still being swamped with gifts from her grateful subjects. 

“How are you feeling, Darcy?” He asked quietly.

“Nervous, but excited,” she said. “I’m going to be the best queen I can be.”

“I know you will,” James agreed, with one of his becoming smiles. “Save me a dance at the ball later?”

“Silly man,” she chuckled fondly. “You should know by now all of my dances are for you.” 

#wintershock #darcy lewis #bucky barnes #fantasy au #medieval au #princess darcy #knight bucky

[mimssides]

Never Met You

Chapter 8: Loyalty

To trust one has to give others power over themselves. Doing so can be most dangerous but also most rewarding thing one ever experiences

Logan’s chamber was lighted dimly. It was early in the evening but most of the castle had already settled for the night since tomorrow would be the day where the conflict with Ragan would finally take form in battle. Troupes were waiting at the border and before the sun would rise, Logan would be with them as well. He had insisted on going there and gotten his will despite Janus’s and Roman’s protests.

Only Green had stood behind him and even reminded Janus that Logan was a trained soldier, and was most likely better prepared to take on people in a fight than Janus had ever been. The argument had made Logan smile. It still made him smile and he put his hand on his chest. Something was there. Something he didn’t understand or expect. And he would have to wait until the fight had been fought before he could figure out what was happening with him.

Yet now he would have to focus on what was to happen next. He would have to focus on the first battle, on the war at the doorsteps of their kingdom. He hoped he would do well enough for his people.

A knock on the door. Logan called for them to enter. Janus and Green came in and with no words spoken, Janus sat down next to Logan on the edge of his bed. Green remained standing close to the door and looked to the floor.

In a neutral tone Janus said: “Everything is ready for tomorrow. You still wish to go?”

“Yes, I still wish to go,” Logan persisted coldly. “We both knew the answer to that question.”

“Well, sue me for hoping you would come to your senses. Just because you have a military background that doesn’t mean you need to partake in the war directly. Even George won’t show up personally. It’s not a place for a king,” Janus said more forcefully this time.

“No, it isn’t. But for a solider it is and as a soldier I came to court. I am aware that my role has changed but I don’t wish to simply stand by as citizens of Theana get slaughtered in my name. It is not the ruler I wish to be.”

“I understand. I find it foolish but I understand.”

“Janus…” Logan mumbled at the resigned response of his friend.

The Royal Advisor didn’t pay his mumbling any mind. He knew what kind of man Logan was. He knew that it was pointless to try and steer him into a different direction with any argument he could possibly muster right now. And yet he had to try. For Roman’s sake. For the kingdom’s sake. And for his oath’s sake.

***

The halls of the castle were long and shiny. Much shiner than anything Janus had ever seen in his life. His father held his hand and his mother had reminded him to be well-behaved when he and father had left for the trip. Janus did not really know what well-behaved meant but he had agreed nevertheless.

His mother was happy when he agreed with her and he liked her being happy.

He also liked the shiny wall and hallway. People were walking around, servants is what his father called them, and they all lowered their heads when they encountered his father. That was because his father was important to the kingdom, Janus knew that.

He knew a lot of things for a four-year-old.

He also knew that it was serious when his father took a deep breath and told him to straighten up when they stood in front of a huge door with two guards on each side. And so, Janus straightened up and watched as the guards opened the door. Inside there was a big room filled with more toys than he had ever seen. He wanted to run inside but stopped and looked up to his father who was still holding his hand and was looking from him towards the divan inside of the room. Janus followed his look and saw four people sit on the divan.

King Aneas and Queen Rhea holding hands and each had a boy on their lap. The boys were a little taller than Janus, the one on the King Aneas’s lap wore a green tunic and the one on Queen Rhea’s lap wore a red tunic. The green one smiled brightly while the red one hid in his mother’s chest.

Once more Janus looked up to his father. He nodded and let go of his hand. Janus slowly walked inside in front of the royal family. He knew he was not supposed to look into their eyes and looked to his feet as he did a little bow.

He heard a giggle and looked up. The green one was laughing and waved at Janus. Janus waved back and saw how the red one started to smile too and waved back.

“You must be Janus” Queen Rhea said and Janus nodded.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” King Aneas added and Janus smiled.

Janus’s father walked up to Janus and bowed before the royal couple. Both bowed their heads as well and smiled at him.

Janus’s father said: “Their Majesties. It is an honour to introduce you to my son. May I say something before █████ ██████ █████ and Crown Prince Roman can acquaint themselves himself with my son?”

Queen Rhea waved her hand in approval and Janus’s father got down on one knee looking at Janus. Firmly he put his left hand on Janus’s shoulder and looked at him intently. Janus knew that that meant he had to listen very closely to his father.

“The Princes Prince,” Janus’s father said and squeezed Janus’s shoulder, “will grow up, study and train to become the next king and archduke of Theana. That means they he will hold much power and people will try to influence and deter them him from their his way. That is one of the reasons why our family has sworn to protect the rulers of Theana. You, Janus, will grow up alongside them him and will be trained to protect and advice the Crown Prince to the best to your abilities. That is a big responsibility but I am positive that you will grow into this role and bring honour to our family.”

Janus nodded solemnly and his father smiled a tiny bit. That made Janus very happy even though he was not entirely sure what his father had talked about. Then his father stood up again and motioned him towards the divan. The kid in green had already climbed off and was jumping towards Janus while the kid in red was still climbing off his Queen Rhea’s lap.

“█████ wait!” the red boy whined and █████ turned to him and sticked out his tongue.

Janus giggled and both boys made an offended noise and █████ tackled Janus to the floor.

“Only I may laugh at Roman!” █████ announced proudly with a wide grin.

Janus held back a giggle and nodded as seriously as he could. █████ looked happy with that answer and climbed off Janus. He stretched out his hand to help him stand up. Then █████ tilted his head and asked: “So you will be my advisor now? My best friend?”

Janus nodded.

█████ waited for a moment and asked: “Do you swear it?”

And Janus replied: “I swear on my life that I will be your bestest friend and advisor!”

***

“I worry for you, Logan. Your health has been getting worse and worse these days and you simply decline any form of help. The people need you alive and healthy. Roman can’t become king and I do believe you are the best fit for this role. And you are my friend. I don’t want to see you suffering.”

“I am touched by your concern Janus. I truly am. And if we weren’t in this situation I would go to our physician, I guarantee it. But if any word goes out that I might not be at my highest anyone in my presence might be in danger. Green was right when he said that if I show weakness, they will use it against me. I can’t risk that now. But I will see one once this is over. I promise,” Logan answered once more in the hopes that Janus would give in.

But Janus did not give in. He frowned and got up frustratedly and massaged his temples. He pressed his lips together and looked from the floor over to Green. The guard glimpsed over to him and Janus reminded himself that maybe he was not to one to get some sense into Logan. Maybe he would have to hand the torch to him. But one last time Janus would try to appeal to Logan’s heart instead of his mind and hope it would do something.

“We don’t know when this will be over, Logan. And we need you here well during all of it. Roman can’t go on the throne. It’s not an option and we all, I, can’t afford to lose you.”

Logan simply nodded at the last statement and looked towards the floor. He simply was a piece on the cheese board. And Janus was trying to keep him from getting into a checkmate. This was his function as an advisor, no matter how much of a friend Janus claimed to be. In the end, he was simply doing his job. In the end, Logan’s health was Janus’s job and Logan was a fool to think he had agency over his actions and his body when he accepted the crown.

“It is too late for me to see her now. I will go after the first battle is fought, not earlier not later. You have my word.”

Janus sighed but accepted Logan’s stubbornness. At least, he got him to see their physician in the foreseeable future. Quietly, he bowed his head and walked towards the door.

Green met Janus’s gaze. He saw the pledge in Janus’s look and swallowed silently as Janus looked back over his shoulder and told Logan: “I bid you goodnight, my friend. Rest well.”

“Thank you. You too,” Logan said back as he stared down in his lap.

The door closed but there were steps approaching him again. Beyond his control, Logan found himself smiling.

“Sit with me.”

Logan lifted his gaze and met Green’s eyes. There was a question if he should dare to do so. The light twitch of Logan’s eyebrows was answer enough and Green sat down next to his king. As he sat the bed moved slightly under his weight and Logan felt comfort coming from the sensation. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Just by that alone Logan felt his walls crumble. His thoughts stilled and he sat his hands down next to him on his bed. With his right hand he accidentally brushed Green’s leg.

Green inhaled softly and they looked at each other.

“Are you worried about seeing the physician, Your Majesty?”

Logan let his shoulders sink and gave himself a moment before answering.

“I am uneasy with the dizziness, I will admit. But it has lessened a little this last week and so has the nausea.”

“I see. Why do you not want to know the cause? You are otherwise so curious about everything, why not knowing for certain what you are dealing with?”

“If I was certain that it isn’t anything big, I would agree with you,” Logan whispered softly.

Green put his hand between them next to his.

“But I am not certain,” Logan continued. “And if it is something bigger, something more bothersome or even life-threatening, I won’t be able to give my all for Theana. And I can’t risk that. I can’t get distracted now.”

Green shot Logan a look filled with worry. It was not what Logan wished for but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to Green.

“I see. Even now you are holding us over your own well-being. You are truly a king for the ages,” Green said with a wavering voice.

Logan didn’t know why that phrase shook him as much as it did but his hand flinched and he touched Green’s. He didn’t pull away. They both held their breath.

Green swallowed. He blinked and looked into Logan’s mismatched eyes. Brown like the soil of the forest and the dark shade of blue during dusk.

“I understand even if it pains me. I understand. And I would act the same. I will act the same, Your Majesty. These people, these lands, this kingdom. They mean everything to me. And I will do all I can for them. I swear to lay down my life if it is what it takes. For this kingdom. Its people.”

Words were said without leaving his mouth. Logan had never heard anything so clear as those words. He put his thumb gingerly over the back of Green’s hand. Green batted his eyelashes and Logan put his left hand over his heart. They shifted in their seats, both being drawn closer and Green’s eyes hanging on Logan’s lips.

“Patton is worried about you not coming back.”

Logan’s voice was breathy and quiet.

“I’m worried about not coming back to him.”

“I’m worried about you not coming back at all.”

They leaned forward. A dry whimper escaped Green’s throat as their foreheads touched. Their noses were brushing against each other and so little lacked for their lips to touch. And yet it was a world between them.

They knew they couldn’t. They knew it was not possible now. Maybe never.

Green was not strong enough to pull away. They barely touched, the skin on his face was burning and back of his hand prickled so wonderfully. He couldn’t pull away.

Logan did not want to pull away. He wanted to feel more, wanted Green more. He wanted to hear his voice, have him undo his bun and run his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to pull away.

But eventually Logan did pull away. He looked at Green opening his eyes, at the strong emerald colour and the watery shimmer. He wanted to make it go away. He wanted to make the sadness disappear. But he couldn’t do that.

They moved apart. Green’s arms were shaking and Logan felt so very guilty. He should have done something. He didn’t know what but he felt like he should have done something and it would have kept Green from feeling like this.

“I should not have put you in this situation,” Logan said but his heart was screeching with something else. “I abuse my power when I act like this. I apologize. I shouldn’t force myself onto you.”

The something within Logan was screaming louder when Green forced himself to look away from him. It cried and yowled in agony when Green slid away from him.

“May I leave now?”

Logan bowed his head. Green got up and left.

Logan sat there for some time. It felt like his chest had been ripped apart. He slid under his covers. His bed was too big. His covers were warm but in a wrong way. He hugged one of his blankets and pressed it to his chest. He hugged them fiercely and hoped that somehow, he would find sleep.

___

Green could scream. Green could die on the spot.

Abuse my power.

Was that what he had thought back when he had started working with Green? That Green had abused his power? That he tried to force him into something? That his intrigue with Logan had been pretended? That his interest hadn’t been sincere from the very beginning?

How much he had wanted to kiss Logan senselessly, to make him realize that he hadn’t been forcing him to anything. To show him what and how he felt. But no. He had to sit back. Had to get away from his love, from his heart. And tomorrow he would have to accompany him to a battle they shouldn’t need to fight. Because George shouldn’t hate Logan. Because they shouldn’t be in a war with Ragan.

Why even be alive? Why had he said anything? It wouldn’t have made a difference. She hadn’t been able to tell that he wasn’t one of them. Or that Roman was one of them for that matter. The difference was so tiny and laughable. It wasn’t even really there anymore and it was what had cost him everything. For the first time of his life he understood why his father had hated his heritage so much.

“I will go with him.”

Green hadn’t noticed how his feet had carried him to his- to Prince Roman’s quarters.  He just realized when he stood in front of the bedroom door and heard Janus talking. Quickly Green held his breath and listened to the response Roman shot him.

“You will go and I can’t? How is that sensible! You are no fighter! You are our advisor and the military never interested you in any way!”

“Just because it does not interest me doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it. Also, I was trained to fight. I know how to throw of an attacker. And lastly, I can’t allow you close to a battlefield, Roman.”

“I’ve never even gotten close to lose control like that!”

“And I’m not going to chance it!” Janus shouted and Green shut his eyes with a wince.

“Dude? What are you doing here?”

Green forced himself to open his eyes and shot around. Virgil was standing in front of him.

His brain went blank.

He said something and turned on his heels. He marched away until he felt the cooling evening air in his nostrils. His cheeks were cool too. He was crying. With a huff he brushed the tears away and went to his quarter. He took off his clothes and washed his face and brushed his teeth.

For a few hours he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Spending one more night thinking about breaking free, giving them hints on who he was and who they were to him. Spending one more night on a hopeless endeavour.

It was around three in the morning when he got up, dressed himself and left the courtyard. He walked to the orphanage. Climbed the window and entered the room where Patton was sleeping. Silently he walked to his bed and knelt down. There were other kids but none of them stirred. It was only Patton who batted his eyes open and looked at Green.

A sleepy grin before it turned into a sad smile. Green took him in his arms and let the boy hug him fiercely. He let him mutter ‘goodbye’ and ‘please don’t go’ without any objections. He didn’t want to leave this boy without a father. He knew what that felt like.

“I have to go to the king now,” Green whispered and scratched Patton’s little head fondly. “I have to protect him and make sure that he is okay. But when I come back, I’ll make sure to tell you 'goodnight' every night in a soft bed in our home. To give you all the goodnight kisses and cuddles you want.”

“Really?”

Patton’s voice was so small and hopeful. It gave Green the strength to endure this life a little longer. It gave him the determination to try and get back from the battlefield.

“Yah, I promise.”

One last goodnight and he tucked the boy into his bed. Silently he climbed out the window and went back to the castle.

A war was awaiting them and Green it would not let it reach his castles gates.

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!  

#logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #fantasy au #slight suicidal thinking #almost kissing #Never Met You #talk of war #war #sanders sides #eir writes #please reblog