#* lionheart / study.

[balladetto]

     Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

     Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

     And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

     He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

     "Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

     Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

     Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

     There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

     "Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

     He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

     He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

     "Link!"

     Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

     And he can't.

     Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

     A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

     Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

     Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

     Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

     He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

     The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

     Link waits for the end of this story.

#* lionheart / study. #( so uh. down.fall timeline drabble! [pops a party popper] #i don't usually write on full workdays because i /can't/ write on those days (head fuckening. empty) but god. god #Inspired!! i hope it reads well <3 #thinking about. an ending where li.nk turns out more kokiri than hylian (yay?) in that he's a spirit that no longer ages who takes on the #image of a child most times because that's what his core mainly reflects. but it's like looking at smth you aren't supposed to #in the itchy brain sort of way -- and sometimes the borders of his form blur so entirely that he's the image of what he was when he. y'know #do you get me. do you see the vision < delirious with sleep deprivation #i'm sure i'll find something to regret about this when i wake but i am sending post i can't look at this anymore flksjdf ) #* lionheart / ic. #* ic / para. #* v / a story that can't be changed. #death implied #ask to tag / #* intermission / queue. #long post cw

[non-un-topo]

20 and 22?

Hello Neon, thank you!! <3

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

Ohh this is so silly, but I'm a fan of my one-word titles. They have a little mystery and meaning to them. Though I had to conjugate Perferō while knowing nothing about Latin grammar so I should be proud of that one in particular, esp with all its different meanings sdfghfds. (And I bet I still got it wrong but pls be gentle with me lol) But for the sake of comedy and alliteration, I think the best one I've come up with was Nile Freeman and the Midnight Menses Matter.

22. Answered!

#thank youu <33 #idk i'm really into my one-word-punches. my newest wip is called 'dawn' so ig it's my thing #started with the tetrad mystery series because lionheart = quynh. she's the lionheart but there's also lord de leon the little shit #quynh is the real lion while he is just the 'pussy-cat' in yusuf's words #tangerine and roc = yusuf but also has a lot to do with y+n's love. yusuf is the tangerine nico is the bird #perfero = nicolo obviously. 'i bear / i suffer / i endure'. age-old catholic brainrot. it's a willing suffering #chronos = andromache and Time / personification of time and references to mythology and gods #the reason for 'axis' is possibly over-explained in the fic #'hounds' = the men of the guard. soldiers / hunters / references to ugly words yusuf has been called #and also bc 'hounds of love' of course #'primavera' = spring. my little headcanon-hell study of nicky's childhood and his gradual change like the season #dying of the light was a banger title because of its multiple meanings but i didn't include it because i am not dylan thomas. not my words #ANYWAY i'll shut tf up. i fucking LOVE coming up with titles.

[lionsguaard]

tag drop ↳ basics.

#* ooc. #*ic. ( lionhearted creature. let them hear your roar. ) #* visage. #* headcanons. #* character study. #* music. #* interest. #* musings. #* aesthetic. #* dash commentary. #* dash games. #* screenshots. #* desires. #* inquire. #* answered. #* closed starter. #* open starter. #* crack. #* tags.

[howi99]

Grimm arc Au: Did Watts ever make fun of Jaune because he knew it would make Cinder mad not knowing he insulting Salem desnscent or talk about he wanted to study maybe even dissect him making Salem really mad.

Watts: ... So that's it? That's because of this... This... IDIOT that our plans are being stopped!?

Salem: This "idiot" is my descendant and you will give him the respect he deserves!

Watts: Well, excuse me if i find it stupid that he tried to become a huntsman without training and accepted medication from Tyrian of all people!

Tyrian: Everything for my queen.

Watts: Yes yes, but that doesn't change that i already made the virus and we already began to rally up the White Fang! What shall we do with all of this!?

Salem: *exasperated* If you really want to take your revenge on Atlas that much, i give you free card to use the assets as you please to attack Atlas.

Watts: Oh? Don't mind me then! *Leave*

Tyrian: ...

Salem: *sigh* You can help him Tyrian, i won't stop you

Tyrian: *leave*

Salem: ... I wonder if i should call Lionheart and tell him to stop killing the huntsman?

#jaune arc #rwby #rwby au #grimm au #arthur watts #tyrian callows #salem #answer

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Narnia Headcanons

Queen Lucy the Valiant

Did not experience falling in love, and did not feel attracted enough to anybody to go for a casual relationship. She did pester Edmund about being in a relationship and drove him to madness— he already hated the number of suitors Susan had and thinking of people asking for Lucy made him fume even more. She took great amusement in riling him up with imaginary situations.

In Narnia, she was called Lucy the Lionheart, the Fanged Queen, the Merry Child, Queen Lucy the Healer, Lover of the People and more. She was known to be a happy person, always with a smile on her face, but also to be a lethal force in battle. She earned the name the Fanged Queen for her daggers— they were like a Lion's fangs in her skilled hands; fast, razor sharp and deadly.

Outside Narnia, she was known for her childlike smiles and her battle madness— the Child Queen, the Mad Queen, the Wild Child, Lucy the War Hungry, Bloody Lucy, the Merry Murderer and such terrifying titles. It was quite a shock for everyone who had heard her titles before meeting her, for she was nothing other than a little girl with the sweetest smile and the softest voice. Until, that is, the time for war came.

Peter's right hand when it came to battle strategy. Initially, it had been Edmund that had helped Peter, but as Lucy grew older they found she had a penchant for war, and Edmund immediately handed over the responsibilities to her to focus on the judiciary. People learnt very soon not to underestimate the 13 year old with dual daggers— she was as savage and deadly as a lion, and was not afraid to spill blood. Indeed, she was known to laugh as she killed on the battlefield.

Was the Spymaster of the espionage ring, and was extremely competent at it. She employed and trained unlikely creatures that would fly under the radar— Mice and Birds for their ability to appear dumb, Satyrs for their unassuming demeanor, Snakes for their stealth, and other small animals. It was the most successful spy organisation ever seen on the mainland.

Kept her hair short compared to the others. Went just below her shoulders, and had dozens of tiny braids following Peter's tradition. She braided white jasmines into her hair every morning for their smell, earning her the title the Crimson Jasmine after too many instances of the white flowers being drenched in her enemies' blood. When they fell out of Narnia, she had an impressive fifty-four braids— the highest out of all siblings.

Hated studying. Absolutely did not like to sit in one place poring over books for hours on end. She would rather be outside with the dryads and the satyrs, tracking the dumb animals through the forests on hunting expeditions.

Her favourite subjects were Strategy, Dancing lessons and Navigation— she was fond of sailing, and would usually accompany Edmund on his political journeys to the Islands and archipelagos. By the time she turned 16, she commanded her own fleet of warships, specifically to deal with the attacks on Narnian trade ships from pirates. She earned the title the Mad Queen for her daring and outrageous strategies to deal death on the sea.

Dancing with the Satyrs and the Dryads was her favourite passtime. If she was not on the sea and not in the archery range, she was in the forest, dancing around the fire in a circle. Her favourite dances were the Sword Dance and the fast paced Centaur's Canter.

Very often, she would assist Edmund with his ridiculous pranks. Equally often, she would blame him for her own pranks. Nobody other than the older pevensies ever believed that the sweet queen would ever prank anyone, which annoyed the three others to no end.

Playing Chess with Susan was also a treasured activity, for her. Often, the reason she came up with her outrageous battle strategies was that she had already thought of them when going up against Susan on the chessboard. Susan was a formidable opponent on the board and Lucy had to pull all the stops to defeat her. It helped when planning for actual war, and not to mention it was entertaining.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #amrut writes about narnia #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #peter pevensie #pevensie siblings #pevensies #susan pevensie #the pevensie siblings #lucy pevensie headcanons #narnia headcanons #chronicles of narnia

[akielzx]

Hello, May I request a onshot including cuddles with Johann Chu at night? Ty. <3

YESYESY I LVOE JOHANN VERRY MUCH, OUR 'ROBOT' BOYYY also HELP IM SORRY I FORHOT I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS

bro i'm so sorry i had this in my drafts i think for a month, i'll then write the other submission later :sob:

maybe i just wanna be yours ！✦

＃；oneshot, johann chu x reader

tags // just tad bit spoiler (the info abt shavee in the chat n all and only that i think, maybe also abt his dad), comfort, slight misunderstanding but it's fine in the end, understandings, johann bby muah muah, also johann might be a bit ooc so bear with me, this is kinda long [keyword: kinda]

johann chu wasn't the one to be expressive of his feelings, and understand his feelings. hence why he felt bemused about [name], they certainly made a huge imprint on him.

yet shavee had also had an impact on him. but [name]'s case was slightly different. even if he had missed an opportunity to have her, it was okay now. he was healing a bit.

when they were chatting and johann had slipped this information to [name] and some other emotional turmoil, he yet puts training first once again.

nonetheless, all was well in the end. it was night and johann thought of something. [name] was doing quite well in their training, but he heard from a little birdy that they weren't quite doing well in draconic history.

maybe stress was getting to them? either way, as their senior, he felt obligated to help them out. it wasn't in a negative light, but he somehow felt like it.

as they were conversing, he then brought up their history course. [name] surprisingly did mention how they were struggling to understand a little and he offered to help them.

they asked where the both of them should go and he bluntly said at his dorm. [name] was confused at first why they wouldn't be doing it at the library.

he simply said it might be a bit troublesome for them as to referring to the girls that swooned over him, even if some girls do have self-control, he still didn't want to risk it.

and he wanted to spend more time with [name] not in training. he wanted to know more about them. miscellaneous things would suffice.

as the day passed, it was finally the time they decided to meet up that johann proposed. he asked [name] to meet him at the basketball court so he could escort them to his dorm.

when they finally came, he started to escort [name]. it was a bit awkward at first, given how the girls they passed by would look at them in envy.

[name] would try and flip them off by either going to scratch their cheek, getting something out of their eyes, or tucking their hair behind their ear using the middle finger.

but johann caught on and said that it doesn't matter and just ignore them for the best. they slightly grumbled, but begrudgingly complied as he is their senior and they didn't want to hear a lecture from a certain someone.

johann sighed, slightly amused but it went unnoticed. as soon as they entered the lionheart's club base, there susie was. she exchanged words with johann until she spotted [name].

she then asked if they were going to join, but johann answered for [name] that they were just looking around and dismissed susie. that made them confused, but thankful either way for their senior for answering for them.

he then led [name] to his dorm, and there they both discussed where they were struggling a bit. they shyly confessed that even tho they could've said that they would just research it, they were thankful for his help.

they can, but it was much more understandable if someone was there teaching it because they could get their possible unanswered questions answered.

johann nodded understanding. it is preferred that most should have a study group so there's a chance someone knows the subject they're studying and can answer simple questions.

as time passed, [name] started to understand more. they scribbled in their notebook while listening to johann. "so.. only the light king, priest- 'inazami' possessed equal power to nidhogg?"

johann nodded, confirming the statement was true, [name] scribbled again and continued, "but she also failed to rebel and renounce his position.. right?"

"yes. you are correct, i must say i am impressed by you..- not only you are quite the fast learner when we train, but also a good listener." [name] scratched their head a bit, "eh.. haha. it's just that i- wait no, you're a good guide and tutor is all.."

'and i like hearing your voice..' [name] felt a bit awkward and looked at the time, it was getting a bit late. they then start to stand up from their comfortable position.

johann was a bit confused at this sudden action, he still wanted to ask some questions. the not-too-personal ones. he couldn't think straight this time and grabbed [name]'s wrist.

"where.. are you going?"

[name]'s eyes widened a bit and looked at him.

"johann?"

his grip on [name] wavered a bit, his action seemingly getting him off-guard. he then loosened his grip and backed away. he pondered about something.

"..i don't know what this feeling is… i feel a sense of euphoria when i see you or… sometimes everything's better when you're here."

"huh?" [name] looked at him dumbfoundedly.

"i'm really glad you're here, but at the same time, i'm not because i'm scared. i'm scared i might lose you too."

"johann senpai? what are you-"

"i hope you know how much you mean to me. i wish you could see in you what i see in you."

[name]'s eyes widen at the sudden statement. they stood in their place shocked. "i… i don't understand you johann.." they ask, their brows furrowing in confusion.

"i don't either. but.."

"i'll hear you out on this. but i don't want it to be too long."

"..why?"

"…"

johann looked at [name] in anticipation, yet they stayed quiet. he asked once again, and [name] suspired.

"because… i don't want to make more assumptions and fall harder."

"why would you fall harder..?-"

"johann senpai, i've had harboured feelings for you. it feels off sometimes. i don't know if- if it's okay given your circumstance and mine."

he looked at [name] expectantly, yet stunned. he didn't expect his junior to also like him. but his brows furrowed. when [name] decided to speak once more, as he had an unanswered question.

"it's not just an infatuation i have for you, it's not just any epitome that i admire. but the way, you are you senpai. i've never loved anyone the way i love you before..''

[name] then took a deep breath before continuing.

"i'd accept your flaws in any way possible, i'd try and understand you better with how you act and maybe i understand.. but i don't. i don't understand how you feel about me. i appreciate you for you-"

"and i do too."

the sudden intervention has [name] stunned. they decided to look at johann, just to see him furrowing his eyebrows. his grasp went back to [name]'s wrist and slightly pulled them closer, but not harshly.

"i like spending time with you. it's nice. i feel calmer when i’m with you. it’s weird. i never thought i could feel like this, but you showed up. now, it’s like i don’t wanna go on knowing i might lose the feeling. and i might end up losing you."

[name]'s hands slightly quivered as his voice wavered. he felt their hands slightly shaking and he held it with the hand he grasped their wrist with.

"..are you okay [name]?.."

[name]'s breath hitches for a bit before taking a deep breath from their mouth and shaking their head, "yeah.. i'm- i'm fine johann."

"no. you aren't fine, did.. did i say something wrong perhaps..?"

johann squeezed their hand gently and rubbed circles on it, this action made [name] tense but relaxed a bit after they snapped out of their trance.

"wha- no!- no, you didn't. i just-"

johann took both of [name]'s hands and held them close to his chest, making the both of them close to each other, but not too close.

"i'm sorry if that caught you off-guard. i just couldn't-"

he was cut off as [name] hugged him and nuzzled their head close. they hummed to themselves and hugged him tighter,

"i like spending time with you too.."

"..then spend the night with me"

"of course."

-

ok bro i know that wasnt really cuddling but man idk :sob: thats all you get please accept it p;ease. im beiggin you

#aivsqshots #oneshot #fluff #dragon raja #dragon raja x reader #johann chu #johann chu x reader #anon request

[bluebird722]

Attack on Titan: Beyond the Tree on That Hill

Summary: All it takes is love to rebuild and grow in the aftermath of devastation.

Rating: T

Main Pairings: Jeankasa, AruAni

Author’s note: I know the finale aired a few months ago, but this idea has been stewing in the back of my head since then. However, I experienced a personal loss before the new year, so I figured that now was the best time to share this with readers who either loved or hated the finale, but may have wanted more on what happened to the characters. 

Also, I don’t primarily ship the main pairing of this series of drabbles, but reading fanfiction and studying fanart has made it grow on me. I’ve even linked certain paragraphs to inspiring fanart. Either way, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed thinking of it. 

Special acknowledgement to:  @azulmarina3, @poroverso, @itslieutenanthawkeye, @smallblip, and @k-lionheart-art and @marshmallow-rainbow139!

***Attack on Titan: Beyond the Tree on That Hill***

It was bittersweet, how everyone had come to the final burial site. No matter how they felt about Eren before the rumbling, while they were still new to the cadets, the atmosphere felt peaceful the way that he would have wanted it. The day that the ambassadors had returned, they woke up and made the pilgrimage to the giant tree where he liked to rest as a child. 

Each one had brought flowers to lay down, and they stood in silence for about two hours. So much had changed since the Rumbling, for better and worse. International relations, so far, seemed to be growing, but the Yeagerists were still trying to gain more power and influence within the island. The economy was regrowing stronger than before, but so many people were still struggling to make ends meet. 

When the group agreed to return to their hotel, Mikasa joined them but spent the afternoon on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine while the others napped. She didn’t want to think at that time about the past or the future; she really wanted to enjoy the present and how many lives were still rebuilding. Below her, many children were still laughing and talking as they ran errands for their parents, and couples, old and young, walked together, holding hands. It was a sight she cherished and envied. 

Then she sensed a physical presence behind her, who walked onto the balcony. Though his clothes under his suit were unorderly, Jean looked more refreshed than when he stepped off the steamboat. He offered her a glass bottle of water and asked if he could sit beside her. She more or less allowed him to. 

The calm moment between them ended in two hours, after he put his hand on her bare wrist under her sleeve. She pretended not to feel surprise and confusion at this touch but looked down anyway. Jean lifted the corner of his mouth. “You know that you don’t have to share your feelings,” he said, “but you don’t have to hide them anymore.”

“I know,” she said so quietly that he barely heard her. When the sun began to set and the wind picked up, he took off his jacket, which he put around her shoulders so she didn’t have to retreat back inside. The interior was so warm that she almost began to sweat. Then he brought her downstairs for dinner and helped her order food for the others when they woke. 

***

Although Mikasa considered it “courtship”, it certainly was unlike how she imagined a test for lifelong companionship. In that time, he formally introduced her to his mother, who embraced her despite her soft features hiding nearly a lifetime of stoicism and trauma. She listened to every story–funny and embarrassing–that his mother remembered from his youth. He never pushed her to laugh, but he did like to say things to make her smile. They compared their own methods of chores, such as laundry, and elected to follow whichever seemed the best, even if it was more time consuming. Over time, he rediscovered his interest in sketching and spent free time charcoaling the wilderness or the neighborhood. She liked to watch over his shoulder and happily posed for him one sunny afternoon.

They had stayed outside longer so he could capture in charcoal as much of the sunset as he could. Mikasa shared with him the embroidery from her childhood that she thought about picking back up, whether or not she had children. He knew that talking about her youth before her parents’ murder was still painful for her, and she shared the full story of how Eren saved her. 

His thumbs wiping her cheeks were so tender that she slowly stopped weeping. She hated the sad look in his eyes. “Remember,” he said, “you should miss him. Don’t ever feel like you have to pretend that you do not.” He took a deep breath. “I know that I’m not him,” he added, “but I would give you anything in the world so you know that you are loved and deserve–”

“Loved?” she repeated back.

Jean went still. “Yes,” he said after a long pause. “I…I love you. I’ve felt that since we were in training…”

Slowly, Mikasa leaned closer and kissed him. Jean’s chest had an exploding sensation. He could not believe that he was actually kissing her, nor that it was much superior to how he fantasized. She delicately put her hand on his shoulder, and he cupped her cheek in one hand so they wouldn’t break apart as the sun disappeared for the time being.  

Six months into their romantic relationship, they rented an apartment together but did not progress to anything more than kisses and strong hugs. Regardless of fatigue or cold, Jean was always glad to heat up tea for her late at night or sit outside on the balcony with her when she missed Eren too much. It was strange, for him, to see her allow herself to become more vulnerable, like the warrior that she was slowly showing the “human” side of her. He did not speak unless prompted; he memorized every dream that she recollected to him and every memory of Eren that she almost forgot. Somehow, Jean knew that this was part of her healing and over time trusted her with his own memories, what he missed from his boyhood and even incidents in the cadets that he did not want to remember but could not forget. 

It wasn’t him, she knew, but they became closer than she had been with the boy who liked to pick fights with the one who saved her life, and the man who sided with her as she took down her idea of a life partner.

When they eventually married, only Jean wore his military uniform; Mikasa decided, after all, that she did want to wear a white gown. White, after all, was the color of purity and renewal, people said. She wanted to be a symbol of positive change and remind everyone that good was growing like a flower. Historia and Pieck styled her hair to resemble the former’s and clipped her bangs to her crown. Annie handmade her bouquet with wildflowers, and Historia’s daughter carried the back of her gown on her way to the small chapel.

Yes, I wish it would have been Eren, she thought to herself. I would have wanted nothing more than to meet him inside and pledge the rest of my life to him. She looked down at the flowers she clutched and felt pressure grow in her ears. But it’s not him. 

Then the doors opened, and she reluctantly looked up. No, the man waiting for her inside did not have dark hair or wide eyes, nor was he the one who saved her from slavery and gave her the scarf that she secretly wore around her waist under the gown. She took a deep breath and made her way forward. 

Suddenly, she felt an invisible presence at her left, like Eren had appeared out of nowhere and was guiding her to the woman-obsessed soldier ahead. Then Mikasa smiled and let her eyes water. She clutched her bouquet and timidly smiled at Jean, who looked so different from the brash boy she met at the cadets. When she reached his side, she saw how hard he had been weeping.

They held hands as the minister pronounced their lives together, to love and support each other in the best and worst of times, regardless of life’s challenges. Jean kissed the back of her hand and wiped a tear from her cheek when they were done, and the guests followed them outside to present themselves as newlyweds to their fellow Eldians. Mikasa tried not to think of Eren but instead that someone else loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. 

After a private lunch with lots of soft music at Nicolo’s restaurant, Jean carried her to a wagon and did not mind that she held his hand with her head on his shoulder without saying anything. Even though she smiled every time he kissed her temple, Mikasa struggled to embrace how her entire life was changing. 

Then the wagon stopped, and Jean hopped out first. As Mikasa started to step out, he picked her up in his arms and carried her around. In front of the wagon was a log cabin with a firepit up front, a dusty pathway, and a river just down the hill. Jean smiled at the dumbfounded look on his bride’s face. “You never specifically said how you wanted your ideal house to look,” he explained, “but I know that you prefer nature and peace, so…this is the ideal retreat.”

He carried her inside and did not set her on her feet. Everything reminded her of her childhood homes, from the kitchen to the water pump, and even the two bedrooms that resembled her home with her parents and then with Eren and his parents. She pushed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head. “Thank you, Jean. I…I will enjoy it here.”

They cooked, ate dinner, and washed the dishes together smiling, but when it was time to go to bed, Mikasa paused at the doorway into their bedroom. It occurred to her then why they had a second bedroom in the house, which Armin and their surviving comrades had built in secret, with Jean’s supervision. 

Jean put his hands on her waist. “What is the matter?” he asked. 

Mikasa bit her tongue, unsure. “I…” She put her hands over his. “I don’t want to do that…tonight.” She held her breath. “Someday, but…not now.”

Jean himself was tired but had secretly hoped to make the marriage, according to ancient tradition, “official” that night. He was slightly disappointed, but he knew that trying to convince her would offend even a strong woman like Mikasa. Instead, he kissed the back of her head and walked around her into the room. “We will not then,” he said. “I promise that I will wait until you are comfortable.”

Smiling, Mikasa kissed him good night and let him wrap her in the blanket and his arms. 

***

The two months succeeding the wedding were some of the happiest and most relaxed of their lives. Their comrades frequently visited and brought up good and bad memories of their training days, as stupid and clueless young soldiers, until dark. If Jean was enjoying a glass of scotch with a book he was reading, Mikasa liked to sit beside him, rest her head on his shoulder, and read along. On days where she observed over his shoulder his artistic talent, he lay on his back so her face hovered over his; he liked to look into her eyes and feel her fondle his facial hair. When his mother came to see their new apartment, she took Mikasa’s hands and said, with tears in her eyes, “Thank you so much for making my child happy. I have never seen him this…content before, even when he was a little boy.”

Still, unlike his wife, Jean began having traumatizing recollections and crying in his sleep. It started one night a week until it grew to three, sometimes four. Mikasa woke to his muffled cries and had to shake him out of his slumber, or Jean battled alone while his wife slept and soaked through his sleepwear. Embraces and walks outside did not always help, but sometimes she had to make him remember and let it go. Jean told her everything except one dream where Eren haunted him for “stealing” her from a lifetime of longing and yearning. Otherwise, it was recollections of discovering Marco’s body, of watching Armin being abused while posing as Historia, and even of Hange’s death in flames. Sometimes weeping in the arms of his wife consoled the hotheaded young soldier within him, particularly because the young woman whom he admired was the one to comfort him.

Within their first two months of marriage, their union was soft and harsh. She smiled when he embraced her in bed but often wept for unknown reasons in the bathroom. Each time, her husband closed his eyes and tried to imagine how his and Eren’s lives would have been different if Jean had been less antagonistic. Jean wouldn’t regret marrying her, but did he unknowingly rush her into marriage before she fully recovered? Even before he asked her to marry him, he vowed that he would love and care for her more than he ever did for anyone else in his life. 

Jean was silent at dinner that night and went to bed early. She joined him later and knew that he was feigning sleep. He’s a good man, she remembered telling herself when she finally agreed to marry him. It is obvious that he thinks that he is failing as a husband, but he’s not. 

“Jean,” she said softly. 

Immediately, he held himself up on his elbow. “Yes?”

Mikasa hesitated, and then took a deep breath. “I…I’m ready.”

For a while, Jean was still. Then he brushed part of Mikasa’s hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him back but then put her hands on his shoulders. “Wait… Could you please sit up?”

Jean pushed himself back and bent his knees, unsure if she would change her mind. Her silhouette hesitated, but then she crawled over and, after shuffling, he sat on the bed cross-legged, and she sat on his lap, her legs around his waist. After gentle kissing and a deep breath, she pulled him back with her onto the bed. His facial hair scratched her chin, and he whispered sweet things to her between kisses.

***

At last, Jean was done chopping wood. He was in the best shape of his life, but his arms and upper back were burning from overwork, and he was thirsty for cold water. Even though winter was months away, he wanted to have as much wood ready for when the cold did arrive and the family retreated to the cabin. Jean wiped his forehead and entered the log cabin. 

Mikasa was at the table, peeling potatoes and slicing vegetables much slower than normal. She seemed lost in thought, so Jean decided not to disturb her. As he took off his shoes and rolled his head, she did look up and smile at him. After he splashed cold water from the pump onto his face and swallowed a mouthful of water, he kissed her cheek and sat beside her. “We are good with wood for now,” he said. “And plenty for when it is too cold to go outside.”

Mikasa nodded along and continued prepping the night’s meal. Jean grabbed a knife and chopped the potatoes that she had peeled to mix with the brown skins. Cutting food relaxed him and took his mind off the bad dreams that were not as reoccurring anymore but still made him reluctant to fall asleep. Now, more than ever, he truly worried about them going away.

Just then, Mikasa stopped and stared at the table. Jean assumed that she was thinking about Eren again, but then she made a face of discomfort. He set down the knife and gently put his hand on her arm. “Mikasa? Are you…all right?”

Mikasa left her mouth open for a moment. “Y–Yes,” she hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

Jean didn’t believe her, but he continued to cut potatoes anyway. Then, about ten minutes later, she made the same face and hissed. Just as Jean lifted his head, Mikasa smacked her hand onto the table and grit her teeth. Her husband set down the knife and stood up. “Mikasa? What is giving you pain?”

Mikasa hissed through her teeth and then slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and dread. “Jean…I may be in labor.”

At that moment, Jean knelt down and moved his wife’s legs in his direction, and put his hands under her arms. They counted to three together, and she shakily stood up on swollen feet and ankles. Her lap and chair were wet with fluids that she somehow did not feel. Jean swung her arm over his shoulders and helped her into their bedroom, where she heaved on her slow way into the bed. “Bring the doctor,” she gulped. “The–The baby is moving fast…”

“No,” said Jean. “I am afraid to leave you all by yourself.”

Mikasa gripped the edge of the mattress. “Jean…you don’t know anything about babies or how they’re born…”

“No,” he agreed, “but what if I leave and you fall off the bed? You could hurt yourself and the baby…”

Then another contraction hit, and she hung her head. Jean helped her to her feet again and helped her walk around the room throughout her labor. After about two hours, her breathing became more hitched, and she could no longer hold up herself. 

Jean lowered her back onto the bed and pushed their pillows under her back. Then he swung her feet onto the bed and pushed up her skirt. “Get the doctor,” his wife whined. 

“No, I’m not leaving you alone,” said Jean. “What if the doctor is not there? I couldn’t leave you alone in all that time–”

“Jean…” She threw back her head and clenched her eyes closed. It hurt Jean to see this strong woman fall vulnerable to the pains of childbirth, but he knew that she would recover. She wasn’t going to let this pain bother her for the rest of her life. He took a deep breath and ignored the sweat all over his back. 

Although Mikasa complained that he should have left for professional services, Jean refused and coached her throughout the afternoon. She gripped her thighs so tightly that she left bruises everywhere, and her eyes stung from the sweat on her forehead. Then she gave one final push and opened her eyes when Jean began laughing and crying at the same time. In his hands he clutched a naked newborn, coated in fluids and wailing. Mikasa burst into tears because for some reason, she felt happy–tremendously happy, like she never thought she could feel. Jean skipped out of the room on shaky legs and came back clutching a knife to cut the umbilical cord and a blanket with which he swaddled his firstborn. 

“It’s a boy,” he sobbed with a wide smile. He curled up to Mikasa and kissed her cheek, and then studied his son’s messy face. “Thank you so much.”

“No,” said Mikasa. “Thank you…for reminding me that hearts can heal, and life goes on…and can be better than you believed.”

Jean stared at her in silence, and then smiled as they leaned forward for another kiss. 

***

Jean sipped from his glass of scotch and looked out of the corner of his eye to the corner of the balcony. Mikasa sat in the corner against the wall post and beamed at the chunky baby who was one week away from his first birthday. They had just laid down flowers at Eren’s grave and showed their son to where they planned to make yearly visits. The baby’s nostrils flared every time he breathed, and he alternated between opening and closing his mouth in his sleep. 

Eren, Jean thought to himself what he would have liked to directly tell his son, whose hair was black like his mother’s, it had been busy months preparing for your arrival. Your mother and I knew that you would change our lives, but we didn’t know how much. Now…I cannot imagine how my life could have been better. It’s like you are my reason for living. All of this that I went through up to now…was to have you born. 

Jean smiled. And I had no idea how much I could love until now.

Jean studied the way she observed baby Eren’s ear and the way Eren outstretched his arms over his head. Did I ever imagine that I would name my son after someone to whom I was quite antagonistic? Jean thought to himself. Absolutely not.

Then he observed deeper how happy the once solemn and bitter woman was. Of course, she would mourn for her best friend every day, but she was also reclaiming her life before her parents were murdered. She was starting to let go of her traumas to give love to the little boy she helped create, and whom she loved. Jean felt a little satisfied that he had a role to play in her joy, and that over time he stopped having nightmares. Was he the most content that he had ever felt and that he wouldn’t trade anything now for what he had hoped for? Absolutely. 

***

Eren did not grow up spoiled; his parents taught him chores as soon as he became a better walker, and he had to obey other adults as well, whether it was to stop raising his voice, help his grandmother clear the table, or not say certain words around Connie and Armin. He was not allowed to wear his shoes indoors nor have too much warm water in the bath. 

Nevertheless, Eren always received the best tomato in the market, was allowed to pick out the clothes and shoes that he liked when he wore out what he had, never went cold in his bedroom, and had enough time between chores and bedtime to play and read his favorite stories. By the time he was three, he craved adventure and enjoyed trips to the log cabin, and was more excited about learning to ride a horse than other changes in the house…

***

“Jean.” “Jean.”

Jean groggily woke up because of the poking on his back. Was it little Eren again? Did he sneak out of his room and slide between his parents to wake them up because he could? Maybe it would be best to sleep through it. 

“Jean.” Another poke. “It’s baby time.”

Immediately, Jean woke up and turned around. Mikasa was still lying down, but her eyes were wide with anticipation. Even in the dark, he saw a growing puddle on her side of the bed. Panic seized him, and he pulled himself out of bed. “Oh my gosh, Mikasa,” he panted, “are you in pain, does it hurt, is it different than–”

“No, I am good,” she whispered. “Just grab the doctor for me, and then tell your mother to take Eren outside to play when he wakes up.”

Jean hastily nodded and kissed her forehead. “But what about you?”

“I can pull myself up,” she whispered right before she made a face of pain. “Just…hurry…”

Jean kissed her again and ran out of the room to grab his coat and pull on his shoes. It was happening again, and he wanted it to be better but just as precious as with Eren. This time, his mother slept on the couch to better assist with housekeeping and to keep her grandson distracted from the confusing yet undoubtedly frightening reality of childbirth.

He ran out of the building, mentally asking Eren, if he could hear his fallen comrade, to please be there again for the laboring woman and to keep mother and child safe.

***

The two horses galloped as fast as they could, as if running from a great wildfire. They darted along the pathway, creating clouds of dust on either side, and rushed to the tall building. Paradis was still slow to catch up with modern technology, but it would have been nice to operate an automobile. A life–two lives–could be in danger, and the horses knew of the urgency. 

By the time they reached the apartment building, Connie and Armin had dismounted from their horses and tied them to the post. They ran up the stairs, and Connie pounded on the door. Within two seconds, Jean–his eyes bloodshot and his face tear-streaked–opened the door. “It’s a girl,” he cheered. 

“A girl,” Armin and Connie whispered at the same time. They quickly removed their boots, hung their jackets, and followed him into the cabin. Jean knocked on his bedroom door and waited for the soft “come in”. Inside, Mikasa was propped against bundles of blankets with Eren at her side, his head against her arm and staring at the wrapping of blankets that she cradled. Little Eren lifted his head and smiled when he saw the visitors. Armin immediately knelt down and embraced Mikasa, who looked exhausted but was overjoyed at another healthy birth. 

“I have a little sister,” Eren said in disbelief. “She hasn’t opened her eyes yet, but she has Dada’s hair.”

“She sure does,” Jean said with a smile. He reached forward, and Mikasa handed him their daughter. “Would you like to hold her?” he asked the guests. 

“Absolutely,” said Armin. 

“Of course,” said Connie. 

Jean smiled at the baby’s pouting lips and then approached Connie. “We named her Sasha.”

The excitement on Connie’s face automatically faded into sorrow as soon as he took the newborn into his arms and looked into Sasha’s face. She clearly resembled her parents, but in that moment, he missed his old friend–someone he considered his twin–so fiercely that it wasn’t fair that Sasha didn’t live to get married if she wanted to. She didn’t get the chance to decide if she was going to have children or to see their home at peace. Of course they wouldn’t have named their baby after her if she had survived, but it was wrong that Sasha had to die for her legacy to live on. 

Connie started crying and couldn’t stop himself. Tears fell from his eyes as quickly as Armin’s and Mikasa’s over Sasha’s dead body, and fell onto baby Sasha’s forehead.

“Connie,” said Jean, Armin, and Mikasa at once, but Connie couldn’t hear them. He seemed to lose his hearing as he mourned his friend again. He kept crying onto Sasha’s cheeks until the whining newborn finally opened her eyes, and then Connie’s eyes cleared. Her eyes were the same shape and color as her mother’s. Sasha squinted at the strange man studying her, and then she lifted the corners of her mouth and trapped her tongue between her gums. 

Connie sniffed and blinked back more tears. “Hi, Sasha,” he whispered. “I am very glad to meet you.” 

Armin walked behind Connie and peered at her over Connie’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, little one,” he whispered. He reached forward and tickled her covered stomach. “You’re going to grow up into an amazing woman–just like your namesake.”

“Let’s just hope that she doesn’t eat everything in sight like a wild animal,” Jean, whose eyes started watering again, chuckled. 

“Or steal food from other people,” Mikasa added with a smile. A confused Eren cocked his head with a “huh?”. The men, however, chuckled and marveled over Sasha until she started to whine. While her mother fed her, Jean led his son and their guests into the other room to help prepare a vegetable omelet–based on how his mother cooked for him–to bring to his wife, who would still be sore for a few days. Jean’s mother returned from the market with more fresh meat, and Armin and Connie stayed until twilight.

***

Mikasa held Eren’s hand up to the headstone and let him put down the handful of flowers. She smiled at where her greatest friend rested in peace. “Hello, Eren,” she said softly. “I thought I would visit on your birthday. We’re going to eat how you liked your deer, and then Armin will come visit and talk about how you stood up for him from bullies.”

Little Eren nodded as he waited for his mother to finish and stared at the etching in stone. He wondered what to say. Then he introduced himself and told the headstone the games he liked to play, his favorite stories before bed, his favorite stores to visit, and how good he was at riding horses. Even though he didn’t see himself becoming a soldier, he wanted to grow up to be strong and smart like his parents and Eren. (Jean, on the other hand, stayed behind to clean up Sasha, who had just vomited over his arm, was sweating through her tiny dress, and needed changing. When he was done, he carried her up the hill and, once again, expressed remorse that they did not get along when they first met.)

“Dada,” said Eren as the family held hands on the walk home, “why did you and Mama’s friend fight all the time? You always tell me that it’s not nice to make people sad.”

Jean and Mikasa, who carried Sasha in her free hand, stopped walking then and pondered how to respond. Then Jean said, “Mikasa, why don’t you go ahead and take the baby home? We’ll catch up soon.”

“All right,” said his wife. She readjusted the baby on her hip and entertained her with the scarf that Sasha liked to play with. Then Jean picked up his son and sighed.

“Well, Eren,” he started as Eren put his hands around Jean’s neck, “you might not understand until you’re big like I am now, but sometimes you will wish that you didn’t do or say some things earlier in your life.”

Eren looked confused.

“So when I first met Eren, your mama’s friend, he…he had gone through some bad things when he was young, like things that I hope you never have to go through. And I didn’t know that. I just thought that the things he wanted to do and the way he acted were silly. We had different reasons for why we wanted to join the army.

“Also…” Jean chuckled. “He and your mama were very close, and I thought that she was so beautiful like she is now. I was jealous that they were very close and that she cared about him so much. I wanted her to like me.”

Eren nodded, though Jean knew that he didn’t entirely understand. He kissed Eren’s head and hugged him tightly. The boy was silent on the way home, where Mikasa was washing vegetables in the kitchen after she sat down Sasha for her afternoon nap. “Go help your mother with dinner,” Jean instructed. “I’ll grab more meat from the market.”

Eren spent the afternoon kneading dough into one large piece and then smaller strips. While the bread baked, he peeled the carrots and turnips with a dull knife for his mother to cut them into small pieces. She had him wipe the flour from the counter so she could begin cooking. Eren alternated between observing her to learn and checking on his sleeping sister.

“Mama,” he said on the counter, “Dada said that he really liked you when you first met, but you really liked Eren, and it upset Dada.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Mikasa without looking up. 

Eren tilted his head to his left. “Did you love Eren? Like, did you want to marry him? Is that why we see him every year?”

Mikasa paused and wondered how to reply. Eren worried that he asked mean questions, so he took her wooden spoon and moved around the sizzling produce. When Mikasa kissed his head, he stopped and let her take back the spoon. 

“Yes,” she admitted. “I…I did love him, very much. I loved him in many ways. He was like a brother to me, even though he was my best friend and we lived together. And…I also loved him, like I wanted to be alone with him and…and not talk to anyone else.” Mikasa deeply inhaled so she wouldn’t cry. “I didn’t think then that I could get married, but if–if I did, and I could marry anyone…I would have wanted it to be him.” She rubbed her nose and wiped her clean hand on her skirt.

“I will always love Eren,” Mikasa admitted, “but I also love your father. He showed me that you can still love after a loss, but that’s not why I love him–it’s much different than that, that you may understand when you grow up. And I love you and your sister more than anything else in the world.”

“Do you wish Sasha and I–do you wish your Eren was our dada?” asked Eren.

Suddenly, Mikasa looked sad. “No,” she said after a long pause. “If I was with Eren, you and Sasha would not be you. You would have been different if your father was not Dada.” She stroked Eren’s cheek. “You and Sasha are amazing as you are now, and I–”

“What’s amazing about Sasha?” interrupted Eren. “She’s a baby. She can’t do anything.”

“Don’t interrupt, Eren,” said Mikasa. “She will not be a baby forever. She will grow up and do amazing things, as will you.” They took turns mixing the vegetables and checking on the bread until Sasha began whimpering. Mikasa trusted Eren not to let the carrots and turnips burn and quickly changed and fed the baby, who fell back asleep.

Jean returned with a hunk of wild boar, which he cooked to the point where Eren’s stomach growled. Sasha woke from her nap and eagerly flapped her arms in delight. Before she could cry at the table that she wasn’t tasting from where the delicious smell came, Eren laughed and distracted her by feeding her mashed carrots. Watching Eren spoon feed the baby was always a highlight of Mikasa’s and Jean’s day, followed by his trying to change her alone without getting kicked and entertaining her with wooden toys from their grandmother. 

***

After years, Annie finally “got it” and married Armin. She kept her hair down but wore a “flower crown” that Historia’s daughter suggested, rather than a veil. She wore a white jacket over a long dress with a short train that Sasha held up on Annie and her father’s stroll to Armin. Mikasa thought that he had not looked as happy in such a long time. He never looked away from his bride’s face. Their kiss was slow and then deeper, and soon Annie began crying as hard as Armin.

Armin and Annie did not want a public ceremony, so they insisted on a private dinner party, which Nicolo happily catered at his restaurant. Reiner told only the best stories of Annie in her girlhood that made the entire party laugh, and Pieck and Connie recalled adventures as ambassadors of peace. Jean even let Eren sip from his glass of wine, which he disliked. 

After Armin and Annie cut the cake and fed each other bites, they cut slices for everyone else. Then Annie took apart her bouquet and showered the party with pedals before Armin carried her to the nearby hotel for their first night together.

On his and his family’s way to spend the night in Jean’s childhood home, Jean thought, for the space of a second, that he saw Hitch, still devoted to the idea of war, somewhere, and she made eye contact with him as well. It was probably someone else with the same hair color and similar wardrobe. Nevertheless, he held Eren’s and Sasha’s hands a little tighter.

Some of the tension went away when they reached where he grew up, and his mother already opened the door before the family reached the front door. The couple let their children run over to their grandmother, who loved them and whom they loved. Like every visit, she had cooked up a juicy omelet like her son had devoured as a little boy for everyone to taste, bought for Sasha a pretty dress, and sewed together a unique cardigan for Eren. 

She had kissed all over Mikasa’s cheeks, having adored her like a daughter, and called her son “Jean Boy” to make the grandchildren giggle. At dinner, she listened to Eren and Sasha talk over each other about the wedding until they started yawning. Then their parents put them to bed in Jean’s old room, where she had framed a professional drawing of her son as a chubby toddler, and caught up with the grandmother until late in the night. Jean went to bed reflecting on the suspicious face that he caught eyeing his family but confident that he and his wife would educate the children on self-defense and how to keep themselves safe.

The next morning, the children woke up to the smell of delicious omelets that kept them full until dinnertime. They spent the remainder of the day playing on the floor, reading child-friendly books from around the world that Armin collected for them, and watching people under the balcony.

Mikasa watched in silence until Jean wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back against his chest, ready to delight in the overwhelming joy that he gave her that filled their lives and would continue to grow…

“Could I…talk to you in private?” he whispered. 

Mikasa knew it was bad because Jean rarely hesitated. With one hand over his, she said, “Eren, Sasha, why don’t you see if your grandmother needs help? She’ll appreciate two little helpers.”

Eren and Sasha immediately took to cleaning up after themselves and walked over to their grandmother. Jean led Mikasa into his old room and quietly told her about what he saw when they were leaving the wedding reception. Mikasa’s eyebrows rose, and then her eyes narrowed. How were they to talk about this to the children, especially since Eren was about to start school and perhaps with children whose parents believed in the Yeagerists? Jean’s greater concern, however, was the children’s well-being. Of course, almost everybody knew that Eren and Sasha existed, but what if a Yeagerist tried to use them against their parents? 

Mikasa put her hand over his. “We will talk about it tomorrow night, when they are asleep,” she promised him. Then they stood up and helped their children set the table for dinner. 

“Hey Dada, did Gramma ever make cow for you when you were little?” asked Eren, who was biting on a strip of steak thicker than he could chew. “You should have seen how she does it! She says that you flip it over and keep it at a low heat but a longer time, and it helps if you don’t want it red in the middle.”

Jean was half-listening, his mind still worried for his children’s safety, but he nodded with what his son just learned. “Some people like their meat red,” he agreed, “but some people will get sick if they eat it.”

“How?” asked Eren. 

“We will tell you after we eat,” Mikasa took over. “What else did you learn with Gramma?”

Eren and Sasha babbled that the same lesson–low heat, long time–applied to vegetables as well, as Gramma showed the difference using green cabbage that were steaming on the table. Jean met his mother’s eye, but she focused more on her daughter-in-law’s plate, full of portions slightly larger than usual and even odd combinations…

“Sasha, will you eat your potatoes?” Mikasa complained. “You don’t know where we will find food for your next meal! And trust me. Going hungry does not feel good!”

Groaning, Sasha slowly shoved a spoonful of potato chunks into her mouth, glaring at her mother the entire time. Jean had to hold his breath so he wouldn’t laugh at the irony—of all the foods that little Sasha ever ate in her life, potatoes were the one food she hated.

***

It was strange that the Rumbling had ended years ago. So much had happened since then, but few things pleased Historia more than to see how everyone had seemed to grow closer. They had all gathered at her orphanage as both a reunion and a private place to talk about international relations without the fear of eavesdropping. 

Everyone had scattered between the picnic table, helping Historia bring out the food and treats, and within the fence, watching Eren and Sasha play with the orphans and observing how Armin never seemed to take his hand off his wife of five month’s back. They only stopped to eat, and the other ambassadors complimented how polite Eren and Sasha were to offer to collect the plates and utensils to take inside. Nothing made Jean feel prouder that he and Mikasa were parenting very well.

Once Eren and Sasha had resumed playing with the orphans, Historia resumed their important topic of discussion: the rising threat of the Yeagerists. The army wasn’t just growing stronger; it had also garnered new weapons that could kill thousands of people at once. 

“But does this mean that they’re ready to initiate war at this point, even against the same countries that provided these weapons?”

“No, Historia said, very specifically, that the Yeagerists are not planning an attack yet,” Annie reminded Pieck. “But…it’s getting to the point where she’s thinking about sending someone in to infiltrate the Yeagerists and see what they have access to.” She cast her eyes wistfully to the bench on which she sat. “And if they gain too much power…how will the rest of the world’s population look at us if part of us are trying to…you know, execute permanent annihilation of civilizations, and another part are trying to promote peace?”

Pieck turned her head to ask Mikasa something, but then forgot when she saw a look of discomfort on Mikasa’s face. “Mikasa?” she said. “What is it?”

Mikasa grit her teeth and took a deep breath. “I–I’m fine,” she heaved. “Just…could you find my husband for me, please?”

“Wha–” Then realization dawned on Pieck’s face. “Oh my, that’s–you’re in labor.”

Mikasa shushed her. “No, please don’t. I don’t want my children to hear and get worried. I just…” She closed her eyes. She didn’t want her children to see or hear her prepare to give birth. Otherwise, Eren would be reluctant to marry and condemn his wife to the pain of childbirth, and Sasha would be terrified to risk her life and go through labor. 

Pieck quickly left the picnic table and ran over to Jean, who was standing with Reiner and Historia, mindlessly talking. She whispered into Jean’s ear, and he faced her with shock. He hurried to his wife and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” he hissed. “I didn’t think the baby would come so early–”

“N-Neither did I,” she grunted.

Jean caught Pieck whispering to the other adults. Historia ran over and helped Mikasa to her swollen feet. Her water had already broken, and her cheeks were flushed. “Annie and the men will keep an eye on the children,” Historia reassured the couple. “I talked to Pieck–she’s going to bring the midwives over to your house.”

Mikasa braved a look over her shoulder and fortunately, her children were still playing. “Historia…” she exhaled.

As Jean helped her into the wagon, Historia glanced back and forth between the remaining party and the couple. “How long did it take you to have your babies in the past?” she asked. 

“Four hours with Sasha, Eren was about five,” said Mikasa. Historia nodded and said that, if they were all right with it, the siblings could spend the night at Historia’s and go home after breakfast the next day. The couple reluctantly agreed.

The wagon arrived at the apartment just before the midwives arrived. By then the couple were in the bedroom, and Jean was trying to hold Mikasa steady as she drank from a glass of water. The midwives confirmed that she was ready to give birth. 

Holding her breath, Mikasa took off her scarf but clutched it in one hand so that Eren would still be with her once more in one of the most important moments of her life. 

***

The rooster woke up everyone in Historia’s daughter’s room. Even though the adults had woken up earlier during their time in the cadets, it was still an unwelcome disturbance in their states of peace. Armin yawned as he sat up and scratched the side of his head. Eren stirred in the sleeping bag beside him and then opened his eyes. Across from them, Connie was slow to wake; Sasha, curled up in his lap, rubbed her face and stretched her arms over her head. 

Eren immediately sat up. “Mama,” he whispered. He kicked himself out of the sleeping bag and stomped his way to his sister. “Sasha–” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her off Connie’s lap, ignoring her whines. “Sasha, is Mama–”

“Eren,” hissed Armin. “Don’t do that.” He pushed himself up and walked out of the room, coming back with Historia. She made the children eat with the orphans first and then allowed Connie and Armin to take them back home. The children hesitated out of fear for their mother’s well-being until Armin took Eren’s hand and Connie put Sasha on his hip. 

Jean’s mother opened the door. She must have arrived right after the midwives left. “Good morning, children,” she said with the love that she had for her darling grandchildren. “Your parents are awake. Come meet your new baby brother.”

Eren sighed in relief. Even Sasha was excited and grateful. They followed the older woman to the parents’ room. She softly knocked on the door and said in a softer voice, “Jean? Mikasa? The children are awake.”

“Come in,” said Jean.

Jean’s mother opened the door, where Eren and Sasha saw their parents curled in bed. Both were smiling down at the tiny hand reaching from the bundle that Mikasa and Jean shared, and they smiled even more when they looked up at their older children. Eren let go of Armin’s hand and made a beeline for his father, who picked him up and sat him on his lap. Connie set Sasha on the foot of the bed, and she crawled between her mother and father. Mikasa kissed her children’s heads and showed them the baby’s face. He had Jean’s eye shape but Mikasa’s eye color. Eren saw their father in the baby’s nose and lips. 

Cautiously, Sasha put her hand on her baby brother’s chest. Eren gently kissed the baby’s ear. Jean beamed at his children displaying affection to the newest addition to their family; Mikasa looked relieved that they were embracing their new roles as big brother and big sister. 

***

Most of the orphans had grown up at this point but still stayed close to the orphanage to assist with childcare and maintenance in between deciding how to spend their adulthoods. With Historia’s permission, they let some of the children ride horses around the lawn. The younger ones gathered around Eren, who enthusiastically taught them a game that seemed to be a combination of tag and hide and seek. 

“He’s everything like his namesake, just without the temper and the hothead,” Annie said at Jean’s side, startling him. On his hip he balanced young Sasha, who had just recovered from an ear infection but still complained that her head hurt and that her nose was runny. Annie smiled at the little girl who looked up curiously, as though she had never seen the former Warrior before. 

“Does this make you want little ones of your own?” Jean innocently asked. “Or…do you prefer observing them rather than making them a full-time job?”

Annie looked up at his eyes and then back down to Sasha sticking her finger in her red ear. “Maybe one day,” she said, “but only if Armin wants to–and I know how not to raise them, like my father did.” Her eyes flickered in sadness, but she chuckled when she focused on the running children.

Jean felt a tug on his pant leg. Little Marco stared up at him. His eyes were wide with a question that he could not ask. Jean touched his head, which sprouted black cowlicks that reminded him so much of his late friend. “Yes, little guy?”

“Dada, can I go…” Marco mumbled, still learning his words.

“Of course,” said Jean. “Eren! Will you come here and let your brother play?”

Eren whined but told the orphans to hold up, and he ran over to the hill. “All right, I got him,” said Eren. He picked up his brother, who wrapped his arms around Eren’s neck and dangled his tiny legs. “Come on, Marco. You’re getting heavy!”

Jean chuckled and watched Eren carry Marco halfway through the field before eventually giving up and setting him on his feet. Marco toddled in Eren’s shadow on his way to the older children. Some of them made faces that they had to slow down for a toddler, but the others cheered on Marco and his unsteady steps.

Jean sat down beside Annie, with Armin joining in and pulling his wife to sit between his legs. She leaned her head against his shoulder and laced her fingers between his. Jean discreetly watched the couple and patted Sasha’s back as she made noises in the back of her throat. Mikasa joined him later and watched Eren pretend to run slower than he really was so Marco could have a winning chance. 

She remembered Carla insisting that her own son was not going to join the army and become a soldier. It was the first time, perhaps, that she had seen the kind woman so angry that she yelled at her child for something other than misbehavior. Even though Mikasa tried to parent her children from what she remembered of her own mother and Carla, she wondered how she would react if one of them expressed a desire for a career in the military. Now more than ever, with the Yeagerists growing more influential, it was both more and less dangerous compared to when the Titans were their main enemy. 

Mikasa snapped out of her musings when Jean called over Marco and saw that he needed changing. As Jean carried Marco to a more private place, Mikasa cradled Sasha in her arms and thought more about surrendering Sasha or one or both of her brothers into the army. Remembering that her children were named in honor of fallen comrades made Mikasa reluctant to imagine them in uniform. Sasha traced with her finger the brand on the back of her mother’s hand, and Mikasa knew that, even though the children would not carry on her maiden name, they could still choose if they wanted to brand themselves as a reminder of the family legacy.

***

Eren was eight when the nightmares began.

That day, Mikasa and Jean took their children to the graveyard to have little Sasha put flowers on her namesake’s grave on her birthday and stayed longer than intended when her namesake’s parents arrived. They marveled over how big the children were and told them that Kaya was engaged but still active with the other orphans at the farm. 

That night, Marco helped his mother bake bread and Jean read to his older children until dinnertime. Then Mikasa ran Sasha a bath and told her funny stories about her namesake and all the trouble she got herself into but all the fun that they had together, even though they had different personalities. Jean lured Marco to sleep as Mikasa had Eren and Sasha read out loud until the children’s eyes drooped. Then their parents tucked them into bed.

Eren dreamt that he and his brother and sister were running on a sunny day, but they didn’t know where. He just wanted to challenge them over who was the fastest, knowing that he would win because Sasha’s skirts slowed her down, and Marco’s legs were still short. The three of them laughed and ran up a hill until they saw a giant tree in its entirety.

Immediately, Eren stopped running, and so did Sasha and Marco. It looked exactly like the tree that their mother and father took them to visit every year, where his mother had buried his namesake, but it could not have been that tree; he would have realized that they were on the hill that they had to climb up to see the burial tree. Even though part of him wanted to turn around and go home, the other half was curious as to why this tree was unlike the one that he visited yearly. 

Eren held Sasha’s and Marco’s hands on their way further up the hill to investigate the difference between this tree and the special one. Neither of them spoke. They craned their necks for any suspicious branches or tree roots. The hairs on the back of Marco’s neck stood up; Sasha had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. 

Then, on the other side of the tree, was a hollow much bigger than even their own house. It was completely black. Nothing seemed to move inside. Still, Eren was interested. 

“I don’t want to go in,” said Marco, who seemed to suspect his brother’s curiosity. 

“Me neither,” added Sasha. 

Eren tugged on their hands. “Come on, don’t be scared,” he said. “Nothing will hurt you. I don’t think anything even lives there.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sasha, “because you can’t see it to be sure–”

“Well, then, how will we know if it is something’s habitat if we don’t see for ourselves?” Eren impatiently interrupted. “Come on!”

He pulled them to the tree and into the hollow. It was so dark that he could not see his own hand. The ground at his feet was soft. Curiosity grew, and he wanted to see what was inside, if anything. 

Eren didn’t realize that he had let go of his siblings’ hands until he slipped and fell down a long downward tunnel. As he felt bruises form on his face and legs, the screams of Sasha and Marco grew fainter and fainter until he splashed into a cold pond. 

Eren held his breath on time, but his body was in such pain that he couldn’t move his arms. The stinging would not go away. Carefully, he opened his eyes, which didn’t hurt under the cold water, but he couldn’t see anything. Eren willed himself to move his body despite the pain and slowly moved his arms over his head. 

Suddenly, he felt a gentle trickling alongside his spine that offered a mild comfort. Eren tried to push himself up, but the grip down his backbone only strengthened and quickly sent uncomfortable sensations throughout his body. His eyes throbbed, and everything turned white, and his limbs tugged, and his jaw ached, and he didn’t know if he was dying or becoming some strange creature, but he knew that he did not like like and wanted to get out–

Eren’s eyes flapped open. It was dark! Panicking, he sat up ready to scream, but then he saw a window and soft moonlight peering into the room. Terror seized him. Was it a dream or did it really happen? Eren shivered and looked down, but it was just his sleepwear wet with sweat. If he had fallen into water, he most certainly would be wearing dry clothes, whether he dressed himself or his parents did. 

Eren steadied his breathing and worried that he woke his brother and sister. Luckily, both were still deeply asleep: Marco had his thumb in his mouth, and Sasha was unaware that her doll had fallen to the floor.

Quietly, Eren left his bed, put the doll back into Sasha’s hand, walked to the kitchen, poured himself water, and shakily retreated to his room. Closing the door made him feel both safe and scared at the same time.

The following night, he was still walking through the tree, but this time he had dragged his brother and sister with him. Marco whimpered to himself, and Sasha clung to Eren’s arm as he walked them into oblivion, into the path of a pale blue glow, one that attracted him and gave him the sense of power, strength, a lineage of immortality…

“Eren! Eren!”

Then Eren’s eyes opened. It was his father, who looked terrified. He was still in his room. To his left, his mother consoled a hysterical Marco. Sasha clutched Mikasa’s skirt and also looked at Eren with fear. 

Eren sat up when Jean let go of his wrists and looked around. “What happened?”

“You were having a bad dream,” said Jean. “Your brother woke us up, and you were crying and moving around in your bed like you were running for your life.” He pushed Eren’s wet hair from his forehead. “You’re safe, son. I know that you probably don’t want to talk about it–”

“No, no!” sobbed Eren. He shook his head so fiercely that his bangs slapped against his wet face. “I don’t want to remember it! Dada, I’m scared!” He wiped his wet eyes. “It wasn’t a human, but I’m scared that–” He wept again. 

Jean picked up Eren and carried him into his parents’ room, gently shushing him and rubbing his back. Mikasa then tucked in the other children, reassured them that Eren would be all right, and kissed them good night again. She came back to her room and helped Eren change into clean clothes and mop his sweaty face and back. When Eren had calmed down, he tightly hugged under his mother’s ribs. “Mama, I was scared. I had a dream that I put Sasha and Marco in danger, that I saw this scary tree like the one we go to every year, and–and I got big and mean and killed so many people–”

Eren silently wept again. His concerned mother and father sensed the full details of his nightmare but gently reassured him that he was smarter than to have done something like that, and of course that he knew that killing was wrong. 

Still, Eren didn’t look convinced. He had told them how scared he was of the Yeagerists in town and that they were trying to recruit some of the older schoolchildren into dropping out of school to join their cause. Even though Eren knew that what they wanted and believed in was wrong, it caused fights in school and pitted children against each other; he lost some good friends and worried that the Yeagerists would try to convince him to be like his namesake and undo everything that his father worked hard to promote. Many times, Mikasa and Jean contemplated taking their children out of school and sending them abroad for their education, but in the end did not want Sasha and her brothers to be too far away from home.

“I don’t want to be a bad person,” said Eren, “but I don’t want to be a bad person who doesn’t know it. I want to be like you, Mama, Dada, but I don’t want to make things worse than they already are!”

“I know, son,” said Jean, “and we are both so proud of you and your sister and brother for how good you are. You three are good children, and we know that you’re scared.”

Eren silently nodded.

“Dada and I will talk about it,” said Mikasa. “We want to discuss some good ways that you can deal with it if you feel pressure to join and not have to get hurt.” She kissed his cheek. “Try and get some sleep, Eren. We can talk about this with Sasha and Marco tomorrow before we go on the trip.”

Eren tried to feel better but was still uneasy. He didn’t want there to be an attack at school that the Yeagerists pretended was not their doing just so they could get little boys and girls to join them. Even though that never happened, he heard Dada talk about some countries where that did happen– “inner terrorism”, Dada said it was. He didn’t believe in their cause but knew that he couldn’t fight them alone, and that hurting other people to stop it would make it worse.

***

The horses galloped across the grass, at a distance that seemed unfathomable to the cadets years ago. They ran past sights that they had never before seen. For the human inhabitants of the island, such a sight would have seemed imaginative but impossible. It was so large compared to the nature once confined within the walls. 

Eventually, the humans on the horses halted them. In front was the sand and the ocean that stretched on for miles. It was even more beautiful than they had remembered the first time that they laid eyes on the blue saltwater. 

Armin was the first to dismount and waited for Eren to let go of his father’s waist, then helped him down. Connie jumped onto the ground and pulled Sasha off his horse’s back, and Mikasa told Marco that he could open his eyes, having clung to his mother’s front the entire ride. When Marco saw the ocean, his jaw dropped. “Mama…” He pointed to the ocean as if she had never seen it before. “Look!”

Mikasa smiled and carefully took him off the horse so that he didn’t have to look away. “Yes, Marco,” she whispered. “This is what the ocean looks like, not just when your father boarded that ship.”

By this point, Eren and Sasha had stripped down to their underwear and ran to the ocean until they were up to their waists. They splashed at the surface and flicked water at each other. Meanwhile, as Connie and Armin kept watch over the children, Mikasa and Jean took off Marco’s shoes, held his hands, and walked him along the wet sand. Marco squealed when the cold wave washed over his feet, but then he giggled and waved his arms. “Again, again!”

Sasha cartwheeled in the smaller waves, and Eren scooped up handfuls of sand, which he threw at his sister. Sasha protested and flung a fistful of wet sand at his chest.

“Sasha! Eren!” cried their parents. “If you continue to do that, you won’t be allowed to pay in the ocean anymore!”

“Sorry!” they apologized simultaneously. 

Armin waved them over and showed them how to find seashells and small conches in the wet sand. The siblings spent the afternoon trying to carry as many in their arms and looking for bigger sizes. Armin only pulled them away from large jellyfish, and Connie chased the children into the ocean, and then let them chase him back to the beach, laughing the entire time.

When lunch was ready, Mikasa carried Marko to the blanket, and Eren and Sasha rushed to the dry sand. Armin gave them towels to dry off, which they wrapped around their bodies like capes, and Connie helped them fill their plates with warm meat and vegetables to put on top of their bread. Sasha and her brothers ate quickly, eager to go back to the water. Marco admired the conches that his brother and sister found. 

Only after lunch was over did Jean let Eren and Sasha grab his hands and pull him back to the ocean, where he fell to his knees and let his children climb up his back. Eren and Sasha giggled and held on while he spun in circles. Marco held out his arms and whined, but Mikasa set him on her lap and watched her other children try to climb higher onto Jean’s shoulders. Jean pretended to drop Eren, and then mimicked throwing Sasha farther away.

Armin joined her after cleaning up and wanted to cry. Even though the ocean had always brought him joy, it always occurred to him the series of events that led to massive loss of life and then the death of his best friend. Of course he adored the little Kirsteins, but did his best friend, who loved him like a brother, really need to initiate a war with worldwide civilizations for little Sasha and her brothers to exist? Even if Eren knew that Mikasa and even Jean were the happiest that they had ever been, would he still have gathered followers to promote his beliefs even after his death just so their children could grow up safe? The Yeagerists were still gathering power in the island, and Armin worried that the world was more dangerous to little Marco and his older siblings than the threat of Titans. 

Marco crawled out of his mother’s lap and tried to run his hands over Connie’s growing buzzcut, but he didn’t want to pull himself off his knees. Connie, chuckling, lowered his head for Marco’s curiosity. Armin watched Marco move his fingers and babble incoherently, wondering if his work as a peace ambassador was enough for him to ensure that the next generation of Arlets would understand the sacrifices that his fallen comrades had made and still not worry for their lives. 

***

Mikasa knelt down to the tree roots and smiled at the headstone. “Hello, Eren,” she said softly. 

Behind her, Eren and Sasha impatiently held the flowers to put on the headstone and tried to leave their mother in peace with the first person she truly loved. To Eren’s left, Armin held his son’s—named after his paternal grandfather—hand, and Annie put her hand over where she felt her second child, hopefully a little girl, kick without mercy. (Jean, on the other hand, was at the cabin, helping Marco fight a fever.)

Mikasa shared that her children were fast runners and wanted to go back to see the beach. They shared all the chores and were very good readers. All three of them took singing lessons at school, and Eren and Marco took to heart Jean’s advice that women like men who could cook. (Of course, that was not the reason why Mikasa married Jean.) Eren stood up for classmates from bullies without getting into physical fights, Sasha was an excellent archer who could hit a target even while riding a horse but still hated potatoes (and was sometimes caught sneaking hers to an unsuspecting brother), and Marco had beautiful handwriting and started losing his first teeth.

Then little Eren put down the flowers and excitedly said that the year before, he and Sasha asked Dada to take them with him on his journey to other countries. After careful discussions with Historia and the other ambassadors, they agreed on the condition that Jean would be responsible for where to put the children during confidential meetings. Mama stayed behind with Marco and little Arlet, and Eren and Sasha ran around the steamboat to explore the inner workings, ate fresh seafood every day, and giggled when Pieck pointed out the mirror where Jean studied his appearance to look more attractive. Even their cabins and the water for bathing were warm. 

Upon arrival to Marley, the ambassadors bought an ice cream for the little Kirsteins to share, caught up with Yelena, and left Eren and Sasha with Levi, who had since opened a tea shop but treated the children to lollipops. Even though the Warrior Unit heard the story before, they laughed when Connie, Armin, and Jean recounted to Jean’s children their first trip to Marley and their unfortunate first interaction with alcohol. Eren and Sasha howled until their stomachs hurt. 

It had rained that night, so Reiner wanted to cancel his plans to show everyone all of the trees that Gabi and Falco had planted but gave in when everyone insisted, nonetheless. Jean made sure that Eren and Sasha wore their “chore’s clothes” as they inevitably played in the mud.

The best part, according to Eren, was that as soon as Reiner introduced the children who were coated in wet dirt to Gabi and Falco, Sasha greeted them by throwing a fistful of mud at Gabi’s face. Jean was too horrified to confront her. Reiner, however, laughed hysterically, to Connie’s and Armin’s confusion. “At last, Sasha has her revenge.” (And no, Gabi was not mad but laughed at the little girl. She even lent Sasha a clean nightgown while her and Eren’s clothes were in the wash.)

They went to so many countries and explored so many things that Eren and Sasha were exhausted on the trip home and slept for two whole days in the cabin. When they did wake up, they went back to chasing each other around the steamboat and learning how it worked, and tired themselves sharing with their mother what they had learned.

By this point, Eren’s throat was dry, so Mikasa patted his back to make him feel less guilty that he ran out of stories already. He listened to Sasha talk about her friends, and Armin encouraged his son to say hi to a headstone. 

When they arrived at the cabin for lunch, Jean had just pulled Marco from a hot bath and quickly put him to nap so he could help his wife. Eren and Sasha grabbed apples from the kitchen bowl and took little Arlet outside to feed the horses; Annie watched from the kitchen as Eren held up her son in his arms and instructed him to give the apple to the horse. At first, the little boy looked terrified as the horse sniffed his fingers but then giggled as the horse bit into the apple from his hand and munched.

The children came back inside for a lovely lunch and to watch Annie, with insane cravings, consume almost every pie on display. The adults pretended not to notice, let alone watch, but Annie was fully aware and did her best to chew slowly and savor the taste before swallowing. 

***

And just like that, everything changed. 

Jean and Mikasa were napping after a post-lunch round of sex when they heard the explosion. Jean quickly dressed and stepped onto the balcony to scan the city. The look he gave his wife terrorized her. 

“It’s the school,” he whispered. 

The couple fought their way through the panicked crowds, but the crowd only seemed bigger as worried parents tried to get closer, but the “police” held them back while the headmistress refused to let any children go home until every child was out of the rubble. 

Mikasa craned her neck to watch the smoke reach for the sky, and visions of dead children’s bodies came back. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. This could not be happening again, it could not, and she knew that the Yeagerists had to have been responsible just to create horror. Jean was right–inner terrorism was the worst kind.

Teachers led schoolchildren out of the front door and had them stand in a line for a proper headcount. Parents shouted for their children, who cried and pleaded to go home, but it all made Mikasa feel worse. 

“Eren!” cried Jean. “Marco! Sasha!”

Mikasa joined him in crying out for Sasha and her brothers, but it was twenty minutes before they saw Eren’s face in the line pouring out of the front door. He was crying but grabbing his friend Bryce’s shoulders while another boy clutched his.

“Thank goodness,” Jean muttered. “Sasha! Marco!” 

Thankfully, Sasha’s class stepped out after five minutes, and they identified their daughter in the crowd. Sasha tried to run over, but her friend Ashly pulled on her arm, so she spent the time holding hands with Ashly and their friend Megan. She was visibly crying but clearly trying to console her friends. Mikasa sighed in relief to erase a terrifying vision of Sasha’s body, prone and still like her late namesake’s. 

Jean put his hands on her arms and tried to comfort her for what seemed like hours.

“Kirstein!” roared a teacher. It caught Jean’s and Mikasa’s attention just in time for Marco, his little face covered in soot, to hurry out of the building with his best friend’s arm around his shoulders. They cried out for him, but he likely could not hear them. Austin was bleeding so profusely that Marco had taken off his own jacket to push against the head wound. 

Fortunately, a teacher swooped in. “Here, Marco,” he said. “I got him, thank you.” Marco cried as he watched Austin being carried away from him until their teacher called for Marco to join the line. 

In that moment, Jean’s panic faded and turned into utmost pride for his youngest child.

***

Jean washed his face of his tears and stared at his reflection. Not even the relief that his children were safe was enough to calm him down or make him stop crying. He tried not to think of how hard the children were crying or how terrified they were so that their parents had to carry them home. It took hours for them to calm down, take baths, and cuddle with their parents until they fell asleep on the couch.

Mikasa was sitting on the chair beside the couch and silently weeping as she clutched a mug of tea. She shook her head. “They will never forget this,” she whispered. She set down her mug and pulled her husband into a fierce hug. He let her cry on his shoulder and studied how the children twitched in their sleep, Marco silently crying, Sasha gripping the skirt of her nightgown, and Eren pushing his face into the seat of the couch. As soon as Jean’s mother returned to keep an eye on the children, the couple snuck out and rode to meet with the Queen, who was just as devastated. 

“I know it was the Yeagerists,” she said and went into detail about a mole who infiltrated the Yeagerists and confirmed the weaponry used to explode the school, kill twenty-four children, and hospitalize over fifty. Mikasa’s heart pounded in hatred, and Jean hung his head against his wife’s shoulder. The mole, however, did not know that the school would be a target; from what the Queen gathered, the attacks were to be random.

Within two hours, they sketched out a plan: Because the anniversary of the Battle of Heaven and Earth was approaching, she would assign Mikasa, Connie, Jean, Armin, Reiner, and Pieck to parade through the streets in celebration and commemoration of the lives lost; their job was to keep an eye out for anyone who may not be celebrating and make a report to Historia. Annie, on hiatus after the birth of baby Arlet number three, would sneak the little Kirsteins and Arlets to the Blouse farm for hiding until it was safe to go home. If the Blouse family approved, they would take in the children two days before the parade was announced. 

Naturally, the late Sasha’s family was happy to take in Annie and the children, but Reiner and Pieck, having moved back to Marley, were hesitant and worried that it would just lead to more casualties. With convincing from Armin, whose own firstborn was due to start school the following year, they agreed to come as soon as possible.

Mikasa, Jean, and Armin had to console their frightened children about the distance and the undisclosed amount of time that they wouldn’t see their parents. With wigs and new clothes, Annie and the children departed by wagon to Dauper. Mikasa and the men watched with pained hearts as the wagon faded into a small dot, and reluctantly turned away from their dearest loves. 

***

The couple pretended not to feel awkward that they were parading around town to commemorate their victory at an inappropriate anniversary. It would have been better to have erected a memorial of all the late soldiers who died during and before the Battle.

Instead, they scanned the crowds to find hostile looks and suspicious people, yet they also saw grateful townspeople eager to stare at the heroes of so many years ago. Their uniforms were recently cleaned, and they received new versions of their since-retired gear, from the blades to the Thunder Spears. In the far distance, Armin saw three children–two little boys and a little girl–climb onto the roof of a house to watch. He secretly smiled to himself in nostalgia and confidence. 

It’s nice to know that some people still believe in us and are grateful for all that we had done years ago, he decided to tell his friends after the parade. However, he thought back to that one fateful day, when he and Eren and Mikasa snuck a peek at the parade of the Survey Corps, only to find a defeated team that suffered more than it gained. He hoped that somehow, this act sent a positive message to the next generation whom he had to protect from the threat of destruction and massive death. 

Jean made himself smile as he admired strangers and was showered in rose petals. Years ago, he would have done anything to do this and get girls’ attention, even if it wasn’t to find a lifelong mate. Now he had a real job to ensure the continued safety of his pride and joy, all three of whom, according to Annie’s recent letter, were recovering as long as they helped with the farm and practiced riding horses. Jean scanned the crowd for anyone who perhaps indicated signs of affiliation to the Military Police. It seemed like such a long time ago that he had wanted to be one of them and live a life of luxury. 

Ka-BOOM!

The explosion was louder than at the school, and not just because of the close distance. Jean knew from the smoke that it was of greater ammunition. Then he heard another explosion, and more people screamed and huddled to the ground or pushed past each other.

“Everybody get inside!” Mikasa roared, and she and her surviving soldiers galloped to the scene of devastation. She did not want it to be another school–no more children deserved to struggle with the trauma that her children were fighting–and she certainly did not want it to be a crowded building like a hospital. Luckily, the road ahead of her was cleared with not even a wheel to slow down her horse. “Seek shelter! Do not hover around!”

Then they erupted out of nowhere. 

The capes were long gone, but the tails of their coats fluttered behind them like the former uniform. Mikasa’s heart pounded in anger. They did not deserve to wear the wings of freedom anymore. They took that symbol as their own and dishonored it so that it lost its true, original meaning. 

The Yeagerists swooped down to assault the former soldiers who still rode like a windstorm and pulled out their gear. Jean clutched his handlebars and glared at the monsters who dared to threaten the lives and well-being of the three people he loved above anything else. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream, and the hatred that he once felt for the Titans was now reserved for those who sought destruction, not peace.

“Jean…!”

Jean barely turned his head to his wife’s direction as everything went black and the screams of Reiner, Armin, Pieck, and Connie faded…

The surprising, blinding light snapped Jean from unconsciousness, and he trembled as his vision cleared. When he finally came to his senses, he realized that he was in a basement with lanterns. About ten people in the now dishonorable uniform were glaring at him. He tried to move but realized that he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

“Nice to meet you, Kirstein,” said a young man who reminded him of Samuel. “We’ve heard a lot about you and are so delighted to put a name to the face.”

Jean scoffed. “Nice to meet the people who threatened my children’s lives by blowing up their school and harming innocent children.”

The man’s laugh was like cold water. “Ah, seems like your personality hasn’t changed since your hotheaded days with the cape.” He pushed back his hair. “I guess there are some things that don’t go away when you become a father.”

“Not everything has to change when your life isn’t about you anymore,” Jean spat. “But yeah, if you’re going to torture me to demand where my children are, I wouldn’t even bother to tell you their first words.”

Some of the other occupants snickered at the jab. “We’ll get to that later. Honestly, we’re more curious about something else.”

“Listen to me, you dirty devils,” Jean growled. “I know what you’re trying to do, but trust me. You’re only going to make things worse. The cause is dead, and you’re following a destructive path that will kill everything and everyone you care about.” He tried not to think about Mikasa in the past, only the Mikasa who was now his wife.

One young man grabbed his ankle and pulled off his boot, and Jean’s heart pounded in his ears. “You really believe you can take down the Yeagerists, after all we’re doing in the name of your late friend?” he sneered. "If that's so, then why even bother naming your first son after your old friend? Didn't you try to talk your wife out of it?"

“You’re only causing more pain, more hardship to children who will not understand that you cannot always solve a problem by becoming part of the problem,” Jean hissed. “You’re only spreading the disease when you think you are curing it.” He tugged on his constraints. "And we named our son Eren...because for all the harm that the first Eren I knew caused, my Eren...my little ray of light...will bring back together what my friend had torn apart."

The young man gave him a twisted look. “A disease, you think Eren’s cause was, to free us from discrimination?” He pulled out of his pocket a hammer and slammed it so hard against Jean’s instep that he heard the cracks before he felt the bones break.

***

Mikasa glared at the young woman whom she had followed and cornered in an alley. “Hitch,” she spat. “I should have known that you were a leader in this.”

Annie’s former roommate snickered. “A leader?” she stupidly repeated. “Just because I’m fighting for a cause that I believe in doesn’t mean that I always take the reins. Whose idea was it to have this stupid parade, anyway–yours?”

“Like hell,” Mikasa huffed. “I did not want to celebrate history this way unless we erected a monument for all of those who lost their lives to preserve Paradis Island without harm to others.”

Hitch’s mouth twitched. “That sounds so unlike you, Mikasa,” she chuckled, and Mikasa couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. “It looks like you’ve had a complete change of heart ever since you became a mother. Didn’t you ever tell your children how Mommy was a tag-a-long for almost her entire life?”

Mikasa arched her feet and gripped her handlebars so that her knuckles were white. “Well, if I can recall, I got to where I was from natural talent, not through perhaps dishonorable means.”

Suddenly, Hitch’s eyes flickered, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a gun. 

Mikasa was quicker in deflecting the bullets with her blades until Hitch ran out. Growling, she tossed it aside and raised her fists, in a position that she clearly learned from Annie. “Fine, then,” said Mikasa, who took off her own gear. “Let’s do it evenly. Give me everything you got.”

Hitch huffed, and the women ran forward.

***

Jean clenched his fists over the chains holding his arms over his head and tried not to show any sign of pain on his face. Both of his feet were broken, and he had a sensation like blood was pouring from his legs. Nevertheless, he glared at the damn Yeagerists who gave him looks of death that he delightfully returned. It’s not just that you wanted to kill innocent children, innocent lives, he wanted to scream at them. I know that you wanted to create an attack just so you can drive more people to your case, even if they left years ago!

“Are you ready to speak now?” sneered a soldier. “We have so many questions to ask, and we have all the time we need to beat them out of you.”

Jean nastily grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

The soldier grabbed Jean’s leg by the knee. “All right, then–”

Within seconds, the pain of a dislocated knee soared up Jean’s thigh.

***

Just then, Hitch raised her leg and kicked Mikasa in the chin, sending her tumbling back. 

The nasty chuckle that Hitch gave only angered Mikasa even more. “Motherhood clearly made you lose ground,” she taunted as she wiped her bloody nose. “It looks like you forgot what made you graduate at the top of your class.”

Not quite, Mikasa thought to herself. She pushed herself to her feet and ran forward, but Hitch was faster–a kick toward the face, but Mikasa defected it, grabbed Hitch’s knee, and spun her around so that Hitch instantly fell to the ground facedown. 

Same person, the black-haired woman thought to herself, different enemy closer to home. Then she grabbed Hitch by her elbows, forced her up onto her knees, and stepped on her ankles. “Where is my husband?” she spat. “If you thought your defeat was embarrassing, imagine what I can do to ten more people–it helped me take down more Titans than you would believe.”

Hitch snorted, so Mikasa pushed up her arm until Hitch cried out from the pain of a dislocated shoulder. “I’ll keep asking you until you give me a truthful answer,” she warned. “Trust me–I could do this as long as I need to.” She then shoved her knee into Hitch’s lower back. “But if you lure me into a trap, I have no problem finding you after I escape, and making you wish that I had killed you.”

Hitch groaned and hung her head. For extra security, Mikasa dislocated the other woman’s knees and paraded her throughout the empty streets. Seeing curious and relieved faces made the mother of three satisfied that not everybody agreed with the Yeagerists, yet also displeased that they refused to fight back and relied on semi-retired soldiers to take down the threat of terrorism.

You disappoint me, she bitterly thought.

***

I will not give in, Jean mentally shouted. He grit his teeth and ignored the pain in his knee. 

He thought of Mikasa, how she slowly became more than an infatuation and then his life partner. She was hesitant to return his feelings, not out of guilt for Eren but to ensure that Jean’s feelings were genuine and not out of lust. He asked every time he wanted to do something new, from holding her hand to kissing her cheek. One time, before they moved in together, she was crying so hard that he cradled her in his arms until they fell asleep together. When she woke up, she thanked him for not leaving her then, nor for taking advantage of her. He reassured her that any man who would harm a woman like that was a monster, and that she herself deserved comfort. 

“Answer me!” yelled a young woman who swiftly dislocated his right elbow. Jean groaned, but at least his arm was not broken or being dismembered. 

He concentrated on the first time they made love, how sweet and passionate they made it, how they were slow to undress each other. He listened to her every need and for discomfort because she deserved to enjoy it and feel safe at the same time. He had tears in his eyes because he could not believe that this was happening. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and pulled over her head and squeezed her hand, and barely winced when she sank her fingernails into his back. It was sweat and happy tears and desperate kisses on both ends. She had finished before he did, but he knew that a one-night stand or with someone for whom he did not feel as he did Mikasa would not have brought him to that intensity. Afterwards, he kissed her forehead and wrapped their blanket–and his arms–tightly around her as they whispered to each other to sleep.

His other elbow throbbed, but he pretended not to feel pain, for he recalled that one special memory, when he and his wife studied each other and made love in the cold river outside their log cabin. It wasn’t their first time in the river, but it was the most special because two days later, her birthday present to him was a tiny box with white baby shoes inside. Jean had never cried harder from joy at that point in his life until she had the baby.

He thought of the births of his children and the delight and fear each time that he became a father. Being the first to hold his children in his arms gave him an elation that no poem or song could sum up. Even the mild moments of frustration were nothing compared to the joy of watching them grow up into better human beings than he had ever been, and he was determined to maintain their sense of safety throughout their lives. 

He thought of his children’s namesakes, and why he and his wife agreed to name them after beloved friends. Whenever Eren made friends with boys and girls who didn’t fit in, Sasha poked her head through hanging laundry just to puff her cheeks when she knew that her father was unhappy, or Marco tried to fix his own problems on his own before asking for help, Jean wondered if his fallen friends were proud of the legacy that Jean was giving him in their honor. All he wanted was for them to grow up healthy and strong, and give him and his wife similar–if not greater–grandchildren. 

Pound, POUND!

“Who the hell is that?” someone demanded.

Through blurry eyes, Jean turned his head to the knocking. Just then, the door opened, and a body flung onto the floor. 

“Hitch!” cried the Yeagerists. Jean noticed that his former ally was hog-tied and gagged with a white cloth, and his eyes widened.

“Who did this to you?”

“Was it one of those so-called Warriors?”

They removed the gag from her mouth, and Hitch was crying from either pain or humiliation. “It…It was…”

The door flung open. “Come and get me,” said the voice that he loved to hear every day, the voice that thanked him for being a wonderful father and husband, the voice that whispered every time they made love…

Still, Jean struggled to focus, but he knew from the constant grunts and her angry yells that his warrior wife was winning. He heard the snap of broken bones and bodies slammed against the wall in a dizzying circle. It ended with deep pants. 

“Thanks for the tip, Hitch,” he heard her say right before a crunch, a cry, and a body slump. Then the footsteps drew closer. “Jean! Oh, thank goodness, you’re still alive.”

Jean grinned, but his body ached for him to willingly talk. She grabbed his face and kissed him. “Stay with me, all right?”

She searched the unconscious bodies for the key and freed him from his chains. He partially collapsed onto her and groaned. “Th–They dislocated…” He tried to lift his aching head. “All the joints…they hurt…”

“I know,” she said, “but I’ll help you out of here.”

With one arm over her shoulder, she escorted him up the stairs and into the sunlight. She set him onto the ground and knelt down to stroke his face until Armin and the others arrived. Reiner picked up Jean and carried him all the way to the hospital, where Jean passed out in the cool building.

***

Jean was slow to wake up but knew that he could not stay asleep anymore. He dimly opened his eyes and failed to suppress a yawn. His wife was curled up in the sheets, her bare back against his bare chest and her long hair tumbling over the pillow. He had his arm around her waist and his bare leg draped over hers. A hot flash erupted in his chest. How did he get so lucky that his dreams became manifestations that turned out to be better than he imagined? 

He didn’t know if she was feigning sleep, so he decided not to surprise her with an omelet or treat himself to scotch. He just wanted to live in this moment for as long as he could. They were talking seriously about expanding their family, and he knew that once a child entered their lives, they would have limited time alone, even to conceive again. The one thing he knew, though, was that, regardless of how many children she bore and how her body would change, he would still find her attractive and want to squeeze her against his naked body in his sleep, just like in the present. 

“Jean?” It was her sweet voice. “Are you awake?”

“No,” he responded. “Why? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not.” She adjusted her arm over the blanket. “I’ve been awake since the sun rose. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.”

Jean pulled her closer to his chest and moved his arm to align under hers. “Me neither.” He shoved his face between her shoulder and neck, and breathed in her natural scent. “I never thought how much I could appreciate mornings like this, where we have nothing to wake up to.”

Mikasa huffed. “Agreed.” She hesitated. “We had too many sacrifices and unnecessary deaths to bring us here, but…our–our roles that we had in bringing us this peace…I wouldn’t give up anything.”

No matter how much Jean would miss Marco and Sasha, and mourn that even Levi’s past squad never had this chance to wake up with an intimate partner, he felt that neither would have wanted him to be deprived of that privilege. If even one cadet could find lifelong happiness and live a desired life outside the army, then that was for what his fallen comrades had fought.

Secretly, Jean wondered if Eren, his family, and even Jean’s late in-laws would have thanked him for making Mikasa happy, the way that Jean’s mother had thanked her. Even if his mother had hated her and did not think that her son could feel safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, Jean would still want to marry, have a family with, and grow old with the orphan girl. How Jean yearned to tell his younger self that he and the young woman whose long black hair he adored would make each other happier than he ever imagined. 

***

There were dim sounds, like speech–different people talking, with old and younger pitches. Nothing was clear yet, but they were familiar sounds. Some sounded worried, others uncertain. His body felt like it was levitating like in a street magic show. Blood rushed down his face, and his skin started to hurt. What was this? Was this a new Path that he somehow joined?

Wait–there was light, light ahead…and some dark shape at the end of it…

Jean slowly opened his eyes. Mikasa smiled in relief. “Thank goodness,” she whispered. She held up a white cloth and dabbed at his warm face. Jean signed as the memories came back of the torture and pain, but she was safe. She was alive. It wasn’t a dream, he knew. 

Suddenly, their three children’s faces popped into his sight. “Dada!” they cheered. 

“Children, shush,” said Mikasa. “You promised that you would keep your voice down when he woke up.”

Sasha climbed as much as she could onto the bed and kissed Jean’s cheek. “We were worried, Dada,” she said. “Then Uncle Armin and Uncle Connie came to the farm after two days–we were very good–and they didn’t say what happened.”

Eren pulled Sasha off the bed by her waist and ignored her complaints. “They just said that you were hurt,” he said, “so Aunt Annie made sure we all got to come here.”

Mikasa picked up Marco, whom she bounced on her lap. “The doctor readjusted your joints, but you will still be sore for up to a week, he thinks,” she said.

Jean sighed. The soreness he could deal with, but the broken bones were his main problem. Did the doctor offer to lend them a wheelchair so that he didn’t have to hurt his feet anymore with crutches or have to stay in bed while he healed? He looked around and saw that they were in his bedroom, having taken him home right from the hospital. How long was he unconscious?

Then the door opened, and Connie led the Arlets into the room. Baby Arlet sucked her thumb in Annie’s arms, but her older brothers flung their arms over the foot of the bed. “Uncle Jean, guess what he did?” whispered Leonhart, who waved a piece of paper. 

“We made you a card,” hissed his older brother, who bounced on his feet. “We hope you get well soon and can go outside with us for picnics in the park.”

“Thank you, boys,” said Jean. 

Eventually, Mikasa sent her children into the kitchen to surprise Dada with a special dinner, and then asked Connie and the Arlets to please supervise so no fights would break out over something silly. Her friends ushered the Arlet boys out of the room, leaving her alone with her husband. She helped him sit up, removed the loose tunic as gently as she could, and pulled from behind him a bowl full of water and a blue cloth. 

Jean smirked. “Is this really why you asked the children to surprise us with dinner–to get a good look?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “I can see it every night, when the children go to bed, and I would never tire of it.” She wiped down his arms and collarbone, cleaned the cloth, and focused on his midsection. He watched his wife’s delicate arm move over his skin in small circles. She shifted behind him only to wipe his bare back and the back of his neck. He heard her set aside the bowl and felt her soft lips on his shoulder blade. Her kiss on the back of his neck was harder, as were the pecks going down his backbone. 

“You know that you can cry if you need to,” he reminded her. He knew her long enough that he knew when she had the urge. 

“Not until the children go to bed,” she whispered. After she kissed both halves of his wide, muscular chest, she moved on to each tied joint and then his lips. She carefully separated her legs over his lap, careful not to touch his aching hips, and held his face in both hands so that he wouldn’t stop kissing her. 

Jean wished that his elbows and shoulders were not dislocated because he desperately wanted to pull his wife closer to him in his arms and tug on her long hair. The kissing did not last as long as he would have wanted; she broke away after hearing two knocks on the door, followed by, “Dada! Can we come on? We have dinner ready!”

Eren, Sasha, and Marco together cooked for Dada an omelet with potato chunks rather than rice, diced zucchini with sauce that Dada liked, and a chicken thigh. It smelled quite appetizing. The three took turns feeding Dada, who was grateful that the Yeagerists didn’t dislocate his jaw, and made sure that he ate every bite, “including the gross potatoes,” Sasha added with her nose wrinkled. Mikasa did not send them back to wash the dishes until forty minutes after Dada finished eating, but Marco said that Connie and the Arlets were already at the sink so he, Sasha, and Eren could spend more time with their father. The next four hours flew by, and everyone wished Jean a good night and easy sleep.

Eren, Sasha, and Marco fell asleep around their father, but Mikasa was too tired and lazy to pick them up and move them into a different bed. She curled up to her husband’s chest and lured herself asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

It seemed so long ago that she dreamt of Eren and herself isolating themselves in a cabin to live out the remainder of his life. Looking back, she realized that she wasn’t that selfish; she just wanted to spend as much time with the one family member she had left and let him know how much she cared.

At this point, she instead dreamt that she had a terminal illness and had even less than four years of life left. Unlike what she would have wanted for her friend, she would have preferred to stay in the apartment. She would have had multiple gatherings with her fellow cadet graduates, tasted everything on the menu at Nicolo’s restaurant and listened to what he knew about food from different countries and cultures, researched her heritage with her children, made love to her husband like she could not believe, and opted to see more of the world. Then she would peacefully pass away with no one but her husband and three children at her side to remind her that she fought for and lived a great life.

When she woke up the next morning and looked at the family that she helped build, she assumed that her mother and father would have been proud of where she ended up and the life she created after losing everything at that point. 

The family spent the day flipping through Jean’s filled sketchbooks as far back as when he was newly married. The children were fascinated to see how much detail their father put into artwork that resembled photographs before more Eldians took to photography. Of course, their apartment had photographs of their growing family, but Sasha and her brothers already could not imagine a life without that technology, let alone to capture intimate moments of her parents admiring newborn Eren or Sasha herself kissing baby Marco’s cheek. Only after the three (reluctantly) went to sleep in a different room did the couple flip through some of the more private sketches, such as Mikasa nursing their babies and her various body parts two days before she gave birth to Eren, her hands over where the doctor said that the fetus’s feet and head were at that point.

Then she flipped back pages to a personal favorite, which turned out to be the morning after Sasha was conceived. Jean sketched his wife, under the blanket, holding up a camera to take a picture of her husband at the foot of their bed and sketching her as he saw her. She even clipped the photograph of Jean to the page as a reminder of the “simpler time” when they were experimenting with unfamiliar technologies that would definitely shape the following generations. Neither bothered to dress; they covered themselves with their shared blanket.

“An innocent time, it seemed like,” he thought out loud. 

“No,” she said with a smile. “It was just one step further into our lives together, as we were rebuilding.” She leaned her head against his arm and admired how he drew her fingers clutching the camera. “It’s something that you and I can look back on with fondness.”

When Jean turned his head to meet her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbow. “Do you remember how you used to say, ‘I’m not him’, ‘It’s not who I am’?” She took a deep breath and continued: “I…I am glad you are not. I was always happy that you are a different person.”

Jean blinked, stunned. Mikasa reached forward and stroked his cheek. “The love I felt for him was different. And…I always will love and miss him, but I realized…” She took a deep breath and swallowed. “The love I have for you, I could never have with him.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “Mika, understand this–I never wanted to be him anyway, because I knew that he had flaws that were not healthy for any of us in the Corps. You know what he planned to do, and you allowed yourself to admit that you disagreed with it. That is a brave thing.” He motioned for her to move her head to his face, and he kissed her cheek. “I probably would have stopped feeling anything for you but anger if you did not bother to fight back. I know that you’ll carry this feeling for the rest of your life, but think of it like this: If you never did make that decision to kill him and stop the massacre of thousands of more people, you would have spent the rest of your life and even your dying moments regretting it.”

That stopped her crying, and Jean was tired but wanted to continue. “You saved thousands of other lives, my love, just by you admitting that you couldn’t allow your love to continue like that. And…” As he smiled, tears filled his eyes. “Our children–our three babies–they would not exist.”

Mikasa wiped her face and nodded in agreement. “True,” she said, “and I hope that Sasha and the boys will learn that story one day, and learn something from it.”

“They will,” Jean promised. “I know they will. That’s why we visit the grave every year–so they learn something every time, about doing what’s right, and how to grow up: Move on, but don’t forget.”

“I know,” his wife smiled. “I love you.”

Jean echoed her and deeply kissed her. Then she lied on her side, cuddled up to him as best as she could, and repeated that mantra in her mind so she could one day tell the three people for whom her life was centered: Move on, but don’t forget. Move on, but don’t forget.

***

So many things happened, wonderful and terrible. Life truly went on, and more than fifty years had passed since she made that fateful decision to end her best friend’s life. Had he lived, he would indeed have been amazed with how unrecognizable their home was.

The couple led the way to the tree, followed by Sasha, Marco, and, on behalf of her absent husband, Eren’s wife, all of whom brought their children with them while Sasha’s and Marco’s spouses waited by the cars. 

Jean still supported her after she stepped off her wheelchair and towards her friend’s final resting place. True to his word, he loved her the older and grayer she became; true to her word, she felt just as attracted to him as when they pledged their lives together.

Mikasa still felt the same every time she saw the headstone. It was always nice to stand here and pay her respects to her childhood friend. At that point in her life, he had been her entire world; now, her entire world was right behind her but also preparing for her departure within the next few years or the next decade. This time, it was bittersweet to think that one day, she would join him, reunite with her own parents, and the fallen comrades. She just knew that everyone in her family would still come to the burial grounds, and she wouldn’t change that as long as they were still able to live long lives as she had.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #fanfiction #mikasa ackerman #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #mikasa x jean #jeankasa #armin arlert #annie leonhart #reiner braun #pieck finger #historia reiss #aruani #eren yeager #eren jaeger #sasha blouse #sasha braus #marco bodt #marco bott #jean x mikasa #the battle of heaven and earth #levi ackerman #aot #connie springer

[accidentalbi]

pinterest quotes that make me feel an indescribable itch in my brain

" Weird hill to die on, but at least you're dead. "

" In a fight, they're lethal. Around each other, they melt. "

" Two broken souls scarred with the wounds from their demons, playing a dangerous game of trust and love. "

" Have you ever seen the hell in someone's eyes and loved it anyway? "

" Breathe through the fear and walk through the fire. "

" I sat and sat. Something was wrong inside me. I felt it inside my stomach and I didn't know what to do. So I laid down on the floor. "

" I aim to be lionhearted, but my hands still shake and my voice isn't quite loud enough. "

" Every angel is terrifying. "

" I'm extremely devout, but nobody can figure out what I'm worshipping. "

" Evolution was a mistake. I want fangs. "

" The eighth deadly sin is actually being mean to me, but they keep that one a secret. "

" My house is haunted because I live here. "

" She has angel eyes, the devil's grin, and tattered wings. "

" I don't study, I consult the lore. "

" If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell. "

" Your movements are so cryptic and wraith-like. You've got, like, a precise and deadly energy. You seem unkillable. "

" The horrors may be beyond your comprehension, but I comprehend them perfectly. "

" This man can't be fixed. I can fuck him, though. Maybe that will calm him down. "

" Finally the demon is down and looking peaceful. "

" I'll fuck you eventually, relax. Let me be funny first. "

" I want him broken. I want him resentful and tired. I want him uncontrollable with anger and vengeance. I want him irreversibly unhinged. "

" Oldest daughters are some of the toughest men you'll ever meet. "

" Throw me to the wolves and I'll come back leading the pack. "

" I know she is unhinged, responsible for multiple atrocities, and a danger to herself and others. But have you ever considered that she is tiny, and sad, and I love her? "

" Hold the fuck up. I'm the fuck up. Hold me. "

" I wasn't born to be soft and quiet. I was born to make the world shake at my fingertips. "

" You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature. "

" Is this what I get for loving a god? "

" You're a little tragedy, aren't you? "

" You and I both know this ends in blood. "

" They made you into a weapon and told you to find peace. "

" Nobody smart plays fair. "

" Anything you can do, I can do bleeding. "

" You want battle? I'll give you war. "

" I saw magic in his eyes. Dirty, dark, beautiful magic. "

" You're a weapon, and weapons don't weep. "

" I fear no evil. The shadow is mine, and so is the valley. "

" What doesn't kill me better run. "

" I might be a sinner and I might be a saint. "

" Not a god's chosen, but a god's cursed. "

" Sir, that's my emotional support knife collection. "

" What, pray tell, the fuck. "

" We can simultaneously be human and monster. Both of those possibilities are in all of us. "

" Looking half a corpse and half a god. "

" Be the reason why the lights flicker when you enter a room. "

" I don't take orders. I barely take suggestions. "

" The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. "

" I like storms. They let me know that even the sky screams sometimes. "

" Are you praying again? How raw are your knees? How often will you repent? "

" The hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood. "

" Loyal to few, ruled by none. "

" If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together. "

" Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down. "

" I hate when people ask me what sign I am. Bitch, I'm a sign from god, start running. "

" His grin was always halfway a smile and halfway a threat. "

" The fastest way to a man's heart is by tearing a hole through his ribcage. "

" Crooked grins, sly hands, and one dangerous voice. "

" True evil is, above all things, seductive. "

" Bite the vampire first to establish dominance. "

" My immense self-hatred vs my delusional god complex. "

" I'm not in danger. I'm the danger. "

" Bare those teeth and snarl, baby. "

" This howl… isn't from a dog. "

" You want to play dirty? Fine. Let's play dirty. "

" Your hands are scarred from murder and yet I trust them completely. "

" You got a taste for blood when you were licking your own wounds. "

" Rome wasn't built in a day. But it burned in one. "

" I like to have powerful enemies. Makes me feel important. "

" How many centuries deep is your wound? "

" Just like the moon, half of my heart will always love the dark. "

" I don't think you're truly mean. You have sad eyes. "

" It is not Hell if you like the way it burns. "

" The sun watches what I do, but the moon knows all my secrets. "

" Yes, it's dangerous. That's why it's fun. "

" Fuck therapy, I'm becoming a knight. "

" Only a monster can deal with another monster. "

" Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word. "

" I could set this world on fire and call it rain. "

" I swing both ways. Violently. With a bat. Come get some, motherfuckers. "

" I suck at apologies, so unfuck you… or whatever. "

" Ah, there he is. That motherfucker. "

" I love you is a death sentence in my mouth. "

" It scares me sometimes, the emptiness I see in my eyes. "

" You walk a fine line between beautifully macabre and uncharacteristically psychotic. "

" He smelled of strawberries and depression. "

" Let's cause a little trouble. "

" Keep your head high and your middle finger higher. "

" Get in, loser, we're living past the end of our myth. "

" We sin as devils, we love as angels. "

" Like it's my fault my love language is acts of service and all I know how to do is kill. "

" I have learned that pleasing everyone is impossible, but pissing everyone off is easy and funny as hell. "

" Liking angels in an atheist kinda way. They're just pigeons to me. "

" Why the fuck am I not a slightly ominous forest entity that you only see out of the corner of your eye on a foggy day? "

" Maybe we can find out what the hell your problem is over dinner sometime. "

" Cute first date ideas -- hand to hand combat. "

" Third base is me telling you about my father. "

" Honey, I… bought us matching swords. "

" Family isn't who you're born with. It's who you die for. "

" RIP to everyone killed by the gods for their hubris, but I'm different. And better. Maybe even better than the gods. "

" I'm not really a househusband or a housewife, I'm more like a house beast. I'm in your walls, causing mysteries and stealing your things. "

#my memes

[atopvisenyashill]

some recs of my favorite fics

book canon fics

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting) by vixleonard

the original jonsa fic, if you haven’t read it yet you should. it’s from rickon’s pov, where his memories of ned and cat bleed into his memories of jon and sansa, who care for him now.

i’m the dog that ate your birthday cake by dwellingondreams

au where tyrion is the first born so joanna lives for a while. it’s a really interesting exploration of who joanna might have been, as well as what her impact could have been on tyrion.

you're my king and i'm your lionheart by plantagenet

jeyne & robb’s relationship from jeyne’s pov. it’s a great take on jeyne bc it gives her a spine without leaning too hard into the “quirky nurse” route that the show took. heartbreaking of course.

Four Women Who Were Jon Snow's Mother by Baamon5evr

bunch of short drabbles on "what if" situations where various women wind up mothering jon snow - lyanna, cat, elia, ashara. they're interesting character studies & tbh “what if jon snow was raised slightly differently” aus are my weakness

Agony by bubblewrapstargirl

au where theon is brought back to life with all his memories, right when he’s taken away from pike as a hostage. i fucking love this fic because it has so much throbb, theonsa, and theonjon and those are my weaknesesssas but it was abandoned so beware. it's worth the heart break though!!

game of thrones/house of the dragon canon fics

The King's Desire by exax3

the series but throbb are fucking. mostly show canon bc of the ages. made me want to kms but in a good way.

The Black Widow by Its_Rhaenin_Time

ongoing. kind of a tragicomic take on the dance, an au where alicent convinces the small council to put aegon aside as heir, wed aemond to rhaenyra, and install aemond as king as a way of protecting rhaenyra from being killed. it’s excellent and hilarious. technically more pro blacks, but it's not really anti anyone on team green except criston and the lannisters (the rhaenyra/aegon dynamic is sublime). focuses a lot on gender, sex, and cultural dynamics. currently my favorite fic actually, i'm obsessed with it.

The fire of our blood by katbux

ongoing. au where aegon ii reincarnates just as he’s crowned to try to redo the dance. surprised me by going the aegon/aemond/helaena route romance wise (which is the best route), and i like all the politicking in it. less “pro green” than it is “pro aegon, helaena, aemond, and daeron getting extensive therapy” & it’s kind of a mix between show & book canon. really delves into the "can they actually avoid the dance" question.

Breakbones and the Dragonrider by beneathawesternsky

romantic fic that started as an exploration of the rhaenyra/harwin relationship and morphed into an au where they wind up married. very cute, very romantic, love the supporting characters in it, and the way house strong is characterized as a northern house pre-harrenhal and all the “aegon’s vision” stuff in it.

#hater era over guys #getting on my soap box #fic recs #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #there's a couple i want to reread but i'm in the middle of them that i would consider 'best' #i have a few dead dove don’t eat ones that are also some of my favoritesssssssss but i didn’t include any of them bc. i’m not stupid aksjdj #all the hotd ones surprised me. i wasn’t expecting them to be as good as they are bc i was looking for something else. #and just opened that in a new tab bc i found that interesting. literally for all three aksjdj. love that for me.

[wiltingwoes]

The warlord fumbled with her digits as she slowly made her way down to the Hellpit, running a few stressed claws through her messy mane of crimson.

“ Fucking Hell’s Bells, why am I even this worked up…it is not like I have not been here before. Pull yourself together, Betty, you are a WARLORD OF HELL now. Act like one. “

They definitely had history together. If it weren’t for Throt’s alliance and influence, she would have never excelled in her craft of EXPERIMENTATION AND ELIXIR BREWING. If anything, his study opened up more opportunities for her in Hell now.

But it’s been YEARS — MANY YEARS SINCE SHE OFFICIALLY PERISHED ON THE SURFACE. There one day, gone the next, just like that. Thus was the CRUELTY OF DEATH. A part of her worried herself to no end that he had ENTIRELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT HER. After all, the Master Mutator was CONSTANTLY DECLINING MENTALLY JUST AS SHE WAS.

Stepping into the large arena, Betty felt the atmosphere SHIFT. The conversations some clan rats were having suddenly hushed, beady eyes squinting in familiar pandemonium — only to put two and two together and gasp, realizing the UNDEAD THING WAS NOT SO DEAD. The nosferatu surely has a reputation — both in appearance and BEASTLY VIOLENCE.

But those were of no concern to her anymore. Approaching the large rat at his table, fangs chewed into her bottom lip before quivering — and a timid voice spoke out,

“ …L-Lionheart. I — do you — …do you remember me? “

She prays the Gods will be nice to her just once.

@warhammer-fantasy-muses

#🐀 VERSE: OVERLORD OF WAR. 🐀 #warhammer fantasy muses #cries

[heliads]

Hi there! I really love your work, you are so talented and i wanted to send in a request for some time now so,could I possibly ask for a george weasley imagine?🥰

How about this: Reader (a slytherin) gets caught up in one of the pranks devised by the twins. Given the fact that they are dating George, an agreement was made where the reader doesn't become a victim of the serious pranks they play on slytherins. This time an accident happened and something of theirs got destroyed (anything you want-but with great emotional value). Reader is tired of always being supportive,patient and loving while not receiving the same amount of emotions from their peers back. Reader tells George they need a break. -sad, angst and hopefully a fluff ending cause I'm a sucker for happy endings🥺

Thank you so much and it's totally okay if you don't want to do it💛

yes yes yes i would never pass up a chance for angst

masterlist

You don’t know that you’ve ever seen your boyfriend look more suspicious in your life. The two of you are supposed to be having a normal study session in one of the louder corners of the library, but he’s long since left off even pretending to glance at his textbooks. Instead, he keeps frantically scribbling something on a scrap of parchment that’s already been jinxed so no one can read the words but him.

At last, you give up your Potions essay and crumple up an excess piece of parchment into a ball, lobbing it at your boyfriend for the pure joy of seeing it bounce off his coppery hair. George Weasley gasps in horror, although it does nothing to quiet your laugh.

“Rude, Y/N,” he says, hand clasped to his chest in the throes of mock betrayal, “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this. I thought we were supposed to have a nice afternoon together.”

“I thought so too,” you comment while shooting an obvious look towards the hidden scrap of parchment in front of George, “but you’ve been a little distracted. What’s that about?”

George considers the paper, then sighs melodramatically. “Alright, alright. Let’s just say that Fred and I have a little something planned for later tonight.”

You learn forward, feeling a familiar prick of excitement take its marks at your chest. George and Fred are notorious for their mad genius, something you’ve long since learned to appreciate in your time at Hogwarts. “Don’t tell me you’ve already got another prank lined up. We’ve barely recovered from the last one.”

George holds a teasing finger up to his lips. “Not a word, Y/N. It’s supposed to be a secret, you know.”

At your exasperated expression, he relents. “Perhaps we’re planning something after all. No one’s supposed to know about it, though.”

George lets his gaze stray towards the emerald lining of your robes, and you understand at once. “No telling anyone from my house, you mean?”

To say that it came as a surprise when George Weasley of all people started dating a Slytherin is an understatement. It practically caused a Gryffindor civil war until Fred had to talk to everyone and convince them it was alright. Yes, you’ve been a Slytherin since that Sorting Hat touched your head back in first year, and yes, you love George with every iota of the twisted, blackened heart everyone seems to think you have. No, those two facts don’t have to contradict each other.

You never planned on falling for George, but you’ve been plummeting to the depths of your crush for a while now. Truth be told, were it not for the long and proud Weasley tradition of being lionhearted and red-cloaked until the day they die, you wouldn’t be surprised if George himself might have been sorted into Slytherin. Perhaps there’s an alternate universe far from here where house ties don’t matter quite as much, and the Weasley Twins could be allowed to realize their full ambitious potential alongside your cunning counterparts.

This world, however, is daring enough as it is. George likes that you never try to silence a single one of his dreams, and you like that he’s willing to spill a thousand souls’ worth of ideas out to you every night. Loving him is living like you’ve never known it. Your house may set you up to win, but George makes you want the stakes to be even higher than before. You cannot have one or the other, you’ve always been raised to want a little more than the average saint.

That’s not to say that the fact that you’re a Slytherin and George is a pureblood Gryffindor hasn’t ever caused a clash. As much as you hate to admit it, Gryffindor and Slytherin will have it out for each other until the end of days. So, whenever George and Fred launch another one of their infamous pranks, the Slytherin students are usually the ones they target the most.

You’ve been trying to get George to change this, but it’s a slow and rocky hill to die on. You’ve argued a thousand times that it would be best if he could make sure his pranks impact all the Hogwarts houses equally, and he certainly has gotten better about that over time, but you don’t know that even your love is enough to truly make him change.

You’re safe, though. That was George’s primary clause. No matter the prank, he either tells you about it first or makes sure that you won’t be affected by a single spell. He’s not about to risk his relationship with you, even if he gets the perfect shot at your house. You’re perfectly fine with that, too. Why mess up your boots stepping over a battalion of hexes if you can avoid it?

Besides, no matter how much you’d rather spare your house a little of Gryffindor’s ire, you don’t want to let the pranks come in between you and George. Not once, not ever. That’s why you pretend not to see how Slytherin chafes every time the Weasley twins launch another magical crusade, and you always focus on the majesty of their creativity instead of anything else. It’s not hard to do, the pranks truly are impressive. You just wish you didn’t feel a knife splitting you from your house every time you look the other way.

Still, you’re happy with George. He makes you feel far more important than a pureblood’s history book. You’d be lying to say that some part of you hasn’t always wondered what it would be like to live the way he does, all snapping teeth through laughing grins and a thousand spells not even the most experienced wizards have thought to touch.

So, you don’t press George for details on his latest prank, and instead just smile knowingly to yourself. You’ll see the aftereffects of his shenanigans soon enough, and you’ve never had to worry about what happens. George keeps you safe, he always does. There is no reason to doubt that he would do anything else.

You bid your boyfriend goodbye soon enough, after gathering up your books and quills. He walks you to the very edge of the dungeons so he can talk with you for as long as possible. The stone walls are cold around here, so George kisses you before he goes, leaving you breathless and feeling far more fiery than you had a few seconds before. It is perfect.

Once inside the Slytherin common room, you take up a position by the fireplace with your other friends. They tease you accordingly about skipping out on them to spend time with George yet again, although there’s no malice behind their words. Your friends have long since accepted that George makes you happy, and that in turn makes them happy. That doesn’t spare you from playful accusations that your soul should be torn in half if you were to marry a Gryffindor, however.

A quiet evening slips into a quiet night, and you find yourself distracted from the conversation. Glancing around the Slytherin common room, you can’t help but feel a wave of comfort wash over you. This place is your home, after all, the mahogany carvings and fantastically embroidered green silk call your name as soothingly as a parent.

It is your contemplative study that permits you to be aware of the second the glass cracks. There is a massive bay of windows at the far end of the common room, it looks out into the Great Lake on campus. Every year, freshmen swear they can see mermaids curving through the depths, but right now you spot something even more shocking: hairline fractures weaving themselves across the surface of the glass sheets. Your brow furrows, and you’ve just opened your mouth to point out this anomaly to your friends when it all shatters.

Looking back, it isn’t as bad as you first thought. The entire window didn’t collapse, only pinprick holes in a specific pattern. What it seems like in the beginning, though, is a tidal wave that suddenly pours into the common room, and it’s hard to realize anything through the shrieks of students who have been suddenly drenched by gray-green water.

You’re on your feet in a matter of moments, joining the surge of Slytherins all scrambling to figure out something to do. The Prefects and older students walk towards the punctured windows, whipping out their wands and starting to murmur spells to stop the flood of water. You help them too, and soon enough the cracks have been sealed once more, although there’s still a pattern etched into the glass where the breaks had once been. It seems to be in the shape of a letter ‘W’ with a star on the right tip.

It makes you sick to your stomach, even as water continues to slosh against your ankles and shins. Someone’s starting to get rid of that, too, but it feels like all you can do is stare at the hair-thin etching. You know who did this, don’t you? He was talking to you about a new prank just an hour or so ago. You think you know what it is now.

A third-year shouts that the boys’ and girls’ dorms had the same thing happen to their windows, and you race up the stairs, going door by door to help stop most of the damage. You stop by your year’s dorm room soon enough, and feel your entire body ache with horror as you look at the aftermath of all that water.

It gets cold down here in the dungeons, so you’d had a quilt from home stretched out across your bed. It was a beautiful emerald green, made for you by your grandmother with the magic of generations of your family. It had been your favorite thing on this earth other than your wand, but it’s in ruins now. The once pristine stitches have grown waterlogged, the colors leaching away as you watch.

The quilt has been yours for quite a long time, and the water forces itself into every wound that time has dealt the fabric, shriveling and staining wherever it can. Perhaps if the seams hadn’t been quite so worn, if the cloth hadn’t received quite so much use, the water wouldn’t have been able to deal this much damage. If you hadn’t loved the quilt as deeply as you have, it might have survived.

You stare at it uncomprehendingly. There are no existing patterns to remake it, and the fabrics have long since stopped being produced. This was all you had, and it’s now gone. Your friends from your year appear in the doorway, and you watch them go through similar bouts of grief for books, photos, mementos that have now been too damaged by water to function properly anymore.

You swallow hard. “How do we fix all of this?”

One of your friends turns to look at you, and you shrink beneath the weight of her stare. “You tell me, Y/N. The one who did this was your boyfriend.”

That should cut, you think, and it does on some level, but you’re already feeling so betrayed and useless that you hardly feel the blood leave you. 

Instead, you shake your head. “Not for long.”

George Weasley looks surprised when you slam the dripping, wrecked mass of what had once been your grandmother’s quilt down onto the table in front of him. Word has not yet gotten out about the prank, the Slytherins always keep to themselves even through catastrophe, but George knows. His eyes have already started to color with guilt.

“What is this?” He asks, voice deceptively casual.

You look at him coolly. “You tell me. Does this look like your protection, your safety? Whatever happened to making sure I was never affected by your pranks?”

George’s eyes widen now that he’s had final confirmation that this is his fault. “Y/N– this wasn’t supposed to happen–”

Your voice is strong where his is not, deadly cold. “No, it wasn’t, was it? Yet it did. You already walked me down to the door of my common room today so you could scout out the place one last time before the prank started, I’m surprised you messed it up this badly. I mean, what did you even think was going to happen? You’d flood our dorms and we’d all laugh about it?”

George quails beneath the sheer fury in your gaze. “It wasn’t supposed to be that much, I swear. Only the common room. None of the personal possessions were supposed to be damaged.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Yeah, that might have happened. Only problem is that none of us can spare a single spell towards our own stuff because we’re trying to fix our own common room. I can’t believe you. Usually, you at least pretend your work is funny, but this? This is cruel. I want no part of this.”

George lurches to his feet, a look of dread in his eyes when he realizes what you mean. “Y/N, what are you saying?”

You scoff. “Merlin, do I have to spell everything out for you? I’m sick of this. Sick of feeling like I always have to pick you over my house. You want to dedicate your life to making all Slytherins miserable? Fine, but I’m a Slytherin too. I have spent months making sure that you’ll be able to have your pranks and me, that you’ll never feel the slightest bit of guilt for hurting my friends. I’m done with that. If you want to suddenly develop a conscience, you’ll have to do that without me holding your hand.”

George rears back. “Stop trying to make me a monster, Y/N. I’m not like that.”

“Oh, but I am, aren’t I?” You say. “I’m a Slytherin, and you’ll never be able to deal with that if it ever comes between you and your pranks. Tell you what, George, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Do what you will, but I’m not helping you anymore.”

You start to turn around, and George shouts desperately at your back. “So what now? You’re breaking up with me because of one prank?”

“No,” you proclaim with shoulders still raised, “I’m breaking up with you because of all of them. I want no more of this, George. I want no more of you.”

He doesn’t try to keep you back after that, and you walk away, ruined quilt in hand. The Slytherin common room is still trying to put itself back together, and you join the masses in casting spell after spell without another word. You can see your friends shooting each other stunned looks out of the corner of your eye, but they must be able to tell what you’ve done, because they stand by you without another word.

The friend who’d confronted you earlier holds out her hand for your quilt. “I’ve learned a few spells about repelling water in the last half hour,” she says, “Let me see what I can do.”

You hand the damaged wad of fabric over to her without another word. She smiles at you tentatively, and after a second, you smile back. Your house is your family, it always will be, and family has your back. That’s what George doesn’t get about why he can’t just separate you out from the other Slytherins: there is no them and you, just one great group of people. You’re not leaving them, but you are leaving him.

It takes a while to put the Slytherin common room back together. The teachers help out once they learn of what’s happened, and after a few days, you’d never know anything happened. The ‘W’ is gone from the windows, and all is back to normal.

All is normal, that is, except for you and George. You refuse to even look at him, and stalk past groups of Gryffindors without a backward glance, despite his numerous attempts to call out to you. You don’t think he realized how serious you were about leaving him. Perhaps even you didn’t know how serious you were, but you’re sticking to it now. He doesn’t get to disrespect you and your friends like that and still have you on his arm after the dust settles.

That isn’t to say that you don’t miss him, though. You’ll be in class and absentmindedly turn to him to share a joke you’ve just thought of, only to remember that he’s across the room and trying his best to not stare at you. You keep acting on autopilot, walking halfway to the library before you realize that he won’t be waiting for you anymore.

The school is far more lonely without him, even without the entirety of Slytherin House at your back. You have always been too greedy when it comes to life, you want your bright sunshine and rainbows without the storms, the top grades in a class without the hours put into studying. You want George without the Hogwarts house divisions, a universe in which you can pick and choose everything you have ever loved. Even with all your blind ambitions, that’s still too much for the world to give you.

Still, that isn’t to say that George hasn’t been trying just as hard as you to reroute fate. You’re walking back to your common room after class one day when he appears by your side, a slight hitch in his step the only sign that he isn’t totally confident to approach you after everything.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, voice a little too casual, “I’ve been wrong. Very wrong. Even before the prank.”

You shoot him a curious glance, but he keeps his gaze locked dead ahead. After a moment, he continues on.

“I can’t expect you to put up with me unfairly targeting your house. It’s not like you stop being a Slytherin when you’re with me, and I can’t treat you in that way. I want you to know that I’ve talked to Fred and we’re going to back off. Everyone gets hit or no one does. That’s how it should always have been.”

You nod carefully. “And what about the rest of your house? What do they say to that?”

“Well,” Fred says, something almost like a smile pricking at his lips, “My friend Lee Jordan said that I could join Slytherin myself if it meant I would stop moping about. Apparently, I’m really bringing down the vibe of the whole house.”

That makes you laugh, even though you try to silence the sound as soon as it comes out. You can see George’s stature shift once you do, relaxing imperceptibly.

“You were right, though. I never should have done any of that. It was too strong a prank. You don’t owe me your forgiveness, but I want you to know that I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry. That’s all.”

He starts to walk away, but you pick up your pace so you’re side by side again.

“I accept your apology,” you say, and George whips around to look at you at last.

“Really?” He asks, eyes alight with hope.

“Really,” you confirm. “I’ve missed you, George. All I needed to know is that you’d change, and you have. I never thought you would.”

“Neither did I,” George confesses, “but I realized that I’d do just about anything to get you back. Turns out it feels a lot better if I don’t lock myself up within all those house rivalries. There’s a lot less guilt.”

You smile. “See? What did I tell you?”

George laughs. “You were right as always. I’ll never dare to doubt you again.”

He’s grinning, though, and you are too.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @frenchgirlinlondon

#george weasley #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #weasley twins #weasley twins imagines #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins oneshot #harry potter george #harry potter george imagines #harry potter george x reader #harry potter george oneshot

[balladetto]

someone should ask link how he feels about creating that new timeline. he won't answer, but i will!

like. thinking about what happens when he successfully foils ganon's plans before the sacred realm can be opened, and what an execution, attempted or decreed or otherwise, might look like for a kid who just needed the guy to Stop. it's not what link wants, especially. especially. if and when the rest of the gerudo are involved? like where the hell do they go in tp??? at least ousted from their own land, and it's a terrible outcome for a people who shouldn't have had to take that path that haunts him more than he'd ever try to think about it if it actively happens while he's still there to witness it

but he's. just the messenger with laughably no sway on anyone that would have real say on this during a period where it would've mattered most. he just gave the king of hyrule fodder for something he hadn't realised would be an issue until it's too late; naive despite everything, or maybe just too hopeful

#* lionheart / study. #* intermission / ooc. #the answer is 'GUILTY' and 'doesn't like thinking about it if he can help it' #these feelings probably wouldn't fully burgeon until he gets older? like. when he can better understand the implications and nuances #and Consequences of what he did #and see going back to a new timeline =/= creating the new timeline so he's got #double the complicated feelings about this ultimate decision to leave the adult timeline behind #like he'd choose to go back every time. he can't help it. but if he could redo how he STOPS gan.ondorf from ever reaching the sacred realm #yeah. he'd go for that too :') #this is half copy and pasted from a conversation...but shhh once again only one person will get deja vu lfskdjlf #long tags cw

[talonslockau]

Fire and Ice - Chapter 43

Chapter 42 || Index || Chapter 44

It wasn't long until they heard rustling in the undergrowth nearby. "This way! I smell blood!" It was Sandstorm. Firepaw grit his teeth at the yowl. Sandstorm wasn't the most understanding cat in the Clan, as his first encounter with her had proved. Still, he patiently waited. 

Soon the patrol emerged, headed first by Sandstorm and then shortly after by Whitestorm. Whitestorm! He was easily the most level-headed cat in the Clan. If there was any cat that would listen to reason, it would be him. Behind him was Tinyfrost, Peppermask, and Lionheart; those that were the least injured in battle, he assumed. They were good for him, though. All would listen to reason, except Sandstorm, and even she could be convinced by her former mentor.

She studied the ground carefully. "There's a little here. Not much, though. No more than a cut." She paused and sniffed at the air. "Then…" She frowned and sniffed again. "That's strange. I smell-"

""Thunderclan." Firepaw chose that moment to step out, the Thunderclan patrol bristling angrily as he did so. He gestured for Graypaw to join him. "You smelled us."

"Firepaw? Graypaw?" Whitestorm stepped forward protectively. "What in Starclan's name are you doing here?"

"Bluestar sent us!" He spoke quickly, glancing at his friend. "She sent us to get help from the Shadowclan elders. Yellowfang was already there, making sure they were okay."

"I see!" The large white warrior mewed, his yellow eyes shining brightly. "Now I understand why Bluestar told us we might find a friend out here. So they're nearby?" 

"They are." The apprentice purred with a dip of his head. "They've promised to help us get Goldenflower's kits back at any cost."

"That's good to hear." The lead warrior looked around curiously. "I don't see where they could be hiding, though. Can they hear us?"

"Of course we can." Yellowfang rasped as she emerged from the peat they had been hiding in. "We're Shadowclan, you know. You're not supposed to see us… until it's too late." She gave the Thunderclanners a toothy grin as she spoke, exposing her broken fangs. As she did so, the other Shadowclan elders descended from the trees.

"I should have guessed." Whitestorm admitted with a dip of his head. "Very well, then. What do you know? How should we attack?" 

Nightpelt stepped forward, his dark fur largely untouched by the rain. "Brokenstar will know you are coming. He'll be expecting it. Likely, he's fortified his position within our camp."

"And the kits?"

"That we're unsure of." He admitted, glancing off over the marshy territory. "We think it most likely several of the queens and warriors have been assigned to watch over them. There will be no sneaking them away."

"And the queens allow this?" Whitestorm narrowed his eyes. "Surely they know how Goldenflower and Frostfur are suffering without their kits by their side."

The Shadowclanners shifted uncomfortably. "They do as Brokenstar orders. They have to, if they want to protect their own kits."

Peppermask snarled behind them. "That's sick. What kind of leader threatens kits to get his way?"

"A tyrant." Whitestorm replied, returning his gaze to Nightpelt. "So, sneaking in won't be an option. Neither will a full-out assault, from the sound of it." He considered their options thoughtfully. "What are your thoughts, then?"

"Brokenstar did not technically exile all of us." Cinderscar spoke up from behind his brother. "Only Yellowfang, Archtail, and Crowtalon. The rest of us were merely banished from camp, sent to catch our own prey and take care of ourselves rather than waste valuable resources."

"I see." Firepaw perked his ears forward curiously as the older toms spoke. "I sense you plan to use this somehow."

"We will pretend that we have captured Yellowfang." They all looked to the grumpy old healer, who looked less than amused with this plan. Still, she nodded, giving her approval to it. "We will announce that we have done so to prove that we are still loyal to Brokenstar, and that we can still be a part of his new, stronger Shadowclan."

"His ego knows no limits." Nightpelt added quickly. "He may even believe us. At the very least, he will come to claim his prize. Then we will strike and trap him. His warriors will defend him, but that is where you all come in."

"And what of his warriors?" Whitestorm asked with a frown. "We are strong, especially with these apprentices, but Shadowclan is stronger. How can we hope to beat them?"

"You will not meet as much resistance as you think." Yellowfang growled. "Many are still loyal to the code, and despise what Brokenstar is doing. They miss the old days of Raggedstar. Back when Shadowclan was feared for its cunning, not its depravity."

The large tom nodded sadly. "Those days were not so long ago. There is still a chance for them to return."

"That is why we seek your help." Nightpelt replied. "You will get your kits back, and we will get our Clan - our lives - back."

"Let's get going then." Sandstorm snapped impatiently. "The longer we wait, the more time they get to recover."

"Hmm. Impatient. I like her." Yellowfang grunted. "Come. We will take you to the Shadowclan camp."

The patrol traveled quickly, especially with the Shadowclanners leading the way. Firepaw was glad he didn't have to guess his way across the territory; it was obvious each Shadowclanner knew the land as well as their own paws. It wasn't long before they slowed to a walk in a purely pine forested region.

"Our camp is there." Yellowfang hissed at them, pointing out a cluster of fallen trees surrounded by a messy thorn thicket. "Hide in the peat patch over there until you hear battle cries. It will disguise your scent."

They all crowded in and waited. It was a little small, especially when all but Tinyfrost were warrior sized, but they did their best to hide despite it. 

"What if this is a trap?" Sandstorm hissed to her mentor. "They could be telling Brokenstar about the seven Thunderclanners just waiting to be attacked right outside their camp. What if they've been spying on us all along?"

"Spying on what? Tallpines?" Firepaw retorted, keeping his voice soft and quiet so it wouldn't carry into camp. "Only Yellowfang has seen any of our camp, and it wasn't by her choice."

"Hush." Whitestorm growled at both of them, keeping his eyes on the hollow entrance. The two ginger cats glared at each other, their eyes burning green, but they did as he asked.

Then wails erupted in camp, and they all sprang out of the bushes. They all scrambled through the tree hollow entrance, emerging in a clearing surrounded by thorn bushes not unlike Thunderclan's own camp. In the center were the elders, being pulled off of Brokenstar by large, vicious warriors that he recognized. All of them had been involved in both assaults on the Thunderclan camp.

Yet around the edges he also saw scrawny toms and several queens huddled against the thorns, eyes wide as they stared at the sudden intruders to their camp. He recognized a couple of them as having been part of the hunting patrol on Thunderclan territory, the ones that had vanished into thin air. All of them were unmoving as they watched, as though hoping they would be ignored if they sat still enough. 

 He would never have imagined such a pathetic-looking Clan, from Shadowclan's recent displays of strength. It seemed as though the Clan was separated into two halves; those loyal to Brokenstar, that did whatever he asked and got whatever they wanted, and those that suffered under the cold, unyielding might of the tabby tyrant.

Firepaw leaped at a thick-furred dark tom that was wrestling with Poolcloud, digging his claws into the tangled and matted fur. It wasn't until he bit down that he tore into the flesh, causing the rogue below him to screech in pain. He dragged his head back and forth, relishing the taste of blood before he finally let go. 

The tom whirled around, fur bristling angrily. He leaped towards Firepaw. He didn't get the chance to retaliate, however, as Graypaw slammed into him from another side. "Get out!" The other apprentice spat, digging in with his claws and chomping into the tom's shoulder. He yowled in agony, taking off for the entrance before either apprentice could stop him. 

Graypaw nodded quickly to Firepaw before leaping back into the fray to help his sister tangling with a brown tabby. Just as he was about to follow, he felt something small slam into his side.

It was a kitten, about four months old and easily half his size. The dappled gray kit was puffed out, spitting angrily at him as it lashed out with claws that were far too small to do any real damage to his thick fur. "I'm sorry, little one." He murmured, sheathing his claws and batting it away gently. "Try again at the Gathering in a few moons."

The kitten stumbled back, evidently shocked by the strength behind his relatively gentle swing. It glanced around, and after a moment backed away into a group of mollies - queens, if he had to guess.

He looked around. Whitestorm was wrestling with Spiderfoot, the two toms nearly an even match in size and strength. Lionheart and Sandstorm were teaming up against a brown tabby that was missing his tail. 

His eyes narrowed as he spotted Tinyfrost facing off against a large, brown tom covered in scars. Clawface, he remembered, from the first Shadowclan attack. He had nearly killed Firepaw and Sandstorm then. If what Yellowfang said was true, he had attacked Dewpaw and killed Spottedleaf. His ears flattened as he watched his mentor dodge out of the way of a heavy paw-slam. Now was his chance to get revenge.

Blood pounded in his ears as he leaped onto the tom's back. He dug his claws in as far as he could, his lip curling in a smile as the rogue below him screeched in pain. He reached out to bite into his spine, fangs bared, but before he could do so Tinyfrost slammed into the killer's side, knocking Firepaw off.

When he got up, Clawface had fled into the bushes and his mentor was watching him. "Warriors do not need to kill." The black tom warned his apprentice before darting off into the fray once more.

An angry scream rang out over camp. On the far side, Yellowfang had pinned Brokenstar down. This time, however, there were no loyal rogues to pull her off. Her broken fangs were bared in a snarl as she glared down at her former leader. Thunderclanners and Shadowclanners alike began to circle her as Brokenstar tried to free himself from her powerful grasp.

"I never thought you would be harder to kill than my father!" The dark, matted tom growled up at the healer with a vicious grin.

She recoiled as though a snake had bitten her. "You killed Raggedstar?" She yowled in shock.

"You found his body. Didn't you recognize my fur between his claws?" Brokenstar rolled onto his side and stood up, starting to circle her. She stared in horror as he did. "He was soft and weak. A foolish leader. He needed to die."

"You!" Yellowfang cried, backing up as he spoke. Then, regaining her senses, she arched her back and bristled her dark gray fur. "And what of Dawncloud's kits? Did they deserve to die too?"

"Those kits were weak." Brokenstar spat at her. "They would have died anyway. They were of no use to Shadowclan."

A light tabby queen wailed as he spoke, and Firepaw's heart lurched. How could any cat say that, let alone about kits? No wonder he had discarded Volepaw so easily.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance." He snarled at Yellowfang. "I must have some of my father's softness after all. I was a fool to let you leave Shadowclan alive!" He lunged with his teeth bared towards her, ready to sink his claws into the healer.

The dark gray molly was frozen in place. Gone was her desire to fight, taken by the horrible revelations of the depths of depravity her former leader was willing to go to. She didn't even blink as the matted tabby closed the distance between them. Someone had to help her.

Firepaw moved first, leaping forward to slam into the leader. The tabby landed heavily on his side, not expecting the intervention of another cat. As he scrambled to stand, he growled at the ginger apprentice. "Don't waste my time, apprentice. I have nine lives! Do you really think you can take all of them from me?" 

He shook his head in disbelief. He knew some older cats liked to use that saying, but surely this mangy rogue didn't believe in it? "I'm willing to bet you've already wasted eight of them." He snarled back, bushing up and staring him down.

For a moment, it seemed like Brokenstar was actually going to fight him, but then he took in his surroundings. His loyal code-breaking warriors had broken ranks and fled. Now all that remained were furious Thunderclanners and mistreated Shadowclanners, bent on getting revenge. "This isn't over." He spat at all of them, before finally backing away and vanishing into the bushes.

There was silence for several long moments. "What now? Do we go after them?" Firepaw asked, looking to Yellowfang or Whitestorm for answers.

"Let them run." Nightpelt stepped forward, his eyes dark as he gazed across his old camp, ruined by the battle. "They know they are not welcome here. And if they dare to come back, Shadowclan will be ready to face them."

He looked over the Shadowclanners. They were almost skeletal, as though they hadn't eaten in moons. Around camp, the stench of crowfood hit him. He remembered what Featherstorm had said; Spiderfoot hadn't bothered to teach his apprentice any hunting techniques. The Clan had always been at war, with no time for hunting or caring for each other. Perhaps they really hadn't eaten in moons, a thought that made his own stomach churn.

"The kits!" His head snapped up as he heard Graypaw's cry. From what he gathered was the nursery, five kits rushed out, crowding around the dark gray tabby. All of the Thunderclanners padded over to look at them.

"Thank Starclan they're alright." Peppermask purred, nosing over each of them. They gazed up at the Thunderclan patrol with wide eyes that were beginning to change color.  "But Cedarkit has a bad scratch on his shoulder. That must have been what Sandstorm smelled when we were coming here. It's not been treated, either." 

He sniffed at the group, finding the tom she was talking about, a small dark ginger kit that was colored a bit similarly to him. "Do you think he can wait until we get to Dewpaw, or-"

"Let me see." Firepaw moved back as Yellowfang shouldered her way through. She peered at it for a few moments before looking over her shoulder. "Wetnose! Marigold and cobwebs!"

As if on cue, a small gray tom limped up, his white paw covered in cobwebs and several golden flowers dangling from his mouth. He dropped them respectfully in front of her, allowing her to apply them before smoothing over the wound with several layers of cobwebs.

"He'll be alright for the return journey. I'll treat him better when we're back at camp." Yellowfang's voice was hollow. Even though she was talking to them, he could tell her mind was still focused on what Brokenstar had said.

"Back at camp?" Firepaw questioned. "You're not staying here?"

The healer gazed out over her birthplace. "A season ago, I would have." She admitted. "But I cannot stay. Not after everything that has happened." She let out a bitter sigh as she turned her attention back to the kits. "Besides, Thunderclan has no healer now. Someone will need to train Dewpaw."

Whitestorm nodded. "Thunderclan will be glad to have you." He purred to the old molly. "I'm sure Bluestar will have no problem with it."

Nightpelt approached the Thunderclan crowd. "You have helped Shadowclan in their darkest time, and for that we are grateful. Brokentail and his rogues will never darken the territories of the other Clans again." He dipped his head respectfully to each of them, even the apprentices. "But it is time you returned your kits home. I promise that your hunting grounds will be free of Shadowclan, so long as we can find food in our own territory."

"Thank you, Nightpelt." Whitestorm stepped forward, his voice warm as he spoke. "Hunt in peace for one moon. Thunderclan knows you need time to rebuild after Brokentail's savage attacks."

Firepaw didn't miss the significance of the exchange. It seemed they had rejected the leader and his connection with Starclan. He couldn't blame them, after all Brokentail had done.

With a sweep of his tail, Whitestorm signaled the patrol to leave. Each picked up a kit, except for Firepaw, Yellowfang and Whitestorm, and began the long journey back to camp. At last, it seemed there would be peace in the forest, at least for a short while.

#talonslock #warrior cats #wc #fanfic #the prophecies begin #talonslock story #fire and ice #thunderclan #shadowclan #firepaw #graypaw #sandstorm #whitestorm #tinyfrost #peppermask #lionheart #yellowfang #nightpelt #cinderscar #spiderfoot #clawface #brokenstar #dawncloud #cedarkit #wetnose

[gabriel-landeskog]

hello! if you don't mind answering, what are your favourite hockey rpf fics of all time or favourite leafs rpf fics of all time?

oh baby okay i got you!!! i had to narrow these down from a long ass list and yet i still got a little carried away lol. i'll start out with my favorite leafs fics and then i'll throw in some of my favorite fics of all time in general. under the cut!!!

leafs fic:

parentheses all clicking shut by theundiagnosable: i literally am of the belief that this is The Best leafs fic of all time. i think about this fic every single day. it's an android au and jt character study with background relationships and literally everything about it is perfect. no notes.

safe as houses by theundiagnosable: you know what i would recommend everything written by theundiagnosable. this is a mitch/aus spy au. incredible levels of angst and lore. another fic i've thought about every day since i read it

once in twenty lifetimes by coastalhighway: i love a rarepair. jt/mo. another jt charactery study-type fic (can you tell i love jt character studies lol) with added fantasy elements (magic, werewolves, vampires, etc you know). really really fantastic read, and i love the tknp fic that's part of the series too!

other fic:

avs fic (gabe/tyson) -

red lights i'll run (what i got you need it) by Japery: my #1 gabe/tyson fic, with jt compher/tyson jost included too!

till human voices wake us by oflights: gabe is a mermaid au. literally obsessed with this fic and i wish there was a sequel so bad you don't understand

pens fic (sid/geno) -

King and Lionheart by thehoyden: yeah this is the most kudo-ed hockey rpf fic so maybe this is a cop out to put on a rec list but whatever this is Thee sid/geno fic of all time prove me wrong

Once Upon A Dream by omelet: geno is a zookeeper who takes care of penguins. literally what could be cuter

Catch a Glimpse of Gold Through His Skin by reginalds: geno teacher au! this fic is just so sweet and i re-read it all the time as a feel good

assorted fic -

My Unicycle Has One Wheel by McSpot: i literally tell everyone i know about brock boeser/elias pettersson wiggles fic. listen i truly believe that if you have not read this fic you have not lived

collide the spaces that divide us by bropunzeling: matthew tkachuk/leon draisaitl soulbond fic. if you're looking for a knock your socks off good mattdrai long fic this is IT trust me on this.

if you can keep up by Springsteen: nolan patrick/travis konecny olympics au where nolan is a figure skater and i am literally obsessed with this concept

that's all for now! if you've got fic rec requests for specific pairings let me know, bc i got a lot more where these came from. also gonna take this time to plug by own fics hehehe find me on ao3 @ canoodles!

#ask #anonymous #hockey rpf #hockey rpf recs #thanks for asking this i love sending people recs lol

[oneidiotwithasword]

finished my sixth house drawing!!! lyrics are from ‘king and lionheart’ by of monsters and men

this is the first piece i’ve finished in over three years so i’m hella proud. it’s messy and there’s def things i wanna improve on but it’s something!

i think i’m gonna do some anatomy studies before making some more tlt art based on my playlists. here’s the links to them:

#the locked tomb #camilla hect #tlt #campal #palamedes sextus #tlt fanart #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #Spotify #my art

[angevinyaoiz]

Hiii, I'm a newbie :') Could you recommend me books and documentaries about Richard and Philip, and that period in general (12th century)? I read somewhere that a new book about their relationship came out recently. Thank you <3

Hi! Thanks for asking. Its funny since I still think of myself as a "newbie" in a lot of ways since I just got into this whole mess of 12th Century England/France drama probably around like last December, so there are definitely lots of people who know more (ppl, feel free to suggest anything if I haven't mentioned it)

To my knowledge there aren't any specific books or sources that are just about their interactions (aside from That One Recent Fiction book that is. Well that's it's OWN thing lmao) but since the family affairs of the Angevin-Plantagenets and the French kings were very closely entwined with the rest of the family and various other parties, there's lots of overlap.

I personally love it because on one hand it's Free Soap Opera Entertainment, and on the other, a look at a time and environment that is very fascinating and extremely different than the time we live in now. Here I've listed the different books and video I've gotten around to, my thoughts on them, as well as some of my thoughts on uhhhh historical RPF shipping in general:

Books:

The Plantagenets by Dan Jones - An overview of the dynasty overall. A good general read, and available as audiobook! Should be available in most libraries. I haven't finished it since I've only read up to the reign of Henry III, but it presents the overall timeline in an entertaining and straightforward way, with a lot of general context and room for showing the colorful personalities of these Messy Bitches

Henry the Young King by Matthew Strickland - this is probably my FAVORITE of the books I've read so far! Sadly out of print, but it's available to borrow on The Internet Archive, and copies can be found pretty easily on eBay :) It focuses on Henry II's original heir, the titular Henry the Young King, eldest of his son who was co-crowned with him, rebelled against him, fought against Richard in Aquitaine, and died early. It goes into a study of his person and role in the politics of the day, how kingship and war were viewed in the 12th century and a lot about the weird lord/vassal relationship between the French and English Kings that made up the bulk of the conflict and drama. Very long and comprehensive, but very readable. I came away with a much better understanding of everything from this book especially.

Richard the Lionheart: King and Knight by Jean Flori. Flori has a very entertaining writing style that somehow is very funny to me when he's talking about the interpersonal dramas, especially with Philip during and after the crusades. The first half is a biography, the latter half of the book is devoted to exploring the concept of chivalry and how it developed, and also exploring subjects of Richard's legend and image

He has many amusing but overall respectful beefs with fellow historian John Gillingham's scholarship throughout, especially in regards to the much debated subject of his sexuality.

Richard I by John Gillingham - haven't finished this one yet but enjoying what I've read so far. Gil is more detailed in some aspects, which is pretty fun. Apparently he has a reputation (from Flori) for being a bit too much of a Richard fanboy which I haven't come across yet but he is informative, including accounts from Muslim historians during the Third crusade.

I haven't read as much specific media/biographies about Philip and the Capetians, and thus all my media is very Plantagenet-biased. there is an educational graphic novel in French that looks interesting but I don't have access to it (and also I don't speak French but. Ah well). For my purposes however since the role of Louis Vii and Philip II are very entwined with the story of the Angevins we do get a pretty decent look into people's personalities, decisions and behaviors, and how they viewed loyalty and kingship in a lot of the books above.

VIDEOS

"Britain's Bloodiest Dynasty" timeline documentary centering about King Henry and his drama with Becket and his sons and hosted by Dan Jones (who also wrote The Plantagenets, which I listed in the books section) It's a pretty fun and understandable intro, even if the overly dramatic faux Game of Thrones reenactment is really corny and also hard to see because the lighting is SO dim. It's a little oversimplified and focuses a bit too much on analyzing Henry's Personality as the source of his Issues rather than maybe looking at a wider picture, but it's fun and very beginner friendly.

Confessions de l'histoire - french web series in a reality show "confessional" style about historical figures, there's a video on the 2nd crusade (focuses on Eleanor of Aquitaine and Louis VII's relationship), and one on the 3rd crusade (with Richard and Philip) It's very comedic focused but from what I've watched includes a LOT of detail. It scratches my itch for that goofy edutainment but good quality.

Secrets de Histoire - Alienor d'Aquitaine - this one is also french only but documentary focusing on Eleanor's life . It also has very goofy Reenactors in it with one of the worst wigs I've ever seen, as well as reusing footage from the earlier documentary and other movies loool

"The Place of Battle in the Context of Civil War c. 1100-1217" Lecture by Matthew Strickland about how people viewed (or avoided) Battles specifically in the context of civil wars and dynastic contexts. - I love watching lectures by the authors of books ive read, and this one is both very watchable and provides some great context!

On Shipping

My approach to my yaoi delusions (both in general fiction and in perceptions of historical people) is mostly that i am less concerned about "was XYZ queer FOR REAL," since while I do find serious discussions of historical queer history etc very interesting, a lot of this is more separately blasting my problematic sicko radioactive beam of perception in any direction lol. I like seeing characters who are tied up in a web of context (especially familial/dynastic context) and I love knowing familial-cultural background since it gives me a lot of fun material to work with for characterization. Learning more details the better for me, since a lot of the reality is stranger and more fortuitous than fiction , and thats what makes the characters unique, having so many angles to them. But also in the end, it really is all a delusion informed by my very 21st century fujo inventor taste, and I like keeping that in mind, as a sort of separate category from being informative haha. I could write about my headcanons and how I make things interact with the fictional portrayals, as well as thoughts on eh various problematicisms. But this has gone on long enough. Those are posts for another day...That being said I'm weak for both serious drama behavior and really silly drama behavior and the way people come across in these books especially lend itself well to both .

Hope this was somewhat helpful! I enjoyed reading a lot of this a lot, it's a fascinating subject, thanks for giving me a chance to ramble about it.

#12th century #Medieval history #Historical RPF #Historical #Resources #The Plantagenets #Capetians #Asks #Long post. Like really long #richilippe #shipping #angevin