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marvelsswansong · 2 years

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Would you write a Steve Harrington request where he’s dating Dustin’s sister since after the snow ball dance who’s away at college but she surprises him (and Dustin) by coming home for a long weekend cause she misses them? I also feel like Dustin would accidentally crash their reunion but that’s up to you

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓𝟎/𝟓𝟎 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞

☆ word count: 2.3K+ ☆

tags: Steve x Henderson!fem!reader, step!Henderson reader though, Steve being a horny and protective bf, Robin being a good best friend, Dustin vs Steve for your attention lmao, slight smut, pure fluff, oneshot

-> a/n: I made it step!Henderson to make it as POC!friendly as possible (but if y'all want to read it as adopted!Henderson too, you can, I just know that isn't everyone's cup of tea)

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

"You need to stop scowling." Robin chastises her best friend, slapping him across the shoulder with a spare VHS tape. Steve scowls at the harsh impact, clutching the bruised area with his left hand before shooting the brunette a glare. Not that it matters - his expression, the entire day, has been shifting between complete disinterest and boredom to pure annoyance and hatred (with a scary glare to match).

"I am not scowling." he attempts to argue, his tone not even convincing to himself. Robin laughs out loud at that, flailing her arms around and gesturing to the whole store (which is, despite being a Friday night, remarkably empty).

"Please, Steve, look around! You've been scaring off customers the whole day! I literally had to run out of the store ten minutes ago to console a young child so his batshit crazy mom didn't threaten to press charges."

Steve's not even fully listening to her, hands preoccupied with flipping through the edges of a film magazine, occasionally pausing to dog ear the pages. His gaze flickers to the telephone every so often, silently willing the damn cream colored device to ring and for him to pick up to hear your voice on the other side.

"This is about Henderson, isn't it?" she suddenly questions, voice dropping to a sympathetic tone as she shifts next to him. Knees touching as she jumps up on the counter, she grabs Steve's attention by closing the magazine shut for him. Steve looks up lazily up to her peering gaze, face neutral and bored.

"I saw Dustin a few hours ago, I drove him and his friends to the arcade." is his automatic response, to which Robin only rolls her eyes.

"Not that Henderson. I mean the other Henderson."

"Oh."

Denial is on the tip of his tongue, but the lightest flush of rose pink dusting his cheeks as well as the lack of smart quips from his mouth gives him away. His mind instantly conjures up his last memory of you - mid-laughter, Hawkins sun glittering in your hairline as you tug him towards the edge of the lake. It makes a fond smile to slowly spread across his lips, the final nail in the coffin.

"So it is her." Robin confirms, knowing smirk on her face. "I miss her too, jackass. But you gotta stop taking it out on innocent customers."

Letting out a slow sigh, Steve nods in agreement, head hanging low.

"I know, I know. I just... this whole distance thing is really killing me." he pauses, frowning as he looks back up. "I miss her so goddamn much, you know? And I'm so proud of her for being in university and chasing her dreams and it's not even like she's that far away - at least she's still in the country - but any space more than across the street feels like she's in another universe from me."

Robin hums in sympathy, fingers curling around a spare diet coke can before taking a light sip.

"I get that. But thank god (Y/n)'s in university, god knows at least one person in the marriage has to have brains."

Steve smirks at that, low chuckle escaping his chapped lips which he quickly wets with his tongue.

"You really think we'd get married?" he questions, hopeful.

The fond smile on his face is mirrored on Robin's, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"Definitely. You two are going to the be most cliche, loving and disgustingly cute married couple in the whole of Indiana."

The compliment and the accompanying fantasy that appears in his mind - white picket fence, six kids, maybe even a dog to chase the kids around on a hot summer day by the front lawns- makes warmth blossom across his chest, a pleasant burn registering in his stomach.

"Thanks." is all Steve can offer up in response, the tension from his shoulders starting to slowly dissipate. Robin nods quietly, tapping a hand on his shoulder in a soothing manner.

"I think you've been working too hard to distract yourself, anyways. Why don't you clock out early?"

"Y-you sure?"

The brunette rolls her eyes at that, as if it is obvious.

"This place is basically deserted. There's only an hour and a half left before we close. Go home, Steve. Get some sleep. Have some comfort food. Whatever you need to do."

"You're the best." he rushes out saying, throwing down his uniform vest onto a spare chair before slinging his bag over his shoulder and running out of Family Video.

Steve's never been more happy to see the outline of his house in the horizon, knowing that there's leftover mac and cheese in the fridge and an unwatched tape holding the re-run of Golden Girls waiting for him in the living room. Bonus: his parents are out of town, meaning he can stay up late, be as loud as he wants, and fall asleep on the couch with no consequences.

But there's a single yellow light on in his kitchen, the sight of which immediately alerts him. His parents wouldn't be back from Iowa for another couple of days and Robin - the only other person in Hawkins with keys to his house - is back in Family Video, so...

His mind goes to the worst case scenario on instinct. Left hand curling around a spare baseball bat he keeps in the trunk of his car (though this one lacks the menacing metal spikes), he decides to cautiously approach his front porch, pushing open the door slowly.

No signs of forced entry. No broken glass, the door handle hasn't been tampered with, and from the entryway nothing looks out of place. The entire house is dark save for the yellow glow emitting from the kitchen, his footsteps muted as he creeps up toward the source of light. Hands clenched by his side, a tight breath stuck in his chest, he's ready to strike whoever the intruder is until-

He sees your unmistakable figure humming a Whitney Houston song in one of Steve's oversized sweaters and fuzzy lemon socks, stirring a caramel brown batter of something that smells awfully sweet with a wooden spatula. His mind takes a few seconds to catch up with him - is he hallucinating, he wonders - and his weapon slips out of his hand involuntarily, the metal clang on the wooden floor startling both you and him.

"Jesus christ, Stevie. Did you think I was a burglar?" you tease, leaning against the counter, batter-dripping spoon pointing at the discarded bat on the floor. He just blinks at you in response, deer in headlights, body tense in complete shock. The sight is endlessly amusing to you, making you chuckle and shake your head sideways.

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me." you pout mockingly, placing your hands on your hips, brownie batter long forgotten in the counter behind you. That seems to awaken something in your boyfriend, who rushes to you with immense force and speed, trapping you against the counter with his toned body, lips on yours in an instant.

Smiling into the kiss, you welcome how his pink lips mould themselves against yours, slight bitter aftertaste of beer and the odd sweetness of your peach chapstick mixing on the tip of your tongue. Your skin feels like it's on fire with the fervor and passion with which he's choosing to kiss you, desperate hands already tugging at the lapels of your sweater, fingers traveling up and down the bare skin of your torso.

"E-easy tiger." you have to remind him breathlessly, pointing to the turned on oven.

"Later." is all he can get out before smashing his mouth back onto yours, spinning you around before backing you up into his sofa until you fall onto the comfortable cushions with a squeal. He only smirks at that, muscular body towering over yours as his lips begin to trail down your neck, marking the territory as his.

"Fuck, I missed you so much." he whispers into the nape of your neck, dark bruise already blossoming in the spot. You'd protest but he's feral and there's that dark and hungry look in his irises that make your legs ache in anticipation.

"I-I missed you too-" you begin to breathe out, voice coming out whiny.

"STEVE!"

The sound of your little brother's voice startles both of you, both in terms of the sudden volume and the hilarity in his tone, making you sit up so fast that you practically shove your poor boyfriend onto the floor at the action. Your alert eyes meet his panicked ones and Steve messily attempts to pull himself together - smoothing over his hair which had your fingers tugging at the roots of seconds ago, re-buttoning his jeans - before pulling the door open.

Dustin finally stops knocking (no, banging) against the door when it swings open with a clearly agitated and flustered Steve behind it, the angry expression on the older boy's face causing the smile on Dustin's to falter slightly.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" the curly haired boy prods. "I come bearing great news."

Steve rolls his eyes at that, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. When he does so, he leaves enough of a gap for Dustin to look straight into the living room, where you're sitting upright on the sofa and waving at Dustin with a small smile.

"HOLY SHIT-"

Dustin pummels straight through Steve, not even bothering to take his shoes off before running towards you and enveloping you in a tight hug. You stumble backwards at the fierce embrace before hugging him back, hands affectionately rubbing his hair.

"Hiya, Dusty."

"I thought you weren't coming back for another month and a half." he mumbles into your chest, still holding on to you as if you'll disappear the moment he lets go of you. Steve scowls, mumbling complaints under his breath as he closes his front door shut and trods back up to you and Dustin on the couch.

"You're hogging her, little Henderson." your boyfriend complains, left leg sticking out to lightly kick at Dustin's. Dustin only shoots him a sharp glare at that, before going to back to hugging you, the childish exchange eliciting a soft laugh from your throat.

"Me hogging her? Yeah right. The month before (Y/n) left for university, you wouldn't let her leave your sights for more than two minutes tops."

This argument tugs at your heartstrings, fond smile appearing on your lips as you watch your favorite two boys bicker amongst themselves. It's reminiscent of countless arguments you've been a witness to - whilst sitting in the front seat of Steve's BMW, on a date at the cinemas or leaning against an arcade machine mid game - where your boyfriend and your younger brother battle for your attention and time.

"There's enough of me to go around, boys." you have to remind them, patting Dustin's head so he releases you from his hold. The boy's eyes light up in excitement at that.

"If you're here, does that mean you're making your famous "I'm back home" brownies-" his eyes sparkle with so much joy and eagerness that it makes even Steve's annoyed facade to slip up, whilst you chuckle.

"Duh. I was just stirring the batter but you can help pour in the caramel and decorate it at the end, okay?"

"Okay!"

The young boy almost slips on the floor with the speed with which he runs to the kitchen, peering into the half-mixed bowl of batter before beginning to scramble through the cupboards looking for the baking tray. Steve takes your brother's momentary absence as an in to go back to hugging you, strong arms encasing you against his body.

"I can't believe we just got cockblocked by your brother." he groans into the valley of your neck, causing you to lightly smack his upper arms.

"Be nice, Steve. He has every right to be as excited to see me as you. Besides..." you pause, twisting around to stare at him knowingly. "Are you that surprised? I can't even begin to count the amount of times we were about to have fun and little genius boy interrupted us."

Steve's chest reverberates with a chuckle, the sound melodic and deep. His hair tickles against your skin as he nods slowly, hands circling around your waist.

"Alright, fine. But I was really looking forward to having you just to myself."

"Oi Harrington, 60/40 rule, remember!" Dustin yells from the kitchen, pointing a fork threateningly at the man hugging you. Steve rolls his eyes at that, scowling.

"It's the 50/50 rule and you know that, little Henderson." he retorts, reminding your sibling of the infamous rule you've created (in order to prevent the two boys from ripping in to each other constantly) that dictates that your time will be divided evenly, 50/50, between them. Dustin only sticks out his tongue in response, mocking the older boy.

"It should be the 60/40 rule, I was here first before you, lover boy."

"Why you little shit-"

Steve steps out of your grasp before rushing towards Dustin, whose eyes widen in alarm before he throws down the kitchen utensils and begins to run around the living room. The two of them chase each other in circles before you step in, arms outstretched to forcibly put in distance between them.

"Alright, relax. Steve can set up a movie on the couch whilst Dustin helps me finish the batter. Then while that bakes, we can all watch a movie on the sofa before we decorate all the brownies when they're done. Deal?" you raise your eyebrows, voice final and glare sharp. It makes both of them nod immediately, eyes drawn downwards in compliance.

"Yes." they both respond at the same time. You smile.

"Great."

The boys wait patiently for you to disappear into the kitchen before turning to each other, a mischievous smirk on Dustin's face and a narrowing glare on Steve's.

"60/40." Dustin whispers, goading Steve.

"I will end you, little Henderson."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #steve harrington #1k #2k #3k

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 1 year

Text

The Phoenix and the Crow

pairing: (future) kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: nutural

el's thoughts: this was by far my favorite request ever haha submitted by @rachelcarroll1819 *mwah* love you for this, thank you! this is part one and there's a sneak peak at part two at the bottom! this is following the show plot line (season one). also this one is kinda short... but i couldn't find a proper place to cut it off soooo... sorry. i hope y'all like it

masterlist

In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix must first burn. That’s what Y/N reminded herself over and over again. It’s just a stage of life, it’ll get better and you’ll always come back stronger. She scoffed, “Some phoenix.” Aren’t the birds supposed to be powerful, elegant, and brave? Then why was she running away? Out of fear?

Yes.

Alina grunted when she tripped on a tree root and fell to her knee. “C’mon, darling, we have to keep going.” Y/N helped her up with a quiet sigh and quickly checked behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed. The sun summoner nodded and kept walking behind her mentor figure.

Alina was extremely grateful for the grisha who took her under her wing when she first arrived at the little palace. Teaching her the ways of grisha and helping her adjust any way she could. Saving her a seat at meals to spare her from the embarrassment of standing at the front, searching for a seat. Within the last few weeks Y/N became like an older sister, even if there was only a few years age gap between the two.

“We’re almost at the docs, then we’ll be out of here.”

The moment Y/N realized what the Darkling had planned for Alina she was planning her own escape. She knew she needed to get the sun summoner out of the little palace as fast as possible in order to stop the nightmare-ish horrors that were in store for their country.

The rustling of leaves were heard behind the pair causing them to stop and turn around, arms raised in defense. “Mal.” Alina’s voice came out in a breathless relief. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him at which Y/N turned around to give them their moment of reunion. After a few minutes and hushed whispers behind her, she cleared her throat “Okay, we really must get a move on now.”

“So you want to go after the stag instead of running away?” Y/N had a smirk on her face as she watched Alina wring her hands. “Yes?” “It’s either a solid yes or no, no maybe.” The younger girl took in a breath, “Yes. I want to go after the stag.” The y/e/c eyed girl smiled proudly, “Perfect.”

So the journey continues. Sunlight was spent hiking and the nights, huddled close to Alina to stay warm since fire was out of the option. Y/N could feel the need to use to power growing stronger and stronger, her hands got so warm she thought fire might start on accident. She needed just to let out a single spark to dampen the burning temptation. While following the couple walking ahead she let a single flame lick through her fingers, swirling around her wrist before diving back into her palm. Her smile was so bright and soft as Alina looked over her shoulder to check that she was still there.

Using their power makes a grisha stronger, and not being able to use it properly had taken a toll on the older girl, making the younger slightly guilty. Y/N had no reason to stick with them, she could leave and go find her own way if she wanted to… So why has she stayed? Alina furrowed her eyebrows, mentally searching for a reason that her mentor would stay.

“We’re almost there… It should be just around-” Mal cut himself off once the stag came into view. Y/N stared wide eyed, “Oh… It’s real.” She moved closer to Alina and Mal, waiting for them to take their aim, but right before the could fire, she noticed black whisps of smoke curling through the snow. She quickly let a small flame flicker through her fingers as she felt his presence creeping up behind them. “Alina-”

Everything happened in a blur, the stag was brought to the floor, Alina threw up a sun shield around herself, the stag and Mal. Y/N held her hands out infront of her her flames followed her arm movements like whips keeping the other grisha back. Black smoke circled her ankel keeping her firmly planted in her place, panic bubbled in her chest when she made eye contact with Ivan. Her eyes pleaded with him to which he only slightly shook his head. The last thing she saw was the Darkling standing over her with a look of pity, before her eyes closed on their own acord and her heart slowed to the point of unconsciousness.

“Heartrenders…” Y/N grumbled as she was finally able to move and control her body. She had started to wake up a while ago, first her mind then her toes up to her fingers, the tingling sensation crawling it’s way up till she was able to fully move. Her vision cleared slowly, the sunlight streaming into the tent through the waving flaps of the entrance.

Rising to her feet, she made her way to the tent entrance after gulping down a glass of water. One gaurd stood in front of her making her sigh silently. With a flick of her fingers a singular flame danced across the dirt floor to a pile of straw and some explosive crates. A high pitched yelp left the guard’s lips as he ran over desperately pulling the crates away from the growing fire. With a smug smile, Y/N slipped on a first army coat and stumbled a bit as she made her way to the crowds of people.

Alina Starkov came into sight as the inferni quickly mimicked everyone’s hands over her own chest. The sandskiff. Y/N’s eyes darted around as she thought of a way to get herself on that vessel.

“I still can’t believe the age on this.” Y/N’s attention snapped to the voice belonging to a tall zeminni man. “There is no way they’ll believe this.” “Sure they will. Now keep quiet.” A suli girl and kerch followed the taller of the trio closely. She watched as they slipped into line soundlessly, seemingly belonging to the crowd if only she hadn’t overheard their conversation.

sneak peak at part two:

“Who are you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Y/N L/N, inferni. Lieutenent General of the second army. Well, ex-lieutenent, I now assume.” A gasp slipped from the person behind her and she was instantly released from their hold. The suli girl for before step around her and moved to stand beside the other two. The trio looked like a rough patch group of criminals. Ketterdam. She could only assume that’s where they’re from. “Now it’s only polite to tell me who you are given I just told you who I am. Very willingly, mind you, I could’ve easily set a controlled fire loose.”

“Jesper Fahey,” said the tallest of the group.

“Inej Ghafa.”

“Brekker.” His rich coffee brown eyes bore into her’s as if trying to read her soul. The dark lighting casted shadows over his sharp facial features. “Kaz Brekker.” His voice held much reluctance as he spoke his name.

“And I’m safe to assume you’re all criminals. Now that leaves me with one last question…” She spun on her heel and walked around, throwing glances over her shoulder every so often, inspecting the room. “What business do you have on this skiff?”

#ellora.writes #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagines

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a-strangers-thoughtss · 16 days

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I’ve been re-watching season one and two again.

I may just be over exhausted and sleep deprived but

To me, Mike doesn’t have romantic feelings for El. I mean, season one could seem pretty cute, but it just takes me so much out of it when I remember that El literally has no idea what’s going on? Like they’re just never on the same page.

(Even in season 1, like “so I’d be your sister?” And so on. I don’t think they’ve been on the same page for very often either)

It feels very Steve and Nancy tbh. Like all the cannon couples just get eachother, but Mileven just don’t? Stancy is the only other one that they’ve just kind of never fully been on the same page (I’m not talking about miscommunication, all the cannon couples struggle with that)

I just don’t feel it ig? Like Lumax and Jopper you can just feel it, same with Duzi (qnd byler but we’re going off of current cannon) but with Mileven it feels more awkward?

I’m probably rambling, but again, I’m so over exausted rn.

Also when Mike talks about El in the Crazy together scene it feels like he’s more focused on the fact that she could solve their ud problems-

Just none of it feels romantic at all

(His face also rlly doesn’t light up that much when els around, but Will has his own voice 🤨)

Like their reunion in season 2 was fucking adorable, I’ll admit. But it just didn’t feel very romance to me? Again, maybe I’m just not watching it fully but even the snow ball feels very platonic to me.

Mike very obviously doesn’t have romantic feelings for El. At least bc I’m watching from a new perspective. She’s definitely his friend, and he 100% misses her really badly. But I personally see no attraction there at all. Like he sees her again for the first time in a year and it’s this really sweet moment, but it just feels like two besties reuniting?

Maybe I’m spouting comète nonsense though.

THE VIBES ARE NOT VIBING

#byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #mike wheeler i know what you are #what’s gayer? being gay or constantly looking at your besties lips #girl does not look at el like that #platonic elmike #THE VIBES ARE NOT VIBING

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sunniskyies · 3 months

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𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐚, 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐚, 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Finnick has been taken from the arena of the third Quarter Quell by the Capitol, and all you can do from District 13 is wait 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Finnick Odair x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Violence, mentions of drugs, symptoms of abuse 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Very AU’d, reunion trope, fluff(?), angst, mentions of abuse, violence 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k 𝐀/𝐍: (I still don't know if I like this???) I was never going to write a Part 2, but I had this image in my head of the reader going to District 13 and Finnick replacing Johanna at the Capitol, and it had to happen. As with the last one, this story is based on the song ‘Georgia’ by Phoebe Bridgers, please go have a listen to the lyric references <3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

Your fingers twist themselves around the soft blue fabric, causing your knuckles to go ivory white. Your eyes are trained on the screen, watching Finnick stumble through the jungle with a terrified expression on his face.

"Help me, Finnick!" You scream —or your voice does at least. "Help me! They got me, please Finnick!"

Finnick's eyes dart around, wild and crazed. "Y/N? Y/N, hold on!"

He staggers around, with Katniss Everdeen right behind him. Soon the canopy is saturated with piercing shrieks and wails - a mixture of your own screams, Gale's, and a young girl's who you presume to be Katniss's sister.

Finnick and Katniss have established the cries are caused by the ebony Jabberjays in the trees, but after Finnick explained that the birds must be mimicking from somewhere, the two tributes had fallen into a frenzy.

You yourself don't know where the Gamemakers got their hands on your voice, but all you are focused on is the sight of your golden boy, scared and alone.

"Finnick," you breathe through your tears. When the recording flicks back to a view of Cashmere and Gloss, you scramble desperately for the remote control. You press the 'rewind' button hard, watching as Finnick once again hears the Jabberjay's cry.

"God, if I see you rewatching those recordings again I'm actually going to burn the tape," a voice groans from the door.

You whip around to shoot a glare at Johanna, who is slumped up against the doorframe.

"Shut up, Mason," you snarl, focusing back on the screen. You've rolled it too far, back to the poisonous fog, and Finnick's cries for Mags echo out of the tinny speakers. "You don't get it."

Johanna rolls her eyes, pushes herself off the doorframe, and walks over. She plops down on the cot beside you and grabs the remote control from your hand.

"Seriously stop that, Fish-face. You're not helping Finnick from in here," she snaps. "They need you down in the infirmary, if you can pull yourself together."

Johanna, always the abrupt one, rips off your 'Mentally Unstable' armband and pats you on the back, hard.

"Johanna. I can't— what if Snow brings Finnick on for an interview instead of Peeta? I can't miss that!" You sniff, fresh tears welling up in your bloodshot eyes.

Johanna sighs, but just gently pulls the hair scarf from your vice-like grip and begins finger-combing your hair out. "You really are the one, aren't you Fish-face," she murmurs.

You sniff again. "The one?"

"Yeah, the one. That sappy shit you find in those romance books." Johanna fidgets in her seat. "Finnick's been with a lot of girls. But he wouldn't go tearing through the jungle—knowing it's futile—for any of them."

For the first time since District 13 had liberated you the night before the games, your heart felt warm. Looking back at the screen, which had now reached the Jabberjays again, you don't feel the usual pang of guilt at his reaction to your cries. You feel a rush of affection.

The one.

"Back in the arena, was he okay?" You often ask this question, even though the answer is always consistent.

Sighing again, Johanna ties up your hair scarf. "He was brave. Strong. What you'd expect from an ego like his."

You hum in acknowledgement. Same answer.

But Johanna continues, "But we could all tell he had a girl back home."

You turn to look at Johanna with raised eyebrows, encouraging her to keep going. She shuffles again, as if awkward talking about topics such as 'love'.

"The way he stared into the sky every night, the way he talked in hushed whispers when he thought no one was listening. I always thought it was that Cresta girl," she admits.

"But now I know he needs you. You're all that he sees," she says simply, ending the conversation at that.

"Hush, sweetheart. It's okay, it's not real," you soothe, rubbing circles on the red-haired girl's back. You've given up trying to coax medicine into the girl, instead settling on trying to prevent her from bashing her skull in.

She's moaning incoherently, and would be tearing at her hair if it weren't for your steady grasp on her wrists.

"Annie, calm down. Breathe with me," you say, kindly but firmly. You take long, deep breaths. Annie's breathing gradually slows, and her glazed eyes begin to sharpen.

All that is thrown out the window when the infirmary's television flickers on, a mandatory viewing from the Capitol.

President Snow, puffy-lipped and menacing, stares out at Panem smugly. A white rose is pinned firmly to his lapel.

"Good evening, Panem. Today we interrupt you for another message from our Victors," You deflate. Peeta. Poor Katniss, you think to yourself.

You turn back to Annie, once again trying to coax the medicine into the mad girl's lips.

"The program shall be carried out by a special new guest of ours," Snow continues. You pause, colour draining from your face, and stare up at the screen.

"He is a fine new addition, enjoy," the president's lips curl back in a sly smile, showing too-perfect veneers and blood-stained gums.

And then Finnick's face replaces him. Golden hair styled but limp, a tight white suit clinging to his form.

"Is that... Finnick? My mentor?" A shaky voice whines. Annie. You have to get her away from this.

"You. Girl," you order, pointing at a small, blonde intern nurse. Must be around 12 or 13. "Take Miss Cresta back to her quarters. Turn off the broadcast. Write her up for a rotation of one hundred milligrams of Methylphenobarbital every six hours. Do you understand?"

Nodding, the young girl wheels the cot out of the room while you stare desperately into the dull green eyes on the television.

"Hello Panem. My name is Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games," he states flatly, voice hoarse. No amount of powder and colour correction masks the dark circles beneath his eyes and the bruises that peek out from his collar. Your heart clenches.

"Hello, Finnick! Now, I think I can speak for all of us when we say we didn't expect you with us today!" The reptilian voice of Caesar Flickerman slithers out from behind the camera. "Peeta's always been happy for talking, but you don't seem to be one for cooperation, am I right?"

Finnick nods tersely, "Well Caesar, sometimes there's people worth talking for."

The breath leaves your body, and you have to sit down on an empty cot before your knees give out. He's talking about me, you think dizzily. God how you wish you could tell him that you are unharmed and in District 13. That he doesn't have to cooperate to buy your safety.

You watch raptly until the program ends, obsessively studying Finnick's face and movements. Even after the broadcast cuts out, you sit numbly watching the black screen.

You want to run into Command, and demand Plutarch and President Coin to hold back the rebel forces. You fear that if District 13 so much as breathes, they'll kill him.

You're standing on the shoreline, watching as the figure of a young boy begins sinking through the water, silently.

It's the same dream every night, the same outcome, but regardless you still shed your clothing and dive into the cool water.

You push through the rough waves, and like always, the water stretches and distorts, 14-year-old Finnick always out of reach no matter how hard you swim.

The roaring surf deafens you as you watch the boy sink into the depths without a sound.

When you wake up, jolting upright with cold sweat trickling down your spine, you find the deafening roar not exclusive to your nightmare. Outside your bedchamber, you can hear dozens of people shouting and running.

Frightened, you stuff your feet into the papery slippers that District 13 has provided. Automatically, you pull back your hair into your blue bandana as you open the door. The hallway bustles with activity, people rushing in all directions, and you feel your nerves spike.

The air is thick with the smell of disinfectant and sweat, and you're quickly overwhelmed, so you take a deep breath to try and steel yourself as you join the throng of residents. You make your way towards Command, hopefully someone there can explain what is going on.

"Y/N! Hey, Fish-face! Over here," Johanna's familiar voice cuts through the crowd. You scan around until you see the woman, also pushing through the swarm to get to you.

"Johanna! What's happening?" You fret, clasping her arm. Her hair is still plaited from sleep, and she wears an identical thin nightgown.

"Don't freak out," she warns, slowly guiding you towards the infirmary. "But I just talked to Plutarch. Apparently, they arranged a mission to the Capitol without anyone knowing!" She growls.

You freeze. "The Capitol? Why?" Your voice comes out sharp, frantic.

Johanna grins. "To liberate the Victors."

You rip yourself free, hurtling through the crowd as if they are nothing but air. The infirmary is loaded, and people are running in and out.

"I'm a nurse! I'm a nurse," you gasp to the guards at the door, who swiftly let you in.

"Finnick? Where's Finnick?" You choke, pleading at anyone you pass. But they all seem to be distracted by something happening between Katniss, her guard and a very sick-looking man.

"Please, someone tell me where he is!—" You stop, eyes snagging on a tangle of bronze hair.

A thunderclap of relief pierces through you. Finnick is sitting on a gurney with his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly together. He looks worn and defeated, and your heart breaks at the sight of him.

You don't remember pushing through the thick crowd, but you do remember grasping his clasped hands with your own shaky ones.

"Finnick," you breathe. His head jerks upright at the sound of your voice, and when he sees your eyes the defeated boy is replaced by the King of the World.

"Y/N!" He cries, arms wrapping around you and pulling you tight against him. Your face burrows into his neck, your hands never satisfied, constantly moving and grasping a different spot on his shirt or his hair.

"Finnick are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" You sob, pulling back to look at him briefly before slamming into another tight hug.

"I'm here, it doesn't matter," he whispers into your hair. Disbelief and gratitude has sunk into his tone. "I can't believe you're here. I thought you were back in Four, I thought they had you after the Jabberjays..." His voice is choked out by emotion, and you lean back to show him that you're okay.

Tears well up in your eyes as you take in his exhausted appearance. His golden hair is matted and dishevelled, his skin pallid and marked with bruises. You reach out to touch his cheek gently, tracing the contours of his face. God, how many years you've imagined being able to hold him like this.

"I can fix this," you smile, tapping lightly on his bruised skin. He smiles back, weak but full of warmth.

How could Snow hurt him? This gold-hearted man, how could he take him and tear him apart?

"Do you hate me?" You whisper, fingers stilling from where they were tracing his jaw. Finnick's brow furrows.

"Of course not," he replies. Gently —whether for your sake or his, you're not sure— Finnick pulls you into the narrow mattress next to him. You remain holding each other, but now he's cupping your head, thumb rubbing over the blue fabric of Georgia's scarf as he stares into your eyes, and you stare into his.

"I wasn't sure if I would ever see those eyes again," he murmurs. You giggle, a melody to his ears.

"My eyes? Why are they important?"

Finnick smiles shyly. "It depends. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Your heart flutters. He said it. He said how you've been feeling towards him for ten years. And he said it about you.

"I do. Because I've loved you ever since I pulled you out of that stupid ocean."

The grin that Finnick shines at you could rival the sun in brightness. "All that time?" You nod. "Well, will you still have me?" He murmurs. When confusion shines in your eyes, he gestures to his condition, scabby cuts and bruises, hollow skin and boney ribs.

A smile, pure and angelic, splits your face. "Of course, Finnick. Will you have me?"

"Over anything."

#ph☆ebe's scribbles #finnick odair x reader #hunger games fic #one shot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick odair #the hunger games #blurb #fanfic #fanfiction

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esther-dot · 4 months

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Do you think Jon and Sansa will meet again at Castle Black, and from there, they will plan to take Winterfell? Or will Sansa take Winterfell on her own and reunite with Jon along the way? I’m of the idea of two lost souls who, when united, find the strength in each other to take the land of their family. But I don’t know, I haven’t finished the books yet so I need guidance on this.

I don’t consider myself an ASOIAF expert, anon so I don't offer guidance, but I will def share my thoughts with you!

In order to talk about this, I'm afraid there are some ADWD spoilers, though. If you mind that, maybe revisit this post after you've read it? Short version, I agree with you. Sansa should be involved in retaking Winterfell because we need a Stark there:

Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. (ADWD, Jon VII)

but I think the reunion happens first because of the The Girl in Grey theory. I'll explain more below the cut due to the major Jon spoiler.

In ADWD, a character named Melisandre tells Jon about a vision she has:

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. "Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's. Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. "You will freeze your fingers off," Jon warned. "If that is the will of R'hllor. Night's powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god's holy fire." "You heart does not concern me. Just your hands."

"The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you." "I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" "… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will." She gazed at Ghost. "May I touch your … wolf?" The thought made Jon uneasy. "Best not." "He will not harm me. You call him Ghost, yes?" "Yes, but …" "Ghost." Melisandre made the word a song. The direwolf padded toward her. Wary, he stalked about her in a circle, sniffing. When she held out her hand he smelled that too, then shoved his nose against her fingers. Jon let out a white breath. "He is not always so …" "… warm? Warmth calls to warmth, Jon Snow." Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark. At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. Jon had seen Ghost's eyes blazing red the same way, when they caught the light just right. "Ghost," he called. "To me." The direwolf looked at him as if he were a stranger. Jon frowned in disbelief. "That's … queer." "You think so?" She knelt and scratched Ghost behind his ear. "Your Wall is a queer place, but there is power here, if you will use it. Power in you, and in this beast. You resist it, and that is your mistake. Embrace it. Use it." I am not a wolf, he thought. "And how would I do that?" "I can show you." Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. "The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows." "Shadows." The world seemed darker when he said it. "Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. "Dalla told me something once. Val's sister, Mance Rayder's wife. She said that sorcery was a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it." "A wise woman." Melisandre rose, her red robes stirring in the wind. "A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about. Hear me now, Jon Snow. Nine crows flew into the white wood to find your foes for you. Three of them are dead. They have not died yet, but their death is out there waiting for them, and they ride to meet it. You sent them forth to be your eyes in the darkness, but they will be eyeless when they return to you. I have seen their pale dead faces in my flames. Empty sockets, weeping blood." She pushed her red hair back, and her red eyes shone. "You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand." The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. "Take my hand," she said again, "and let me save your sister." (ADWD, Jon VI)

The vision keeps coming up and dictates some of Jon's decisions. Jeyne Poole (Sansa's friend) was forced to marry Ramsay in the guise of being Arya, she escapes, and people expect her to reunite with Jon and be the girl in grey (escaping a marriage, she was pretending to be his sister). Others point to Alys Karstark who runs to Jon to escape a marriage. The problem is, Mel doesn't know who it is, she only knows sister. People pick Jeyne because of the Arya connection, but neither she nor Alys are Jon's sister. And Jon has another sister, Sansa.

I would argue the reason that the girl in grey is Sansa (ie Sansa will flee North to escape LF's plots and reunite with Jon before Winterfell is taken/she is in a position of power), is if you read Jon's passage about the girl in grey, Jon being dead is written all over it. His white breath, the reference to him as a stranger, Jon telling himself he isn't a wolf...you see, here is the major spoiler...

Jon is assassinated at the end of TWOW.

Now, he may not actually be dead-dead, some of us have said he might be in a coma like Bran, but a) we believe he warged into Ghost (I am not a wolf--he will need to come back to himself, not lose himself in Ghost), b) the stranger = Jon is dead, c) the white breath = his body being cold cuz he's dead etc. The other side of this is, the way Jon sees Mel and remembers a different redhead can be viewed as foreshadowing for recently undead Jon seeing a redhead and mistaking her for Ygritte. The description of Mel's words like a song made people think of Sansa (it's been speculated Sansa's singing will help Jon remember things post rez/help him return to himself), and Ghost's strangely positive reaction to Mel may foreshadow how he reacts to Sansa as a familiar person. So, when I read that passage, it sounded to me like Sansa and Jon will be reuniting shortly after his rez, or even perhaps before his rez, so yes, I imagine that happens at the Wall.

Way back in 2013, a famous Jonsa essay predicted that Jon and Sansa would be reunited first of all the Starks, and then in 2016 that happened on the show which spurred a lot more discussion in the Jonsa fandom about Sansa being the girl in grey in the books as well.

I'll link some additional posts with various thoughts on how it might go.

Jon as the Stranger, Sansa as a silent sister. Pertinent quotes:

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. (ACOK, Arya VII) The women in grey bowed their heads. The silent sisters do not speak to the living, Catelyn remembered dully, but some say they can talk to the dead. (ACOK, Catelyn V) Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. (AFFC, Brienne VIII) When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss." (AFFC, Cersei IV)

@loveroflemons wrote a post in 2017 talking about Mel's prophecy and the map of the North to explain why Sansa is the Girl in Grey here. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir has a post explaining that Sansa is Ned's narrative heir and her path North will follow his here, and some general ideas for her TWOW story here.

@istumpysk talks about The Girl in Grey foreshadowing here. @aegor-bamfsteel tried to give us a time table here, @redteabaron has talked about the possibility that Sansa will be hunted by Ramsay for some Red Riding Hood parallels here, That and Sansa meeting Ghost while Jon is still out of it is discussed here as well. And this post talks about Jon saving Sansa from Ramsay while warged into Ghost using some king’s prize/thief quotes. I also found a Tolkien poem (Martin is a massive fan) that has Girl in Grey vibes here (not proof, just fun).

Anyway, it's a very popular Jonsa theory, for many of us, a given at this point. For a different ask i scrolled some BNF blogs and they mocked it a lot, called us delusional because they can point to the other girls as fulfilling the prophecy, but to me, that prophecy takes up too much space for it to disappear without a real payoff. It makes sense to me that Martin would use that vision to prep us for Sansa arriving in the North.

Let me know what you think after you read ADWD!

#soon i'll post links for book verse girl in grey fics anon #not meta but jonsa fics have a funny habit of predicting things to come!#jonsa #dot chat #the girl in grey

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asoiaf-essays-collector · 10 months

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For me, idk if Sansa is the girl in grey in Melisandre's prophecy and i don't care if they reunite at the Wall, in the Vale, in Winterfell or on the way, because the thing is its almost given that Sansa and Jon will be the first Starks to reunite since they are the most distant ones. Its how grrm works. The Starks are the central family of the series and out of their four povs that remain, Jon and Sansa are the only ones to not have a defined relationship and their reunion in twow before others will give them time to develop one.

In defence of the girl in grey theory - at this point it almost impossible to imagine her being not sansa. As much as I would prefer the vale meeting. Just think of it - Jon and Melisandre were thinking that the girl in grey would be Arya but ironically it was Jeyne Pool/Alys Karstark who happened to be geographically more convenient? Nah, that's not the irony of GRRM. Now, Sansa who Jon barely registers as sister in his inner pov - that would be the irony that we are used to in ASOIAF.

The girl in grey being not the Stark but someone else entirely just because this girl fits the criteria? It's not interesting. It gives the same vibes as theory that Cersei's valonqar is neither Tyrion nor Jaime and some other person that just happens to be someone else's younger sibling. That's just boring.

"Jon and Sansa are the only ones to not have a defined relationship" - oooh, now that's the topic I can speculate about for hours.

I'm rereading ASOS right now and gosh, the ways GRRM chooses to portray these two while their lack of any established relationship in books? That's simply fascinating how he dances around some words and names.

One of the most interesting part of this lack of interactions is the fact that it doesn't mean that they don't have this defined relationship. Their meeting and then dynamic will be a total wild card - unlike any other pair of siblings. They can literally have any dynamic and shared history or lack of it and we have no idea what it will be. I'm so excited!

And it's not only that. There is a conflict between them too - until they learn that Bran and Rickon are alive they both are kinda heirs of Starks and Winterfell, both are ruler coded since AGOT and their political strengths complement each other's weaknesses. Moreover, both can support each other's claim. Sansa Stark while being legitimate heir in many lords eyes is still married to Lannister and everyone knows it and she is also a girl who doesn't know how to wage a war. On the other hand Jon Snow even with Stark blood printed on his Ned Stark (who is still beloved in the North) face is still a bastard and can't interfere with claim of legitimate heirs (given that Robb's will is still unknown). One of them on his/her own can raise a lot of questions but two can make a decent claim.

So yeah.

Sansa and Jon meeting first of the pack is making quite a lot of sense from every point of view. It's not just that they are most distant siblings and thus make more interesting pair to interact, it's also very practical for GRRM if he wants Starks to go on the offensive - two of them combined can actually form a decent political power (in terms of both claim and set of skills). No other pair of Starks has that.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #sansa stark #the girl in grey

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damn-stark · 1 year

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Chapter 1 Heir to the iron throne

Chapter 1 of Sandstorm

A/N- First chapter I hope you guys like it!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, death and blood, talks of sexual assault, fluff.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 7x02 & only the beginning of 7x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*21 YEARS AGO*

“Mother, when is father going to return?”

He has been gone for months now, you can’t seem to recall what he told you last, but you know you miss him.

“Soon,” your mother assures you and tucks you in bed. “I swear.”

It was always the same answer. Vague, “he’s fighting a war.”.

“Now, Little Sunspot,” your mother continues softly and sits at the other end of your bed. “It’s your turn to pick a story for tonight, so what will it be?”

Without a moment of hesitation you beam at her and give her your answer. “Tell me the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters.”

“Oh no!” Rhaenys whines from her side of the room. “Not that one again, Visenya, pick a different one!”

You pull your blanket over your mouth and snuggle under your blankets. “That’s mine and fathers favorite,” you mumble and then look at your mother to bat your lashes. “Please mother, tell it!”

Your mother offers you a sweet smile and nods in agreement. “I will, but I must warn you, I am not as good as Rhaegar is at telling it, but I will try my best.”

——

Home.

What a fickle thing. Home is as some say where your own family is. But for the 21 years you lived at Sunspear with your family; with your late uncle Oberyn and his daughters you thought of as sisters, and with your late uncle Doran and his son, both of them brothers to your mother, both beloved uncles, it seems you could never find such belonging amongst them.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t feel peace and happiness at Sunspear. Because you did. Yet it’s that sense of belonging that you’ve always craved and missed.

It’s a belonging you hope you’ll find here in Dragonstone, your family’s ancestral home, amongst the only living relative you still have from the House of the Dragon, from your fathers side of the family. Amongst your aunt Daenerys Targaryen.

Your great reunion has been a long time coming, years perhaps, but time only seemed fitting now. Especially since it’s not until recently that she herself has arrived back home, at Dragonstone.

A place you were born at and left a long time ago, a place you did not recall in any of your memories.

Coming upon it in the clouds seems so surreal, like a dream maybe, a faded one. It was a lot grayer than you imagined, colder; but that’s maybe due to the fact that you’re several hundred feet in the sky—The ocean's waters are darker as well; a lot more than the ones at Sunspear. It was strange, truly.

Dragonstone seems a lot smaller too—or seemed a lot smaller, but as you began to descend from the sky the castle became larger. Not only that but now that the clouds didn’t hide you anymore something else came to view, three dragons. They all looked dark and small, but the more you began to descend the larger they got, the more you can see their colored scales.

There was a green one like the green fields of grass, but it seems it’s also mixed with bronze. There was a cream and gold one, smaller than the other two. And the third one was larger, a beautiful black dragon with red mixed within it as well. And without fault all three of them screech, sing their song as they catch sight of Eraxis, your beautiful white She-dragon descend to the sand in front of the castle gates.

All three of them circle Eraxis as she lands. And Eraxis just watches them before she sings, a loud echoing and sharp song.

Once you climb down her and hit the sand, you can’t help but smile at her and caress her neck. “It is alright girl. It’s okay, they're family.”

Eraxis turns her head and tilts it before she looks back up to the sky as the dragons keep circling her.

You look up and smile at the three dragons before you drop your eyes to the sand beneath your shoes, and slowly crouch down to scoop up some of the cold sand in your hand and watch each grain drop out between the gaps between your fingers. You proceed to dust off the sand and rise up again until you hear a soft thump on the sand behind you.

“Welcome home,” you break your silence and begin to grin a soft smile. “Rhaenar.” You look back and meet the pair of dark brown eyes of your son.

Said boy lets out a small breath and looks up the castle gates to slowly examine it and watch the guards that stood in front of them. “It’s cold,” he mutters and buttons the top button of his shirt as if that would make any difference

You sigh softly and nod. “Quite is. Come on, let's get inside then.”

Rhaenar drags his hand along Eraxis as he follows you to the gate, but hesitates to depart from her as you reach the guards.

“I’ve come to see the Queen,” you tell them.

The guards eyes shift over your shoulder and land on the white dragon who watches them intently.

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “She won’t do any harm.”

The guard's eyes shift back to you before he shifts to push the doors open, finally letting you see the long and grand stairway that leads up to the castle.

“Come Rhaenar,” you tell the boy who you know has probably only moved an inch from the dragon.

“And if she does not like us?” He asks in a timid voice that let his Dornish accent come out even after he tries to hide it.

You sigh and turn to reach him. “You do not have to worry about that my Sunspot,” you assure him. “Okay? She is family, your grandfather's sister, it will take some time to get used to one another but I am sure she will love you.”

Rhaenar lowers his gaze and nods, letting you smile as you cup his cheek. “And do not hide your accent, what would your uncle say?”

“Targaryens do not talk like me, mother,” he mutters and fists his hands.

You scoff. “Who said that?”

Rhaenar goes quiet, so you grab his face with both hands and press him. “Rhaenar, tell me.”

“Myself, books I have read about our family,” he whispers.

You sigh. “Oh my sweet boy, we talk how we damn want to, no one can tell us otherwise. Not books of old dead ancestors. Be proud you are part Dornish. That only makes you more fierce than any other Targaryen.” You smirk and brush the strands of hair out of his face. “Come. Let’s go.”

You turn back to face the gate and offer him your hand, but he just scoffs and shakes his head.

Now without any more delay and falters, both Rhaenar and you walk up the long stairway, catching Eraxis now flying overhead, keeping her distance from the other dragons flying in the sky. You can see the grand castle getting closer and closer.

Yet, before you can reach the castle gates, an army of unsullied, and tall, dark and muscular men in fur garments walk out and meet you halfway.

“Halt there,” a slender and tall man orders, causing you to do as he said.

“I have come to see the Queen,” you inform him. “I am…family.”

“Doubtful,” you hear a familiar voice interject between the crowd of men. “Who are you…” the moment the men part to the side to let him meet you halfway, the tiny man trails off and looks at you in shock and yet a puzzled look.

You scoff in amusement and smile mischievously as you instantly come to recognize the short man. “I am sorry, Lord Tyrion, it seems the last time we met, my hair was a different color.”

The small man hums and loses the confusion and now looks more serious. “Y/N Sand. Prince Oberyn’s daughter. I thought Dorne was not meant to get here yet.”

You shake your head. “No, but they are on the way, I,” you glance up at Eraxis and smile, “flew here.” You glance down at him. “And my name is not Sand. I am Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell,” you reveal yourself. “If you want to get technical, my true name my father gave me is Visenya, but well…I’ve grown accustomed to my new name.” You sigh. “I am the niece of your Queen. I have come to meet her, to join her.”

Lord Tyrion studies you for a brief moment with doubt lingering in his stare, making you smirk.

“Do you wish for me to prove myself to you, my Lord? Wash my hair? Bleed my veins, or tell my dragon a command?” You retort.

Lord Tyrion sighs and shakes his head. “No. Please none of that. I was just trying to progress the fact that a supposed dead princess is standing right in front of me.” He counters.

You swallow thickly. “I was never presumed dead, was I?” You ask rhetorically. “Nevertheless, I have no reason to lie, nor am I, Eraxis can prove that.”

Tyrion looks up at the white dragon and watches her as she keeps circling the area.

“Well,” Lord Tyrion says and meets your gaze. “Greetings Princess. It is very nice to finally meet you.” He offers you a faint smile. “Now please if you don’t mind please hand your weapons over.”

Usually parting from your weapon is a condition you don’t like to follow, but in this case it’s only fair, besides these large handsome men didn’t seem like they were going to let you pass if you didn’t follow orders.

“Rhaenar,” you say and hold a tall man’s dark gaze as he watches you unsheath your weapons. “Hand over your weapons.”

Without arguing, your son does as he’s told and hands his sword and daggers to the men, leaving you to bend down to unsheath the daggers you have hidden under your dress.

“Dothraki, I assume,” you comment as you keep holding the man’s gaze with a sly smirk.

“Yes,” Lord Tyrion confirms. “The Queens warriors.”

You stand up to your given height and catch the tall, dark man smirking at you as he takes your weapons. You then smirk back at him.

“Follow me,” Lord Tyrion breaks the tension and pulls your gaze back to him. “The Queen is already waiting.”

When you walk inside, the soldiers that had come out to greet you continue to follow you inside. They surround Rhaenar and you, and don't let you take in your surroundings very well.

“I do pardon for such a cold greeting,” Lord Tyrion interjects. “We just don’t know the true intentions of you or your…dragon.”

You scoff. “Do not worry, Lord Tyrion, I understand.”

“Tyrion,” he corrects you. “I am not the Lord of anything now.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you and brings his army of men and you to a halt in front of big black doors that lead to only one obvious room, the Throne Room.

Now it’s closer than ever. The moment you have dreamed of since you found out about her being alive. Beside your son Rhaenar, she was the last piece of family you have remaining from your Targaryen bloodline.

Her….

Let’s just say that happiness isn’t the most powerful feeling you feel now. Rhaenar senses that it seems, your nerves, and reaches for your hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

You look down at him and offer him a soft smile before you secure your hold around his hand.

Before the doors can be opened, Tyrion asks for your name and titles. It’s only after you give it to him that the guards begin to push the doors open, letting the gray dimly lit throne come to view.

As you proceed to walk inside, you see her. She’s sitting so poise on that stone throne at the end of the room. You see the color of her silver-white hair that matches yours. You see her fancy black garments and her red cloak elegantly hanging off her chair. You see her pale face, her blue eyes. You see her, your aunt, the Queen. She’s there, she’s real.

“Princess Y/N Targaryen, Princess of Dorne, and Daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,” Tyrion announces as you keep slowly walking inside.

Now you notice a bald man, a man you know as Lord Varys. You catch his gaze narrow, and see him take a slow step forward as if fascinated by your presence. You then don’t fail to notice the Queen's face twist to something you can read as disbelief and…anger.

“Prince Rhaenar Targaryen, son of the princess.”

You come to a stop before you can reach the unsullied guards standing in front of the steps that lead to the throne, and let go of Rhaenar’s hand to curtsey; while he bows to the Queen.

“My Queen,” you say and return your gaze back on her as you stand up straight. “It is an honor finally getting to meet you.”

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.” A woman with brown skin, and dark curly hair announces the mouthful of titles that must be a pain in the ass to see each time.

Nevertheless, Queen Daenerys holds your gaze and retorts. “I am sorry I am not rejoiced by your presence. Until now I had no idea you were alive.” She slightly raises her eyebrows as she seems to pierce her glare in you.

You scoff in amusement. “That’s good, it means my uncles did a good job in hiding me from the world that wanted me dead,” you rebuttal confidently and pass a discreet glance at Tyrion. “But I do swear to you on my fathers memory that I am who I say I am. I mean…if I wasn’t would I have come flying on a dragon?” You smirk. Yet no one else finds it so amusing.

“You have no reason to believe me,” you continue. “But I do know people who know of me.” You glance over at Lord Varys standing a bit a ways from the Queen, and make her gaze drift to the man.

“Lord Varys, can you attest to her word? Can you prove that who stands before me really is a niece I have thought long dead?” She asks and looks at you.

The Lord slowly steps forward and stops at the top step to study you from closer.

“Yes, I can,” Tyrion speaks up and walks to the top step. “I can attest to her word. I have met her before. However, back then she went by another name.”

You scoff and nod. “Yes. Back then I went by Sand. I was just another bastard daughter to my uncle Oberyn Martell, but it was for my own safety. After all, it is his family who wanted me dead.”

Tyrion nods and accepts your accusation. “Yes. It was my family.”

You clench your jaw and let out a deep sigh.

“Her uncle died for me,” Tyrion continues. “He was a good man. That is why I trust her word.”

The Queen slowly stands up from the chair and begins to head your way, yet she stops at Tyrion’s side. “If it is you. If you do have a dragon, where have you been this entire time?” She asks you.

You clasp your hands in front of you and part your lips to speak, but then Lord Varys speaks up before you could. “She was hiding, by her uncle's demand. Sworn to keep her identity a secret until the right time came. As was I.”

The Queen shifts her head to the side to look at her Lord.

“She is who she says she is. She is Princess Visenya Targaryen, daughter of your brother Rhaegar Targaryen. She is blood of your blood, My Queen.”

You shake your head and correct them. “No. It’s Y/N. Not Visenya. Not anymore.”

The Queen begins to glare at the man for a second before she finally returns her gaze to you and begins to step down the steps to meet you halfway.

She then continues to study you, to check out the gold dragon scale corset over your red dress, the golden rings on your fingers, the golden snake around your bicep. She looks at your silver-white hair probably trying to see if your hair color was actually real and not fake, or if you were actually real or not. Her eyes then shift to Rhaenar for a brief second before returning to look at you again.

You don’t do anything, you let her take her time, and take this time to study her too; to realize how beautiful she is, how tiny she is as well now that she’s not sat on the throne.

“Who might you be?” The Queen breaks her silence and looks back at Rhaenar.

Said boy bows and then tries his best to once again hide his Dornish accent. “I am Prince—”

You clear your throat to correct him, making the Queen glance at you in confusion before returning to look at your boy.

“I am Prince Rhaenar Sand, your Grace,” he shares in his normal voice, and this time you glance at him slightly concerned since he refers to himself as Sand.

The Queen scoffs softly and her lips are just faintly showing a smile. “Sand?” She questions.

Rhaenar nods. “I am a bastard,” he tells her, making you sigh.

“And like I have told him before,” you interject. “That does not matter. That does not change who you are descended from.”

Daenerys nods. “Your mother is correct,” she agrees in your defense. “You are still the blood of the dragon aren't you? You are a Targaryen first and foremost.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “I suppose.”

The Queen offers a soft laugh before she looks at you. “Let’s take a walk.”

You nod, and without a fault when you walk out, the curly headed woman, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki warriors follow you out and walk behind you like lurking shadows. It’s something you have never grown unaccustomed to after your years of being somewhat free in Dorne.

“What’s your dragon's name?” The Queen asks once you’re out of the castle and walking up a stairwell that leads to some place you can’t see yet.

“Her name is Eraxis,” you share with a faint smile.

Queen Daenerys eyes snap to you, and you catch her surprise at your comment.

“Your dragon is a female?” She questions.

You nod. “Yes. She is. Or at least that’s what I like to say, I don’t think we can really place a gender on a dragon.” You smile.

The Queen nods. “Yes, I suppose we can’t.”

A screech sounds from the sky before Eraxis flies down past you. Both the Queen and you look up to watch her, to admire how her white scales glimmer like diamonds against the sun's rays; to watch as she let her large wings soared, and how her horned tail swung to the side as she flew up.

“She’s…quite big,” the Queen points out with an admiring smile. “How old is she?”

Once Eraxis passes, the Queen's black dragon flies past you to follow Eraxis up in the sky.

“She is fifteen,” You answer softly, and catch her swallow thickly before she brings you to a stop so you can watch the both of your dragons as they begin to twirl up to the sky together, like if they’re dancing. Like if they were familiar with one another already.

“It seems Drogon is quite taken by Eraxis already,” the Queen says. “That should be good.”

You rest your hands on the stone before you and nod. “It is. It means Eraxis won’t be alone anymore.” You look down to look at the Queen. “What are the names of your other dragons?”

The Queen drops her gaze and answers, “the green one is Rhaegal, I named him after your father.”

Your smile falters, and your eyes go soft.

“And the gold and cream one is Viserion, named after my brother, Viserys.”

Ah. Him. The youngest brother. The uncle you only have one memory of, and it’s not a pleasant one.

“If I may ask,” the Queen continues. “How was Eraxis born to you?”

The story is something you hardly know how to explain to make it sound sane. Yet it is one people ask for a lot.

“To be honest,” you laugh softly. “It’s going to sound funny, but…” you avert your gaze and begin messing with your rings. “…a dream…”

You hear the Queen's feet shift against the stone ground at the sound of your comment.

“…it was a dream I scarcely remember anymore. But it was of my dragon being born from fire and blood.” You let out a deep breath and slowly look up to once again meet her gaze. Now you notice her look slightly disbelieved.

“It was fate then,” the Queen interjects softly.

You shrug and smile faintly at your rings. “Perhaps.”

You could tell her what you did to have the egg hatch, every detail. You can tell her that even if you don’t recall every detail of the dream, you still have a fragment of it painted so it could keep your mind from clouding at that time.

Yet you don’t.

At least it doesn’t seem so fit yet. Instead you let the conversation drift, you let her continue to lead you up the steps. And it’s now that you can see you’re being walked to some green cliffs where you spot her two other dragons resting.

“I have heard a lot of great things about you, not only because I have made it my job to keep myself informed, but word travels. I am more than in awe, I am fascinated,” you share sweetly, and make her smile a lot more timidly.

Yet when you reach the cliff her smile begins to falter, a serious and almost threatening look paints on her face as she comes to a stop and faces the ocean.

“If you have been alive this whole time why have you not tried to take what’s yours,” she says seriously. “You have the right claim, you, my brother's last living heir.”

You look away from her and face the ocean as well to watch the horizon as you think of what to say. Something that would sound like you’re not lying. “There’s many reasons, one, I am a woman. My claim is not as strong.”

“But you have a son,” she cuts in.

You nod and peer back at Rhaenar, catching him watching the dragons with awe. “A bastard. In Dorne they might not be shamed, but here they are. They would never accept my son, even if he is my fathers grandson.” You sigh and face her. “There is also time,” you reveal carefully. “My uncle had a plan, we couldn’t just risk ourselves by flying down to Kings Landing and burning everything. We needed a lot of time, ally’s, and resources. I actually was meant to marry your brother, but,” you scoff with a playful smile on your face, and catch her stare. “Before the proposal was officially announced, well, we heard the news he passed.”

The Queen scoffs and smirks. “Maybe it was a good thing,” she interjects, making you slightly furrow your brows in confusion. “I loved my brother, but I don’t think he would’ve made a good husband. Especially not to someone who already had a dragon before him.”

You laugh softly. “Is that so?” You query. “Well I for one was quite excited. More so for the promise of seeing the family I thought I had lost.”

The Queen lowers her gaze before she goes serious again, letting you continue.

“Anyway, before much else could be done my uncle…died, and the dream died with him.” You swallow thickly and let out a deep sigh. “Albeit, I can’t say I ever shared his dream, that's another reason I haven’t tried to claim what’s “mine”. I never had a desire to rule. Not after what happened. That’s why I have not taken the throne, that’s why I am here. Why, I sent Dorne to ally with you.” You meet her gaze and raise your head proudly.

“I don’t want the throne for myself. I want to help you take it,” you share confidently. “I want to take back what is ours with fire and blood, I want Cersei to pay for what her family did to mine. I know,” you sigh. “You have no reason to trust me, but know that I am done hiding and tired of doing nothing. I want my son to be proud of me, I don’t want him to hide anymore either. I just want to help you, at your side, united like family. Just like how Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters did, together.”

Daenerys continues to look at you with a threatening and piercing glare, she lets out a deep breath and looks past her shoulder. And without saying anything both her dragons walk over, causing Rhaenar to step back. When her dragons stand behind her you see the same burning, piercing glare that their mother carries.

“If it’s true, bend the knee,” she orders in a menacing tone. “Swear to me that you nor your son will go against me, that you will fight alongside me and help me win this war to take back what belongs to our family. Swear to me, Y/N Targaryen, and you and your son will have a place in my court. You will keep your title as Princess, your son as Prince. If not….” She pauses and her dragons begin growl. Yet you don’t react out of fear, you hold her gaze and stay calm.

“…I would hate to consider my last living relatives as traitors.” She finishes.

You look back at Rhaenar, and he meets your gaze, and together without hesitation you get down on one knee and look up to meet her gaze. “I swear to you,” you assure her. “I swear I will have no ill intentions. I will not fight against you. I will fight at your side.”

Daenerys begins to smirk and continues to walk over to you to offer you her hand. You’re confused at first, but when you take it she helps you up to your feet and keeps you in front of her for a moment, before she pulls you in for an embrace.

You’re caught off guard for a brief second, but once you feel her grip tighten you return the embrace and clutch onto her with relief, and joy.

Finally after years, here she is. You’re finally together.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Nights were already hard to sleep. Returning to Dragonstone sounded like it could be a solution to your restless nights, to the nightmares that plague your mind, but the bitter night air made it harder. There was some reassurance in the morning when you woke up and saw that meeting Daenerys wasn’t some fever dream. She was real.

As slow as things are between her and you currently considering you only just met, she was a comfort, that instant familiarity. Plus, you shared the restless night and got to speaking about everything you were missing about her current progress of the war, you spoke of other mindless things until the sun broke the sky. After the sun started to rise from the earth, you shared a mutual craving and spent no time finding your dragons.

“What’s on Eraxis back?” Daenerys points to the saddle on your dragon's back as she lowers her neck down to the ground.

“A saddle,” you say slowly and find it surprising she had to ask. “I can’t ride her bareback, not anymore at least, I have the scars on my thighs to prove that,” you laugh softly and approach Eraxis to grab one of her many horns that align her neck. “It helps me steer her too. And since Rhaenar rides her with me, I had it made so he wouldn’t fall off.”

Daenerys approaches Eraxis and then glances at you. “May I?” She asks and points to your dragon's body.

You nod, and watch Daenerys turn and begin to smile at your dragon as she carefully begins to stroke a part of her neck.

“I find it quite easy to ride Drogon with no saddle,” she shows off, making you scoff in amusement. “Then again it’s not like I have had much of an education besides what feels natural, and the few books I did have.”

You hum and smile at her. “Well don’t worry, I am here now. I can teach you all I’ve learned about our family.”

Daenerys eyes drift to you and her gaze softens as a softer smile appears on her lips.

“Now,” you say playfully and begin to climb onto Eraxis. “Let’s fly, yes?” You smirk down at her, and Daenerys begins to grin before she rushes over to Drogon to climb on him.

Since this won’t be a long flight, you don’t bother restraining yourself on her, you just climb on your saddle and grab your handles before you speak to Eraxis in High Valyrian. “<Fly, girl.>”

Without hesitation Eraxis begins to run off the hill, and Drogon follows, creating thunderous stomps on the green hill until both dragons flap their wings and take flight.

At first Daenerys and you are riding side to side, glancing once at one another with playful looks as both dragons gain more momentum and fly higher. However, it’s once Eraxis reaches the clouds that you turn her to her side, exposing her belly to Drogon, before you then drift to the left to hide within the clouds.

Drogon calls out for Eraxis, most likely to know her whereabouts, but Eraxis stays quiet and flaps her wings, blowing air and clouds behind her before she twirls upward rapidly and shoots out above Drogon. Once again the black dragon calls out, and this time Eraxis responds. You then lift your body off the saddle to peek down, catching Daenerys urge Drogon forward so she could lead, instead of being right under you.

You grin at the action and push the handle forward, causing Eraxis to flap her wings harder and get ahead of Drogon with ease. Daenerys looks up and sees, and then as if they have been mentally communicating, Drogon flies up.

Before they both could lose them, you motion Eraxis to fly up as well. Now both dragons have their bellies exposed to one another as you all fly up.

The dragons screech, and you snicker before you lean forward and exclaim happily, “<Dracarys!>”

Eraxis blows out a cloud of fire, and as Drogon was going to approach it, you make Eraxis drift to the side so you both could then begin diving down.

Daenerys doesn’t notice you flying in front of her anymore until she’s past the fire cloud. And when she sees you and Eraxis diving down, she beams and makes Drogon do the same.

Since gravity is what is pulling you down, Daenerys and Drogon don’t take long to catch up, but Eraxis and you do end up beating her to the surface of the ocean water. Albeit before Eraxis could splash in, she instead flies up and only lets her body barely skim above the water, creating ripples on the surface as she flies past.

Drogon and Daenerys on the other hand drift to the side and he skims the tip of his wing in the water as he flies at his side. When he fixes himself he then flies at your side, letting Daenerys and you turn your heads to smile at one another.

Now as little as you have known one another, there was a sense of a connection no one else can understand. For the first time you both could share the joys of flying with another soul, for the first time it wasn’t just the two of you alone in the skies with your dragons. It was now you and her. Her and you. Together.

However, as you flew, as you got closer to the castle, you could now spot Dorne, Greyjoy, and Tyrell ships sailing to Dragonstone. Daenerys sees them too, but instead of flying above them like you, she flies ahead without you. Yet you don’t stay just above them for long, you instead fly to the first Dorne ship leading the way and stay flying by it.

And since only the people you were truly closest to, and a few trusted guards knew of Eraxis, those who didn’t gawked as they saw you on a dragon, and as they literally saw a dragon. Those who did know about Eraxis however, like Tyene, looked excited and happy to see her again. Your other sisters climbed out to deck to watch Eraxis too, but unlike Tyene, they watched with more calm and collected demeanors.

Once you landed on the sand to wait for them to get to shore, Tyene shares that same excitement for your dragon when she arrives. She didn’t even bother to greet you.

“Eraxis!” She exclaims and rushes past you to reach Eraxis. And since Tyene, Nymaria, Tyrstane, and Obara helped you raise her, Eraxis was comfortable around their presence and didn't fail to let herself get caressed.

“This is where you wanted to come to so badly?” Nymeria asks in a teasing manner as she and Obara approach you after they climb off the boat.

You look back at the castle gates and nod. “This is where I was born…albeit I do prefer Dornes heat, and the Water Gardens.”

“It’s very bland,” Obara doesn't hold back from saying.

You hum as you can’t help but agree since you are used to more color because of where you were raised.

“How is it going?” You hear your late uncle's paramour, Ellaria, ask as she approaches all of you.

You glance at her and swallow thickly before you speak. “Good. I’ve made peace with my aunt, we were just bonding.” You meet her gaze briefly, but can’t stand looking at her for too long because all you see when you look at her is her with a knife in your uncle's stomach; all you can see is his death, you remember him dying in your arms after you were too late to save him.

You remember pain and grief, and feel it all over again. Ellaria is only alive now because of the love your uncle Oberyn had for her, you only tolerate her because she's Tyene’s mother. Otherwise she would no longer be here.

“Rhaenar is inside,” you say and look back at your sisters. “He’s excited to see you all again. It’s as if he hasn’t seen you in months.”

Obara smirks at the mention, and before you could spend more time out in the chilly air they follow you inside.

——

*LATER*

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara Greyjoy tells Daenerys, making her turn to face the table you're all gathered around. “We have an army, a fleet, and four dragons now. We should hit Kings Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

You scoff to yourself and drop your gaze to the table.

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorm,” Tyrion protests.

“It’s called war,” Ellaria interjects. “You don’t have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

You roll your eyes and proceed to lift your leg over the other.

“I know how you wage war,” Tyrion snaps. “We don’t poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.”

“She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannister’s,” Ellaria says, and to some degree you can agree with her. But not about what she did, not about Myrcella; like Tyrion said she was innocent, she was also never cruel, not to you, not to Rhaenar. You can understand Tyrion’s anger. Yet you can’t accept their bickering, not if you’re meant to be ally’s now.

“My great regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you,” Ellaria continues to spat, finally causing you to cut in.

“Ellaria, that's enough. Please. Tyrion is the hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect.” Without bothering to look back you glance over at Tyrion and sigh. “More so because we both know my uncle died fairly. Tyrion is no one to blame for my uncle's carelessness. Besides…” you peer back to side eye her. “You would find it wise to try and forgive him just as I have forgiven you for what you have done.”

There is a bit of silence for a lingering second before Ellaria talks back. “Yes, Princess.”

You hum and let the meeting continue.

“I am not here to be Queen of the ashes,” Daenerys finally inputs.

“That’s very nice to hear,” Lady Olenna of House Tyrell interjects. “Of course, I can’t remember a Queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her. The nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children, really. They won’t obey you unless they fear you.”

You glance down, clasp your hands over your knee and let out a small sigh. “May I add something?” You interject and gain everyone’s attention.

“Go on,” Daenerys encourages you.

You sit back and share what comes to mind. “A century back, when our ancestors were fighting amongst each other in the Dance of Dragons…it’s those same commoners that raided the Dragonpit and killed our dragons.” You glance at Daenerys, and then at Lady Olenna. “And I know for damn sure that dragons were feared back then as they are now. Burning Kingslanding down will turn everyone against us. We have to be smarter. We have to make them fear us without killing the people.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension and pulls her gaze away from you to look at Lady Olenna. “I’m grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your counsel,” Daenerys says. “I’m grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me, I will not attack King's Landing. We,” she makes her word clear. “Will not attack King's Landing.”

You nod in agreement, but Lady Olenna on the other hand doesn’t seem so convinced.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?” She questions. “By asking nicely?”

“We will lay siege to the capital surrounding the city on all sides,” Daenerys shares. “Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.”

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied,” Tyrion adds after your aunt. “Cersei will try to rally the Lord of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty.” He begins to walk around the table as he continues to speak. “Their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria questions,

Tyrion nods. “You are,” he agrees. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear.”

You slowly begin to put your leg back and lean in as your interest is piqued.

“And her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army,” Tyrion continues, “back up to King's Landing. The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms United against Cersei.”

“So,” Lady Olenna quips. “Your master plan is to use our armies. Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?”

Tyrion places down a dragon figurine that represents Daenerys and her people as he begins to explain and walk again. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Greyworm—” you have learned that he is one the Queen's most trusted war advisors, and the commander of the Unsullied army, an old friend now to describe it better.

“…will dial for the Rock and take it,” Tyrion continues and knocks down a lion figure to place down the dragon, leaving a silence to linger thereafter as everyone takes in what was explained.

Yet, it’s you who breaks that silence rather quickly to comment on something else. “In regards to the upcoming siege on Kings Landing, I will meet up with them on Eraxis.”

Both Lady Greyjoy, and Ellaria turn their heads to look at you, and agree with their look alone.

Yet...“no, that would not be wise,” Tyrion interjects. “People still believe you’re dead, Princess. We can use that to our advantage.”

You scoff and argue, “what better way to reveal myself than to stand with my people? Cersei’s fleet will be there as well, I will fight with my people.”

Tyrion looks back at Daenerys to share a quick look before they look to Lord Varys, and all come to a speechless agreement.

“Go then,” Daenerys says. “When the day comes you can meet with the army and stand to fight alongside them.”

You offer her a kind smile and nod. “Thank you, my Queen.”

Daenerys offers you a nod herself, and then rather than letting the meeting proceed you share one more question.

“What about the North? Have we heard anything from the King?”

Lord Varys steps forward and responds this time. “No. Not yet.”

You hum and sit back to continue on the matter. “Well, as we well know, the North is made up of proud people. The Starks as well have just taken back their house, what will we do if they want to keep being an independent Kingdom?”

“You have dragons,” Lady Greyjoy interjects.

You scoff. “So did Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters when they wanted Dorne to pledge their allegiance to them. What did we do? We resisted for years.” You remind them.

Daenerys slightly narrows her gaze and questions your comment. “What is it you’re trying to say then?”

You begin to smirk and meet her gaze. “Well if they come on their own accord. Listen to them. I doubt they’ll come just to bend the knee, no, they probably want something. If they resist.” You pause briefly. “Then offer them a marriage proposal. What better way to unite the grand Kingdoms than through marriage of the Queen and King?”

Daenerys quirks her brow in disbelief to your suggestion, and Tyrion speaks for her. “That could work. Winter is among us. They will need food for their people, what better way to sway them than to bargain. It will be hard to decline.

Daenerys swallows thickly and interjects. “I hear you, Princess. I agree, but we will decide what to do when the time comes.”

You hesitate before you nod agreement, causing the silence to return for a moment before Daenerys continues to interject. “Do I have your support?”

Lady Greyjoy steps up first. “You have mine,” she adds.

Without hesitation you follow, “Dorne is with you, Your Grace.”

Lastly Olenna nods agreement, and with that this meeting is settled.

“Thank you all,” Daenerys ends the meeting. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?”

You get out of your seat and walk out of the room alongside Ellaria since you’re both going to the same place.

And it’s a quiet walk at first, you both wait for everyone else to pass by and get out of earshot first. Even then when you were approaching the hall your family was in, neither of you could right away say what you both had to say.

First actually, when you were reaching your chambers, you spoke to the guard bringing in your things. “How are my paintings? Did they make it alright?”

The Dornish guard nods. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Princess,” Ellaria corrects him. “Y/N is a Princess, you shall address her as such.

The guard looks nervously between her and you and immediately bows his head. “My apologies, my Princess.”

You shake your head. “It is quite alright. Go on please.”

The guard nods. “Neither your, nor the…Prince’s items got damaged.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Thank you,” you say and then continue to the hall.

This time Ellaria finds the courage to speak. “How can you not be angry? How can you even look at him after what he’s done to your family?”

You sigh and begin to mess with the rings on one hand. “You know why, Ellaria. He is not mine to make leave, nor is he at fault for my uncle's death. You have accepted the facts of his death. We were there that day, we saw.” You glance over at her, and she meets your gaze. “In regards to…my mother and siblings, it is other Lannisters I set my anger on. I suggest you do the same if you want to keep having a chair at that council, I can't let your anger get in the way.”

Ellaria lets her gaze linger on you as she scowls for a brief moment before she nods. “I will try,” she says.

You nod and offer her a faint smile. “That's all I ask,” you tell her before you open the hall doors and make yourselves known to your sisters and your son.

“Mother!” Rhaenar greets and breaks away from his fighting stance to run over and greet you.

You grin down at him. “Hello, my Sunspot, what have you been doing?”

He points back to Obara. “Aunt Obara and I were just training.”

You smirk and ruffle his dark curly hair. “Did she kick your ass?” You tease him as you make your way to the wine tray.

Obara begins to snicker. “He held his own for a few minutes. It is a much better improvement.”

You grab a cup and serve yourself some Dornish wine before walking over to sit with your back facing the fire so it’s easier to face your family. Whilst Rhaenar returns to Obara to pick up the stuff they had around them.

“Dorne will be part of the siege on King’s Landing,” you share with your sisters.

Tyene stands from her chair and begins to smirk. “Are we?” She questions. “Does that mean we can finally kill Cersei?”

You snicker. “I wish it were that easy. Albeit if all goes well, we will be one step closer.”

“Will you accompany us?” Nymeria asks.

You nod and take a sip of wine before speaking. “I will. Once you reach King’s Landing I will go on Eraxis and help fight the enemy fleet.”

“We will be done in no time then,” Tyene says cockily.

You smirk and nod in agreement. You then proceed to take a longer sip of wine, and when you set your cup down you share a thought you've had since you knew you were coming here.

“I have a proposal for you, sisters.” You sit up and look between the three of them. “After this siege, I want the three of you to join me in the fights to come. I want you to be by my side.”

“Like what? Your ladies in waiting?” Obara asks teasingly.

You scoff and shake your head. “Not quite. More so my protectors. I may have Eraxis, but one can never be so sure now that I am going to reveal myself to Westeros again. Of course only if you want, I won’t force you.”

All three girls look at one another, and Tyene looks at her mother before the three of them look back at you.

“I will join you,” Tyene says first. “Father would have wanted us to stick together. Besides,” she begins to smirk mischievously. “It seems there’s a lot of Dothraki men here I would like to get to know.”

You smile, and then look at Nymeria as she interjects. “I will also join your side.”

Lastly, Obara walks over to be in your pherial view and says her response. “I will also join you too, sister.”

“Yes!” Rhaenar exclaims as he runs over to be a part of the conversation. “Does it mean we won’t have to be apart?”

You glance at him and assure him. “Yes. Exactly.”

Rhaenar grins with excitement, causing Tyene to ruffle his hair whilst he turns to face Ellaria. “What about you aunt Ellaria?” He asks. “Will you stay with us?”

Ellaria draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, little warrior,” she sighs. “I will have to stay with our armies. But I will come see you frequently.”

Rhaenar gets comforted by her response and then takes a seat amongst you all.

In the meanwhile you lift your cup of wine and offer a toast. “Thank you, sisters. And to our bond, may it only get stronger.”

All three of them lift their cups and Tyene is the one that interjects with excitement. “To us! And to our battles to come!”

——

*A YEAR BACK*

The doors locked. The windows are sealed.

Why—

Footsteps are approaching the door.

“Rhaenar?” You call out in hopes it’s your son. “Rhaenar, is that you?”

The footsteps stop and a thud sounds at your door. You run back to your door and try to open them again, but to no avail.

“Rhaenar?” You call again and try to peek through the doors creak. But there’s nothing there. You get on your hands and knees to peek at the creek below and see only boots.

“Hey! Let me out! Guards! Let me out!” You yell and jump back up to your feet. “What’s the meaning of this?!” You pound your fists on the door before you begin to kick it. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out or I will feed you to my dragon!”

There's a shift at the sound of that threat. Yet the damned door remains closed.

“Do you hear me out there? I will feed you to my dragon,” you curse and step back to look around your room for anything that could knock this door down. “Let me talk to my uncle!” You yell as you search your room until you think of your daggers, and sneak over to snatch them from the chest.

“I will give you one more chance,” you sneer and tiptoe back to the door to pick the lock. “Open…” you pause as you hear the lock click. “The door,” you mutter before you throw the doors open, startling the guards that were for some reason placed outside.

“What's going on?” You demand to know from the guards as you point your daggers at them. “Where is my uncle?”

The guard to the right clenches his jaw and gives you an answer. “Go back to your room, Princess.”

You scoff and then lunge at him to throw him back to the wall and point your blade at his throat. “Tell me now,” you sneer and side-eye the other guard who keeps his hands out to show that he won’t hurt you. “What is going on? It’s only a matter of minutes I assume before my dragon comes to me. Should I throw you to her first? Or you,” you point at the watching guard.

“The prince's chambers, he’s there,” the watching guard spits out.

“See,” you scoff and drop your dagger before letting the guard go and stepping back. “Easy. Next time you disobey, I will make Eraxis eat you.” You offer them a sweet smile before you turn and storm over to your uncle's chambers.

And as you pass halls and step outside, guards begin to look at you weirdly, they pass odd looks between one another and give you second looks as they watch you storm past them. The closer you get to your uncle's chambers, the more suspicious they get. They even try to stop you, but you just ignore them and quicken your pace.

Once you begin to see the pool outside his quarters, the guards try to grab you, but you just swiftly slip past them without hassle.

“Princess wait!” One of them yells before you can turn the corner of the patio to reach your uncle's quarters. “Princess!”

He runs after you, and as guards around his pool see you approaching, they unstiffen from their stance and try to rush over to you. Yet you just run past them until you get to the steps of the deck. That’s when you notice the dead Maester and a pool of blood dripping down the steps. As you slowly look up you see Areo Hotah dead next to where Tyene is standing. Next to her is Ellaria pulling a dagger out of your uncle.

“No!” You immediately cry out and gain the attention of your cousin Tyene. “No!” You try to run over to him as he falls to the ground, but Tyene runs over to hold you back. “No!” You sob.

Your uncle Doran flips over and reaches his hand out to you. You try to pull away from Tyene, but guards then help her keep you away.

“When was the last time you left this palace?” Ellaria snaps at your uncle. “You don’t know your own people. Their disgust for you.”

Your uncle begins to cough out blood, but he keeps trying to drag himself away, making you try to squirm with more force to try and reach him.

“Elia Martell, raped and murdered, and you did nothing,” Ellaria spats out, causing you to hit the guards harder. “Oberyn Martell butchered, and you did nothing. You cloud your niece's head with that same ignorance.”

Your uncle flips over again and begins to pant.

“…You’re not a Dornishman. You’re not our prince.” Ellaria finishes spitting out.

“My son Trystane,” your uncle mutters.

Ellaria turns around and scoffs. “Your son is weak just like you. And weak men will never rule Dorne again,” she says spitefully. And finally the guards let you free so you quickly rush over to your uncle and fall down on your knees next to him.

“Uncle,” you cry and cradle him in your arms. “I’m here. I’m here. I will help.”

Your uncle groans, and slowly pulls his bloody hand away from his wound to cup your cheek. “My sweet y/n, you have the power to change the world, do not let vengeance cloud your judgment.”

You sob and shake your head. “I won’t, I swear to you,” you whisper, knowing deep in your heart that there was no saving him anymore.

He lets out labored breath and offers you a wobbly smile. “You have your mothers smile, you know that?” He whispers. “Smile for me, one last time, will you?”

A sob escapes your lips, but you muster a wobbly smile before he takes his last breath and drops his hand from your cheek.

“No,” you mutter as tears stream down your face, and your heart feels as if someone had just stabbed it. “No, no, no!”

“It was for your own good,” you hear Ellaria say from behind you. “Now you can come out of your uncle's shadow. You can finally fulfill your destiny and take back what is yours!”

You swipe your hands over your uncle's eyes to close them, and then slowly put him down.

“Now you can stop living in fear,” she continues.

You let out a shaky breath and drop your head, choosing to ignore her, choosing not to act out on your desire to stab her through the heart.

“Y/N,” she mutters and grabs your shoulder. “Now…” she trails off as the sound of flapping wings sounds from the sky only seconds before Eraxis reveals herself and lands down on the ground, only barely managing to fit her body in the courtyard.

You keep staring at the ground regardless and only hear her growl at Ellaria as she stands stiffly behind you.

“Sister!” Tyene cries out, but doesn’t move.

Eraxis breath slowly unfurls out of her nose, blowing back Ellaria’s dress.

“I watched my own mother die,” you whisper in a quivering voice. “Every night in my dreams. Of course I didn’t know what it meant then, I was only four,” you feign a laugh. “And well it was only fragments of her death, pieces I couldn’t place together. Not until years later. And now it lives over and over in my mind.” You stand up from the ground and let out a shaky breath.

“Do you want to know how that feels, losing a mother?” You ask Tyene, and turn, seeing Eraxis keep her eyes pierced on Ellaria.

“Please,” Tyene pleads to you.

“Do not hate your sisters,” Ellaria interjects, making your eyes snap to her. “They had no fault in it. It was all my doing.”

You swallow thickly and slowly begin to walk around her. “Yes,” you say. “I figured as much. Only you are capable enough to fill their heads with poison.” As you reach Eraxis side you pierce your glare on Ellaria as well, mirroring your dragon's same burning glare.

Ellaria scoffs and lifts her head with confidence. “Tell me what you would have done if I hadn’t killed your uncle?” She spats. “He was a plague. You would have kept hiding, kept dying your hair pretending you’re someone you're not, you would have kept hiding your dragon. You would have kept living in ignorance here. It’s time to wake up y/n!”

Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps you have lived your entire life in fear. But she still killed him. And you still couldn’t avoid it.

“I am only sparing your life because of Tyene,” you change the subject, and Eraxis begins to lose her scowl and begins to whimper and lean her head against you. “Betray me again and I will burn you alive.”

Eraxis pulls her snout out the deck and then lifts her head as you walk over to begin mounting her.

Once you’re on your saddle you grab your handles, and Eraxis flies off.

——

*NOW*

“Lower,” you tell Rhaenar and walk over to push his arms down a bit lower. “Pull your arms down.”

The boy sighs. “Uncle Oberyn said this way,” he tries to argue.

You nod and move back. “Yes, I understand, but there are many fighting styles, you have come close to mastering his way, now you must use different tactics,” you advise him and slide your foot back to once again stand in your fighting stance. “If you want to become a great warrior you must know much more.”

Rhaenar sighs and mirrors your stance. He then looks at your blade and lunges, but you quickly change your stance and swipe off his feet.

“That’s no—” Rhaenar cuts himself off and instead pushes himself to his feet.

You drop your head and laugh softly to yourself.

“You did better,” Daenerys tries to assure him as she watches him train—out of simple curiosity she said. “Less complaining this time.”

You chuckle before you turn around and watch the boy scratch the back of his head whilst he walks to grab a spear off the rack.

“Perhaps the young prince could spar with me soon,” Greyworm offers from the Queens side, as he too was curious to watch your morning training session.

You glance at the soldier and then at your son. “How does that sound, Rhaenar, hm? Maybe Greyworm will be a much kinder teacher than I am.”

Rhaenar turns with his spear in hand and offers the soldier a grin that goes from ear to ear. “Yes I would love it!” He exclaims happily.

Greyworm smiles faintly and nods. Daenerys smiles at the boy, and you part your lips to tell him something, but the door then opens and Tyrion and Qhono, the Dothraki Lieutenant, walks in behind him.

“My Queen, Princess,” Tyrion says, and gains the attention of everyone in the room. “Your guest ship has been spotted docking at shore.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension, letting The Hand turn to leave. Qhono albeit lingers and meets your gaze, making you smirk at him before you turn to face Rhaenar. Daenerys catches your interaction but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Go change out of your training clothes,” you tell the boy. “When you’re done go to the Throne room.”

Without argument Rhaenar puts away his sparring weapons and does as he’s told.

Before long you also go and change out of your training outfit, deciding to put on a long red dress that perhaps is too revealing for the chilly weather of Dragonstone. The long matching red cloak that attaches under the golden dragon scales on your shoulders provides some warmth, but then again you never much mind being too cold or too hot in something if it means looking good.

And sure, The King of the North wasn’t yours to impress, if it came to it it’s not you he’d marry, but you still do choose to show off your golden chained gloves that connects to your golden rings, and matches with the golden breast plates that was elegantly carved to go over the dress. You still didn’t choose to cover your exposed chest, or a part of your sides, or your arms. Because the truth is, if it were a choice to choose between armor and dresses, you’d choose the expensive and most beautiful dresses, even for dragon riding.

And well there is maybe Qhono that you are trying to impress.

“Come,” you call Rhaenar over once you walk in the Throne room.

Rhaenar sighs and lets you walk to where he was standing already.

“Your pin is all crooked,” you let him know and unpin the dragon pin to correct it. “There. Better. Handsome.” You pat his shoulder.

Rhaenar rolls his eyes out of embarrassment, making you laugh softly before you fix his hair.

“Mother,” he whispers sharply and pulls back to then glance back at the Queen.

Daenerys catches his embarrassed glance and shoots him a teasing smile.

“Fine,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’ll go.” You then go and stand in your spot to wait patiently.

Once those doors open, the first one to walk in is Qhono, Tyrion, and Daenerys most trusted advisor Missendei of Naath follow, but you watch Qhono, as he watches you while he walks past you. You don’t notice the King of The North right away, not even when Missendei says all of Daenerys titles, you instead then look at your rings when Qhono is out of sight until you hear your name.

“…and the Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell, Princess of Dorne, daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You finally blink and look up, finally taking in the sight of the King of the North, and noticing that his eyes are already on you. They were on you for most the time he’s been in here but you didn’t notice, not until now.

Until now you see that he isn’t as tall as you imagined Northern men to be, he isn’t as musclary built, or as hairy. He’s quite small, more lean. His hair is dark, as dark as perhaps a moonless night. His eyes aren’t rough, they’re soft and a very pretty dark brown you can get lost in. He has soft features, scars on his face that he wears more than well.

The King of the North is handsome and breath-catching. Much to your surprise.

“And Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of the princess.” Missendei finishes introducing everyone that she needed to, leaving a very long silence as the King of the North looks at his advisor.

“This is Jon Snow,” the advisor reveals, letting said man glance at the Queen. “He’s King in the North.”

You smile at the introduction and once again catch the softened gaze of Jon Snow, the King of the North. His gaze lingers on yours, as your eyes linger on him. Neither of you dare to look away, it seems in a way you’re both too mesmerized. For that brief moment until Daenerys spoke up all that existed was just the two of you.

It was such a…weird and new feeling. One you never want to lose.

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ammyamarant · 5 months

Text

Thinking about tragedy in Arknights, and times I had to step away for a bit because it affected me that much.

Spoilers for chapter 6, chapter 8, and Il Siracusano.

TW: suicide

FrostNova was the first. Misha made me cry, but it was FrostNova that made me step away from my computer to process what happened. We got to know her, got to see her go from seeing Rhodes Island as nothing more than an adversary to one final battle where she uses every last piece of her life to kill them to make sure they can kill Talulah, joining them in her last breath. We have her final march, showing her last fight with in game mechanics before her life runs out. And her peaceful smile, knowing her and Yeti squad's wishes live on, and she is joining her slain brothers and sisters.

(it is equally heartbreaking at the snow when Patriot dies and the fact she's listed in the K.I.A. report as a Rhodes Island operator)

JT8-1 was another point. During chapter 8, we got to know why Reunion members who knew Talulah from the beginning said she changed so much. We got to see what hardships she endured. We get to see how she changed after Alina's death.

But JT8-1 shows how she stopped being that Talulah. We see her find out about something truly horrifying: a town locking up a group of Infected who were just looking for food to survive a little longer in a grain silo and letting them starve to death. She sees the bloody scratches of people trying to get out.

And she breaks. She loses herself to her anger and the Deathless Black Snake and kills everyone in that village.

The use of in game mechanics again, not letting us control it and helplessly watch Talulah burn them to death... I had to get up.

And finally, Il Siracusano. I admit, I feel guilty for reading Rubio's character wrong at first. A short, dumpy guy who was just working in the background? I've seen this story before. He wants power. He's the guy behind it. And I was so wrong about that.

But his last moments... Penance reading his journal. Penance realizing what's going on, what he was actually feeling, and what he was about to do. And Penance realizing she couldn't save him. She was too far away from the radio station, but she also had a duty: keep Rubio's daughter safe. She couldn't leave the hotel room. So instead, she shows the most kindness she can in this situation and covers his daughter's ears so she is spared hearing her father shoot himself over the radio.

That still gets to me. I had to step away from Il Siracusano for a bit to regain my composure.

When the storytelling in Arknights is good, it sticks with you. Hard.

#arknights #tw suicide

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kellyvela · 1 year

Note

Kit mentioning Sansa fondly twice when literally NO ONE asked. Why is he playing with us like this 😢

Q: Kit, tell us about playing the all Stark kids reunion in the last season.

Kit: Jon and Sansa reunion is my favorite. The hug that we had was so emotional.

Q: Kit, tell us about playing jokes while filming.

Kit: For me thrones will be me sitting in a damp tent with Sansa, just sitting in some god awful green room, in the loosest possible term, you know, in a heavy wet costume, just laughing my tits off.

And this last answer is similar to this other one, where Kit said that what would make Jon Snow happy, would be to be around his sister. Then he tried to amend his words by saying "his sisters, and any surviving family he has, with his sisters and siblings" lol

He can't help it!

#anon asks #kit harington #jonsa

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allovesthings · 4 days

Note

Top five Winds of Winter Must Haves?

Let me think about it....

1) Arya getting her identity back and going back to Westeros which I guess will happen at the unmasking and I will be here for it.

2) Dany also finally getting to Westeros. I suspect this one is going to happen at the end of the book, she has so much things to do before that.

3) The battle between Young Griff and Cersei and the burning of King's landing.

4) the reunions (tm). Probably between Lady Stoneheart and Arya and Arya and Nymeria and Arya and Gendry (I think the others will have to wait for spring probably), Maybe Jon and Bran can reunite also, they are the closest geographically (Maybe Bran can finally come back from the north 🥺).

5) Jon's resurrection and his change. I personally believe he is going to be more obsessed with getting Arya back considering that's his last thought but that's just me.

Bonus round 1) The death of Littlefinger. A Giant needs to be killed in a castle made of snow and a certain Maiden needs to be the one to do it.

Bonus round 2) How Brienne and Jaime get out of this one (if they do...but honestly I think Jaime has to survive to go kill his sister) and the second Red Wedding planned by the Brotherhood... Which I know sounds horrible and I'm sure it's not gonna be a pleasant experience to read...but it's literally foreshadowed everywhere in feast and Dance and I need to see it.

Thank you for the ask, this was so fun.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #arya stark #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #bran stark #cersei lannister #lady stoneheart #catelyn stark #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #jon connington #littlefinger

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mah-t-wordblog · 1 month

Note

It's Too Cold For You Here

Tanjiro journeys by himself in a snow storm to his old home, while Nezuko stays and sleeps at Butterfly Mansion. Giyu Tomioka catches sight of him near his home village and follows at a distance to see what he is up to. He watches Tanjiro grieving at his old home for his family, wandering around and sitting in his house like a lost soul. Unable to leave him, he steps in, and eventually convinces Tanjiro to leave the bloodstained place and follow him to a Wisteria House, where the boy finally opens up about his heartbreaking reunion with his family in the dream world and how he left them crying after him and how much he misses his parents, as well as how he had to take his own life so many times to escape. He admits that he hates himself and blames himself for not going home that night and relives the cruel words that his 'dream family' said to him. He admits he relives the whole thing every night and is so exhausted and emotionally beaten he barely eats or sleeps anymore.

The dream world for Tanjiro...I am so sure just about broke him mentally and emotionally. He has not told anyone because it was so painful, so Giyu is the first to learn and I am sure he is inwardly heart broken for the boy, even if he is so stoic and gruff. But he can see how much damage it has done to Tanjiro and because he cares for him, he is concerned.

Maybe during the conversation Tanjiro also opens up and shares things about his dad and mom and siblings so Giyu gets to learn more about his family as well as who Nezuko was as a human.

It would be cool to get a lot of Giyu's inward thoughts on the boy, past, present, and future, as well as what he is thinking while listening to the boy.

Angst comfort fic, with stoic Giyu comforting Tanjiro to the best of his abilities and getting him to eat some supper. Platonic cuddling and sleeping?

Hiii, I don’t know if this is exactly what you want me to write, maybe I made some changes, but I left the main focus as you wanted, I hope you like it anyway 💛💛

It’s too cold for you here

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

This fanfic is originally in Portuguese, my English is translated using an automatic translator, if there are any big errors you can tell me so I can fix them

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

Gyuu Tomioka was climbing the cold mountain, the air there gave him a headache

It wasn't the first time he visited that area, not really. He had already gone there the first time he met the Kamado twins

The town there seemed bustling, despite the intense cold of the winter that was beginning.

Some people wished him good morning as he passed by, but Gyuu didn't respond to them, because he wasn't interested in talking to other people at all, he had something to resolve.

Shinobu Kochou had informed him that Tanjiro Kamado had disappeared that night, leaving his sister sleeping peacefully in the rooms of the Boboleta Mansion.

Wasn't that common for Tanjiro to disappear like that overnight? Go out without him sister? Run away and abandon everyone?

These questions certainly didn't make sense in his head.

So Gyuu used reason to understand where Tanjiro had gone, and the answer was this mountain

He thought of all the possibilities of what could happen as he climbed through the deep snow.

He stopped in front of a small house, humble, cozy, on top of the mountain.

And he heard a very familiar sound

As he got closer, he realized that the sound was coming from someone crying.

Tomioka's heart accelerated and he ran into the place

Yes, Tanjiro was kneeling on the carpet on the floor. He cried, as if all the scenes he experienced there were happening now

The man felt a pang in his heart, how cruel life was for that little boy.

“Tanjiro-“ Gyuu said

The boy looked back scared, but calmed down when he saw who it was.

“What happened here, Tanjiro?”

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't say anything.

Gyuu sighed

“Come here” he extended a hand to help Tanjiro up, but when he pulled the boy, he brought him into a big hug

Tanjiro was a little confused, but relief spread throughout his body, he stopped crying.

"You are hurt?" Gyuu asked, referring to the boy's bloody leg.

“Y-yes” he finally said “I got stuck in some bushes on the way here”

Tanjiro took a few steps back and Gyuu saw that he was limping.

“Come on” Tomioka signaled to Tanjiro “come up here”

The boy did as he was asked, he climbed onto Gyuu's back

And in that position the two descended the mountain

Gyuu really wanted to ask what was happening, why Tanjiro was like this. But would the boy want to tell it? Gyuu doesn't see any reason why someone would want to tell him a secret

But he should try, for the boy's sake

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

Gyuu left Tanjiro alone in a room in the Butterfly Mansion and went to look for help for a moment.

He was afraid of what sadness could do to him

The man ran until he found Shinobu

“Please, Kocho, some medicine” he panted after running so desperately

“Tomioka, what happened?”

“I found him, Tanjiro”

Shinobu opened her eyes wide and ran to her room.

In just a few minutes, Shinobu had prepared bandages and medicine for the boy.

"Are you well?" She asked. Tomioka could see that the fake smile wasn't even on her face, she was worried

“Yes” Tanjiro replied, but without smiling like he always did.

Shinobu looked at Tomioka, she got up and went towards the door

“Tomioka, please come here”

The man did as he was asked

“Please, I fear that Tanjiro is reaching the point of irreversible sadness, talk to him, you are still the one who helped him, the one who allowed him to become who he is today”

Tomioka sighed, he looked away from her, he wanted to help, he really wanted to

“You’re like a big brother” she asked “think of him as Sabito, okay?”

Tomioka was scared, he didn't remember telling Shinobu about his life, but... but...

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

Oh yes, it was on a day like that. Tomioka was found wandering in the mountains looking for the place where Sabito had been buried, he ended up slipping on the snow in the mountains and fell, all the way down the hill.

He remained on the ground, all broken, just waiting for death, when someone came close to him. They were two beautiful women, he remembers, they were Kanae and Shinobu Kochou

They carried him and took him to a beautiful, large house, in the room where they placed him there were several sick people, injured like him.

Then the woman with pink barrettes in her hair approached him.

“What’s your name, hunter?”

Gyuu looked at her, he wasn't a hashira yet, nor was Shinobu, just Kanae

“Gyuu Tomioka”

Kanae sighed

He could see that Shinobu was staring at him, but when he looked at her, she looked away.

“Why were you climbing the mountain, Tomioka?” Kanae asked.

Gyuu didn't respond

The woman seemed worried “it’s okay, if you need anything you can call me”

Then Kanae left the room, leaving Gyuu and Shinobu alone.

A long moment of silence was broken by Shinobu

“Did you know anyone from there?”

Gyuu felt a pang in his heart

"Yes"

The woman looked at him “who?”

Gyuu didn't know why he should tell Shinobu about this, but he felt like he should. Did she make you feel confident? What was that feeling? He barely knew her

"It's a long story…"

"I am interested"

Their gaze met

Gyuu felt hot

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

The feeling that someone cares about you is very good, Gyuu wanted Tanjiro to feel it too

“I’ll take care of him” he said, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

"Thanks"

Gyuu Tomioka entered the room again

Tanjiro was curled up on his bed, lying down, sad. Gyuu sat next to him

“Do you want to talk, Tanjiro?”

The boy sat down “talk about what, sir?” Even sad he was impressively polite

“About why you were on that mountain”

Tanjiro sighed, he covered his face with his hands, Gyuu heard the sound of crying

“No- there’s no need to talk, only if you want to” Gyuu said worriedly

The boy calmed down “I want to talk”

Gyuu looked at him, the more relieved and calm expression, different from the bored and sad one that was always on the hashira's face, made Tanjiro feel calmer and calmer.

“So get started, I’m here to listen.”

Tanjiro said, once he started talking he didn't stop. He told about when his father died, about what Nezuko was like when she was human, about his mother and his brothers, about the day he slept outside and never stopped blaming himself for it, when he discovered that they were dead...

Gyuu really didn't imagine Tanjiro's life was so difficult

Finally, the boy ended by telling about the dream he was subjected to by that inferior omnimoon, the terror he felt at having to take his own life so many times, having to abandon his family even though he knew none of it was real.

“It was torture! Psychological torture, that shitty oni, I hate it! I hate them!” Tanjiro started screaming, getting out of control, the boy never did that, he started hitting the bed hard

“Tanjiro!” Gyuu exclaimed

Tanjiro looked at him, his eyes swollen with tears.

“I know, Tanjiro” the man took one of the boy's hands “I know what it's like to lose everything you have, I've lost it twice myself, I lost my whole world, and it's all my fault”

Tanjiro wiped his eyes “and what did you do?”

“I didn’t let myself forget who I always loved. I haven’t forgotten the sister who protected me” he pointed to the red part of his clothes “and I haven’t forgotten the friend who saved me” he pointed to another part of the clothes, which had colorful patterns

“Do you visit the place of their death?”

“Every day I can, but I'm careful, so I don't fall and hurt myself, like you.”

Tanjiro chuckled, then Gyuu laughed too.

“Thank you, Mr. Tomioka” Tanjiro lowered his head smiling

“I'll always be here for you, boy” Gyuu rubbed a hand on the boy's head, ruffling his hair “it's okay to be sad sometimes, right?”

"Right"

Gyuu got up

“Sir, one last thing”

The man turned around “yes?”

“Could you see what Miss Aoi is cooking? It smells soooo good” Tanjiro smiled

Gyuu was surprised by the boy's good mood and started laughing. Tanjiro had never seen Gyuu laugh so much, and he thought it was one of the best sights he had ever seen.

Yes, Gyuu was like a teacher to Tanjiro, but they were great friends, because their lives were never that different, right?

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

Thanks for reading 💛💛

#fanfic #demon slayers #kimetsu no yaba #demon slayer fic

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fantasybellingham · 4 months

Text

As a year passes | 1.

' it feels weird to be back here '

a year had passed since the tragic disappearance of Selena and Hannah. and the remaining five friends found themselves back at the isolated ski lodge way high up in Blackwood pines. The memories of that fateful night still lingered, casting a heavy shadow of their reunion. Yet, against all odds, they had decides to return, drawn to the place that held both painful memories and a sense of unfinished business.

Jude, y/n, marcus, Trent and Declan stood in de main hall of the lodge, their footsteps echoing through the empty space. Dust covered every surfce which gave the place an eerie, abandoned feel. The air was thick with a mix of anticipation en trepidation.

Jude's gaze swept across the room, taking in the familiar surroundigs that had once been filled with laughter and youthful energy. Now, it felt like a haunted relic from their past. Even though, he was determined not to let his fear wear off. After all, he had still an image to uphold as a jock amonst the group.

"So we are really doing this?"

Jude's voice was laced with a hint of excitement and unease.

"coming back here even after everything that had happened?"

He looked at his friends, searching for their faces for any hesitation. The lodge was dark so there wasn't really much to see in the first place. Their agreement to return to the lodge was a testament to their resilience, their desire to confront what they had feared head on.

Trent was the one that nodded as he placed his bag down on the rustic floor that creaked beneath his feet as he inched closer to the couch that once had space for all seven of them.

"we owe it to Selena and Hannah, they would want us to come back here"

Y/n, who had been standing in the same spot the moment they entered the lodge had agreed with what Trent had said. They would've wanted them to come back even if it was just to figure out what happened that night a year ago.

With shared resolve, everyone turned their own way to place their belongings in their own room which all belonged to the second floored lodge that shielded them from the howling wind outside. Y/n however, she dropped her bags by the nearby door and made her way further into the quiet hall. Her fingers lingerd over the light switch to turn it on, but much to her dismay-- no source of light lit up her way.

"we really need some fixing on the light"

Marcus had shrugged from upstairs as he leaned over the railing. Surely the lights had been turned off, if not even completely cut off. No one had been here over a year so there was really nothing needed anymore.

"no shit, Y/n. This place had basically been abandoned"

Marcus voice from upstairs echoed through the lodge, aware of the incredible dulness that filled the confinements. Sam curled her fingers around the picture on the table and even though she wanted to maintain her posture, it was impossible when her eyes fell on the snapped memory with Jude wrapping both his arms around Hannah and Selena.

Movie night with the lads, 2022 14th of december.

She had read it in the newspaper last year that both Selena and Hannah were found dead at the bottom of the cliff which was unusual, for both sisters weren't the type to be reckless. Perhaps the embarassment that Selena had felt when the what-seemed-like harmless prank that made her swerve and trip down. Her fingers continued to feel the worn edges of the photo while the snow continued to fall onto the pavement, reminding her of the harsh reality they were in.

Jude, seemingly aware of y/n’s unease, had made his way over to her with delightful steps. The smiles captured in the photograph seemed so distant now which was a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere that haunted Blackwood pines.

"seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it? we were so young and youthful we had no idea what was coming for us"

His fingers grazed the edge of the photgraph, tracing the countours of their faces captured. The weight of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, the regret of the mean-hearted prank taking it's toll on him. He was sure that by the time dinner came around, they would go over the prank that was spelled upon Selena until they would find the harm in it.

And through the forest and through the trees, there was not one hint of something alive, for Blackwood pines was as perished as their joy was. It had been left unintended for a solid year as in 2022 they had officially shut down the entirity of this place. However, that did not diminish the group's resilience for they wanted closure in something that was not quite here anymore.

Declan, ever the calm one had snuck up on Jude and y/n too-- noticing their lingering gazes on the photograph that was nothing but a distant memory.

"everything has been left untouched, it feels as if the government just forgot about this place--"

Both y/n and Jude turned around to face Declan, his words creating some kind of worry. If they really had left this place all alone, what more laid beneath the hills and through the thick leaves of the forest?

"--but I did find a smaller lodge on a walkable path from here. Trent and I will start dinner, would you two mind to switch up there lights again? I don't do well with my night vision"

And so Jude and y/n ventured on the apparent walkable path over a smaller bridge towards the other lodge that held all the advantages to the lights that Declan so desperately needed. Sam chuckled under her breath as her boots snapped on the snow beneath her feet. The snowstorm seemed to be worsening and none of them were prepared for the cold temperatures heading their way.

"walkable my fucking ass, I´m breaking my neck here"

and event though the reference wasn't all too smooth considering her two friends did break their necks, she continued to walk towards the smaller lodge with Jude by her side. The group of seven friends in which were now only five had met many years ago in college when they all followed the same degree. They begun to form a tight knotted alliance, but Sam was afraid that because of the prank-- they were everything but tight anymore. Cautious, that is what they were.

Reaching the smaller lodge, y/n held her flashlight of her phone closer to her since the rustling in the bushes and the crescent moonlight from above was enough to make her a sceptic.

"Let's get the lights on and get out of here"

#jude bellingham x yn #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude x reader #until dawn #fantasybellinghamworks #blackwoodpines

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diana-bookfairchild · 10 months

Text

Falling (for you) Through The Snow

My fic for @jilychallenge2023 Winter in June Challenge. Partner: @wearingaberetinparis Prompt: You’re a snow artist and I think you just made a snowman(woman) that looks exactly like me… do you have anything to confess?

Lily Evans loathed the winter season.

She hated having to wear unwieldy scarves and large sweaters. She hated shivering and sneezing all the time. She hated the biting chill of the air. She hated the crunching of snow under her feet and having to shovel it out of the way. She hated even the merry carolers and especially the mistletoe she was allergic to.

It was honestly kind of ironic, because the man she was in love with was a snow artist and ice sculptor, which meant he basically personified All The Cold Things. Even imagining watching him make his intricate ice sculptures and snow craft made her smile.

She was that far gone.

Except that scenario was not at all plausible, firstly because she did not know the name of the man she was in love with, and secondly, he did not return her feelings. He was fixated on the The Unattainable Angel, or as Lily liked to call her, The One Who Had No Idea How Lucky She Was.

The name needed some work, but it conveyed her sentiment well enough.

She disliked disliking or competing with a fellow female but. . . Well, emotion did tend to disregard rational judgement and decision-making.

The love of her life thought ‘Effermont’ was a good pen-name, and she’d still fallen for him, so, well, love very clearly was one of those emotions.

It was her turn to write him, wasn’t it? It’d been nearly two days since she’d picked his letter up from Albus Dumbledore’s lovely little café Godric’s Hollow. If she left it much longer, he might think she’d abandoned him.

Or, more likely, that she’d died, seeing as he was rather full of himself on the exterior and would never believe anyone would deny themselves the opportunity to ‘bask in his reflected glory’ (his own words).

She’d grumble about the season to him. That always got him very cutely riled up.

Dear Eff,

Or should I say toff? I can’t believe you have a ski lodge! Are you going to it these hols? And what about your best friend/very annoying brother? Will he be going with you or is his wicked family going to trap him into one of their horror movie family reunions?

I can’t believe it’s winter again. I hate this season so much!

I can just see your face (I mean, I would I if I knew what it looked like) looking so annoyed. I know you like the winter, Eff. It’s the only flaw in your oh-so-perfect self.

I mean, winter is just plain annoying. With literally none of the good things other seasons bring! What comes in the winter? Slipping on the ice? Strawberries?

In other news, my sister and her husband came to visit home and my mum ordered me back, so I spent this weekend in my house in dodgy old Cokeworth. You haven’t heard of it. It’d be a no-name except I just wrote its name, so.

My nephew is a sweet baby, the cutest and chubbiest one on the planet. My sister on the other hand. . . Well, I’ll leave it at ‘we could get along better’. But you already know that. You probably know more of my sister and my relationship than anyone except my old best friend, but talking about him really brings down my mood so I’m not going to do that.

Not that much needs to happen for that. Winter is coming, after all. Winter is already here and that is such a pity.

She bought me this really ugly pink sweater. I’m sure it’s not lost on her that I’m a redhead and therefore ANY pink looks absolutely terrible on me, much less this garish monstrosity that makes me want to poke my eyes out when I look in the mirror while wearing it.

Redheads look terrible in pink. And basically any colour on the red spectrum. It’s a fact of life, and one she knows VERY well.

And she had the nerve to say it suited my personality? I’m sorry, what?

Honestly, sometimes I just want to kill her. And not in the good way – like how you say it about your very annoying best friend/brother.

How goes the life-ending heart rending love for The Unattainable Angel? You didn’t talk about that in your last letter, which is odd. Your letters are usually full of romantic woes. No judgement, mine were too, back when I actually had a romantic life to speak of.

How are your friends? Got into any ridiculous shenangians lately? Have you talked to your mother since your last letter? It sounds like you argued pretty badly and I know she’s very important to you, Mama’s boy.

In all seriousness, don’t let the bitterness fester. It does so too easily, and honestly, I’m a prime example. Don’t let one argument ruin such a wonderful relationship, Eff.

Onto lighter topics. I tried the flavour you recommended at Godric’s. It was good. Just the right amount of bitterness to offset the sweetness. Finally, we can say we both like a coffee flavour! It looked impossible for a while there.

And no, Katniss and Gale would definitely not make a good couple! The sheer amount of sweets you like to have is rotting your brain, Eff. Everlark all the way, thank you very much.

How are your studies going? Mine are going pretty well. At least you don’t need to take a Sociology class which requires you to send letters out to complete strangers in the hopes they’ll reply. I can’t regret picking this social experiment, though, because it got me you, and that made it pretty much worth it.

Pretty much. Weighing it out.

No letter hassle v. No Eff. Hmmm. Hard to say.

Kidding.

Continuing the getting to know you game: I hate, hate, HATE answering this but the embarrassing story about me my mum and dad just adore telling people is the time I went around the house narrating everything that was happening just in case we had cameras recording us for a reality show. Or the time I was flower-girl at my aunt’s wedding and I threw all the flowers on her new husband’s really annoying father’s head. Or the time I tried to cut my hair with safety scissors and had to get a bob cut to rectify the mess. Or the leash story. God, the leash story. You don’t want to know it. It’s even more mortifying as an adult.

If I could holiday anywhere, it’d be Italy. Venice and Rome especially! The thought of going along on a little gondola is just really fun, and Rome has all the history I love. History’s been my favourite subject since I was a kid. Not that I could ever tell dad. Maths has obviously been my sister’s and my favourite since we were kids and still is.

He still isn’t over me studying law.

So, for you! If you could have any name other than your given one (obviously, I don’t know what it is, so please don’t trick me by just using that!) what would it be? If you could have any pet, which animal and why?

And write something for me. You’re a psychology student, psychoanalyze me and write me something I’d like. I know, I know, your artistic talents tend towards visual – being a snow artist and all – rather than literature, I’m the literature swot between us, but I recorded that song on the piano and sent it to you, didn’t I?

I hope the walls of your house didn’t collapse from how bad that was.

Lots of love,

Flower.

Her pining didn’t show through that, Lily thought, pleased. Nor did her bitterness at asking about The Unattainable Angel. Lily despised the thought of seeing the other girl as a competitor – and she didn’t – but she didn’t need to drive a stake through her heart by repeatedly hearing about her.

But she had long decided the only way to get over a hopeless crush was to power through it while making her heart bleed over and over. Hence the asking.

She folded the letter and slid it into the envelope.

“Lily!” Mary called from the hall. “Are you done getting ready?”

Lily froze guiltily. She’d completely forgotten about the party in favour of venting her frustrations at Eff. He was very good at taking that. He was quite possibly the best pen pal in the universe, except she had no objective way of measuring that.

Subjectively, he absolutely was.

But back to the moment.

“Er, not yet,” she yelled back to her roommate. “Give me a minute!”

She quickly put on the dress Eliza had gotten out for her earlier – much to her protestations then and now relief that she didn’t have to select one herself – and did her makeup. It wasn’t anywhere near what she would have typically done for a party.

“Your minute means an hour,” Mary was exaggeratedly complaining as she slipped out of her room. She frowned at her. “Why do you look like you threw that together in thirty seconds?”

Probably because she had.

“Never mind that,” Eliza said like the godsend she was. “Mare, do her hair while I get the mascara.”

“I don’t get why you guys treat me like a baby,” Lily grumbled, even as grateful as she was.

Eliza pinched her cheek. “Oh poor jelly-baby,” she cooed her very demeaning nickname for Lily.

“Quit acting like one then,” Mary suggested rudely, parting her hair.

“We’re stopping by Godric’s on the way.” Lily announced as she started driving on the icy roads, finally entirely ready. She looked in the rearview mirror for a moment. She looked amazing. Mary and Eliza were miracle workers.

Mary groaned. “Oh, come on. Do you do anything other than write to your beloved Effermont?”

Mary was very disapproving of the whole letter-writing thing: both the concept of writing to a stranger and the reopening of her very tender wounds of heartbreak every time.

“Plenty,” she replied drily. “Listen to your opinions regarding it, for one.”

“I’m just worried about you, Lils!” She called after her as she left the car. They’d reached Godric’s Hollow café.

Fair enough.

Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as brightly as ever as he took her letter outside his café. “Your Effermont is in there right now,” he said amusedly. She flushed at the ‘your’ before actually registering the sentence.

“Oh my God,” she said, feeling a thrill run up her. This was the first time they’d ever been this close to each other – that Lily knew of, anyway. “I should go then. Don’t want him discovering my identity.”

“Of course. Is this the actual letter or simply the directions? For I fear he’s in somewhat of a hurry,” Albus said.

Lily grinned. Eff had made her drink his coffee recommendation – good and not ridiculously sweet for once – before she could get his last letter. She’d once made him climb a tree. He’d once given her a series of riddles to solve before Albus gave her his letter. It was fun, but also not something you could do quickly, and Lily’s grumble fest had been pretty quick. Their letters typically reached seven or eight pages.

“The letter itself,” she assured him, shaking his hand before striding back to the car. Mary frowned disapprovingly, and Eliza gave her a thumbs up.

Mary lectured her about the letters all through the drive, making her very relieved to come up the driveway of the house where Benjy Fenwick was hosting the party.

“That is one big ass house,” she said under her breath as she leaned against her car after parking. Mary and Eliza were already inside.

“Isn’t it just?” Remus Lupin smiled at her, looking as tired as always. “Fenwick has a really huge inheritance.”

She bit back the instinctive ‘how are you’ – she was sure a chronically sick person like him was sick of that (pun unintended) – and instead asked, “Where are your mates?”

He waved vaguely at the house. “Sirius and Peter are in there, causing trouble no doubt, but James got. . . Delayed.” There was a wry twist to the last word that suggested disapproval or amusement. Lily couldn’t tell. “I’m waiting for him now, in fact.”

Alarm reared in her head. The last thing she wanted was to run into James Potter. She didn’t loathe him anymore the way she had in high school, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him.

Too bad for her.

“Hey, Moony! I’ve got a new—” James Potter stopped short at the sight of her, blinking. He was casually handsome in a polo shirt and jacket and trousers, hair tousled, his spectacles lopsided on his angular face. “Evans.”

“Potter,” she said briskly. “I’ll see you in class, Remus.” She moved towards the house, when Potter grabbed her arm. It was gentle, not restricting or pulling, but it felt like a jolt of electricity ran up her arm. “Don’t touch me!”

She turned to glare at him. He backed up in alarm, holding his hands up. “Sorry, Evans. Just had a question.”

She breathed through her irritation. “What is it?”

“Can I use you as a model?”

“A model for what?” She stared at him.

Potter faltered, “I – uh, I’m an artist of sorts. And I was just wondering, for this commission—”

“You can,” she said brusquely, moving again. She modelled for art classes for extra money. She was used to being a muse for people. She didn’t know why Potter had asked in the first place but. . . It was considerate of him.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad.

On second thought, nah. She remembered the utter fiasco he’d created last week in the mess hall.

Potter was, for some reason, the person she disliked most among the self-proclaimed Marauders. Perhaps it was his brief obsession with asking her out back in high school, or the fact that he’d been the main perpetrator in Sev being bullied. But she immensely disliked talking to or being around him either way, so it didn’t really matter.

She rejoined Eliza – Mary was off somewhere with her toy of the night, this time Hestia Jones – and thankfully managed to avoid all the Marauders for the rest of the party.

She even managed to enjoy herself, drinking a fair bit, dancing, playing a couple games and giving her number to a cute guy who might actually help her get over Eff.

All in all not a half bad night. She’d gone to worse parties.

She found herself back in Godric’s Hollow the two evenings later, listening to Marshmello on her headphones, sipping a Frappuccino (bitter, obviously) and finishing editing her assignment in Trade Relations.

“Lily,” Albus called. She looked up enquiringly, slipping her headphones down her neck. “A note from your Effermont.”

The whole world lit up from its previously dull colours. She eagerly took the folded paper from the barista, reading the scrawled message. Eff had a weird handwriting: it was like he’d been taught calligraphy, but didn’t have the time or the bother to either use it properly or disregard it completely.

It was charming. She loved it.

You will find your letter at the following place: 1. Dog Walkers for Hire 2. Home Repair 3. Symphony Orchestra

Lily closed her laptop and packed her things hurriedly, eagerness swimming through her. She’d figured out the place easily, and rushed to the intersection, grabbing the letter (with a laugh at the fact that a Congrats! Sticker was stamped on the envelope) and walked back to the flat, pulling her shawl tighter around herself.

God, she hated the cold.

Eff was as irascibly cheerful as ever.

To the Prettiest Flower in Existence, started the letter, making Lily blush delightedly.

It is I, your beloved Eff! I hope you haven’t missed me too much. It took a while to set up the hunt and write down everything I wanted to do. My mum goes crazy for Christmas. She’s hired all these decorators for the manor, and I can just hear you say ‘toff’! (If I knew what your voice sounded like, of course). So my very annoying best friend/brother and I had to clear off for a bit, and then my other friend had this episode with his illness and. . .

Well, anyway, I was busy. And things are all fine now. Mum isn’t going any less crazy, sadly, but the rest of it’s sorted.

To answer your questions: Honestly, I’m not sure what name I’d like. My dad and mum have these really ridiculous names, you’d laugh if you ever heard them. Seriously. And my best friends too. So I think I’d either want some stupidly fancy thing to match them (not likely) – like Theodore, or Romulus, or Perseus, or Octavius or Septimus. More likely some nice, common name like mine. So. . . Tom maybe. Tom sounds nice. Or Alastair. That’s a cool name too. Daniel. Sam. Alex. Noah. Henry, like my granddad. And I would love to be a Finnick, obviously. After my favourite character, even if it would invite jokes about being too finicky.

Honestly, it’s impossible to choose! Just like you to give these weird philosophical questions, Flower. I had to ask my parents why they chose the name James and all that, so points for giving me a chance to learn some family history plus some terrible details of their sex life I never wanted to know.

As for the second one, an owl. Hands down. I don’t need a dog, because my best friend/brother is practically one, minus the obedience part. An owl just sounds really amazing. Nocturnal animal, for one. It could keep me company on my night study sessions. Did you know they can rotate their necks upto 270 degrees?? And that they have asymmetrical ears? Plus they could be like carrier pigeons! Delivery owls! I’d train them. In fact, I want to be an owl trainer when I grow up. Forget my Psychology and Philosophy degree.

You’ve probably gathered from some of the other comments that I made up with mum. You were right. Naturally. You’re probably always right, and just incredible like that. I was a bit hesitant about making the first apology (my pride yada yada, psychoanalyzing and all) but your letter convinced me, so. . . Thanks for that, Flower. You’re the best.

I have heard of Cokeworth, actually. It’s where The Unattainable Angel is from, which is such a coincidence! Do you think you might know one another? You’re both about the same age – mine – and I gather it’s a fairly small town so you must, yeah?

I am extremely offended at your disparaging winter, Flower. My favourite season! I’m sorry, we’re over. I can’t write to someone who hates something so meaningful to me. I’m a snow artist! It’s a bit weird, isn’t it, that we’re writing to one another? Months after your first generic letter for your project? You dislike sweet stuff, I love it. You hate winter, and the winter is literally my livelihood. You ship Everlark, I ship Everthorne. BTW, you’re wrong about that. Like, so wrong. Attached is a list of reasons Everthorne would work. I love Katniss and Gale together!

Attached is also a story I wrote for you. Feel honoured, Flower. I don’t do this for just anybody. Also, don’t come at me when you find that it’s absolutely awful. I know. Like you said, I’m not a writer. I’m an artist. A SNOW artist, so deal with it. Winter’s the best. Winter is already here, and that is AMAZING.

Speaking as an artist, I can assure you, pink does not look terrible on all redheads. The Unattainable Angel is a redhead, and she would look pretty in a garbage bag, so I refute your assertion. I bet you look good in pink too.

In order to prove that, I, the stunning snow artist that I am, will be making a sculpture of The Unattainable Angel in pink! It’s a commission I got last week, for this business party in a garden in the suburbs. It’s some fundraiser, sort of, plus networking – don’t ask me. My dad does this kind of stuff for his business, and it all goes way over my head. Who holds something like this in a garden though? And wants an ice sculpture for it? Especially one of a girl? I contemplated not doing it, especially because I don’t want her stared at by perverts, but she agreed, and she’s a model, so she’s probably used to it. . .

She’s so great. And so incredibly gorgeous. I can’t wait to get sculpting! It’ll turn out beautiful, I’m sure. Anything would, with her as model.

Ouch about your sister, though. I can’t believe she said that. I’m sorry your relationship has soured so much. My best friend/adopted brother is the worst and most annoying person on the planet, but I can’t imagine my life or myself without him. I’m sorry you’ve lost that closeness. I’m sure it must be hard.

The Unattainable Angel is as, well, unattainable as ever. She really, really hates me. So nothing new on that front, except I actually managed words to ask her if she can be my model for the sculpture, to prove something to you and for the commission – the first more than the second ;)

Trust me, you don’t want to know about my friends. Really. Like I said, my chronically ill friend had an episode, but he’s fine now. But really. My brother and our other friend did this so stupid thing yesterday. . . It involved flag poles. And jumping off buildings. They may have been a tad drunk.

They must have been – either that, or clinically insane. And my mum still didn’t scold him! She’s definitely playing favourites. And I am not pouting about it. Also, I am so not a Mama’s boy, Flower! You take that back!

My studies are going well. I got an A on that test I wrote to you about being nervous about, so that’s a relief. It’s so weird to think we’re already well into our second year. It feels like I’m still at high school sometimes. The general stupidity of the population doesn’t change no matter where you are, I’m sure you would say. But still.

Yeeees, soon we’ll bring you onto the dark side Flower! Soon you’ll be consuming the sugariest and sweetest stuff known to mankind and loving it! In all seriousness, glad you liked the rec! I’m going to suggest white chocolate peppermint tea now. It’s a Godric’s special. It’s pretty sweet, but I think you’ll like it. Or maybe not. Try it and tell me!

I absolutely want to know the leash story! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Pretty please with a cherry on top? I’m sending you puppy eyes right now. I wish you could see. My mum tells me my puppy dog begging eyes are absolutely lethal. I bet you’d cave in an instant. I wish we could meet in person. I know you don’t want to – just an idle wish.

Also, wow. Those stories are hilarious. Not as stupidly embarrassing as ones my mum insists on telling though. She brings out the baby album every. time. somebody visits. It’s so stupid! And my brother is no help, he just keeps laughing, especially because there aren’t any baby photos of him.

I bet you looked cute with your bob cut, though. How old were you then? The thought that people might be watching us in some reality show is pretty scary. Thanks for the nightmares, Flower.

Continuing the game: Tell me your favourite traditions for a holiday. Any holiday. And if you could have any three books survive the apocalypse with you, which would they be?

I want you to write down five things you even slightly like about the winter. As a snow artist, I demand that my pen pal/closest female friend like at least something about it. If you could send me that piano recording (which wasn’t that bad by the way) you can do this. For me? With puppy dog eyes again.

Lots of love,

Effermont.

Lily was smiling instinctively as she read through the letter, already composing a reply inside her head. She couldn’t help it. Eff was so effortlessly cheerfully charming. God, she was so hopelessly in love with him. Even as he pined after The Unattainable Angel. Who sounded like a bitch who had no idea what she had.

Lily sighed and tried to let go of that misplaced anger. She just wished she could have Eff like her. He did seem like he was flirting sometimes. It got her hopes up when they oughtn’t.

Maybe Mary was right. Maybe this was bad for her.

But at the same time – she couldn’t stomach the thought of this stopping. Of never receiving a letter from him again. Of never laughing at his random thoughts and smiley faces. Of never feeling that despairing love again.

There was no good choice.

She let her chin drop onto her palm as she scanned the letter again idly, stopping at the places where he complimented her, blushing and feeling nerves stir in her stomach. Stopping where he described his latest commission, she frowned.

That sounded familiar. Lily thought about it, putting the letter and the attached papers away for later reading and replying. A networking event. Garden. In the suburbs. Ice. . . Then it clicked.

Marlene’s mum’s company was having a gala in the garden just outside her house. A semi-informal one. Marley had talked to her about the ice statue of a girl they’d ordered for it. Someone in the family had been commissioned.

Lily’s heart skipped a beat. Someone in Marley’s family could be Eff. The thought was almost dangerous. She’d met her friend’s immediate family a couple times. Her mind was immediately racing: she had two brothers. And multiple male cousins. One of them. . .

But would knowing be a good thing? Did she want to know who Eff really was?

Yes, her traitorous heart replied. Of course she wanted to know whom she was in love with.

But the more sensible part of her protested. She already liked him enough. Knowing his true identity, seeing him around the Hogwarts campus – that might literally shatter her. She didn’t know if she could handle it.

But Lily was impulsive, reckless. It was somethine Tuney and Sev had derided her for multiple times. It was part of who she was. She took out her phone and shot a message to Marlene, asking if she could come to her mum’s party, on account of being a law student and networking.

It wasn’t a lie. Meeting influential people would be useful.

But she knew her main reason for asking. And it was purely personal.

The party was nice – a much classier affair than the high school and college parties she’d been to, thankfully. She chatted with several people, made nice and got business cards, all the while looking for an ice sculpture of a girl, heart thumping.

“Lily!” Marlene called. “Hey, crazy coincidence you’re here.”

“Why is that?” She asked, putting her glass of wine down and making her way to her friend.

Marley pointed vaguely in the direction behind her. “This ice statue— it’s of a girl, and—”

Lily didn’t bother listening further, turning and making her way in that direction. Then she saw the statue, and came to a standstill.

It was her. It was her, in pink clothes, just as Eff had promised. It was her right down to the curves of her hair and the green in her eyes and the smile on her face.

Eff had used her as the model for his commission.

She was The Unattainable Angel.

Her mind went blank. Her whole body felt numb, and not from the cold. Her hands were trembling.

Eff was in love with her. He was every bit in love with her as she was with him, judging by his letters.

She had to—she had to find him. She had to tell him. She had to move. She had to do something.

But what?

Dear Eff,

I saw the statue you made for the McKinnon Offices’ Business Party. I know her. I want to meet. I think I can help you finally attain The Unattainable Angel.

Love,

Flower

To the Flower of Utter Amazingness,

You want to meet??! Like, seriously?? Tell me this isn’t a joke, Flower. I’ve wanted this for ages.

I can’t believe you saw the statue.

So you do know Evans, huh. Small world.

Godric’s Hollow? The table where you left your first letter? 5 pm on Monday?

Lots and lots of love,

Effermont

Dear Eff,

Smaller than you might think, actually.

I’ll see you there.

Lots of love,

Flower

Lily was dying of anticipation.

She wasn’t one to tend to hyperbole like that – but this was an extraordinary situation. She was about to meet the man she was head-over-heels in love with. She felt that deserved some exaggeration.

It was four fifty-five on Monday. Lily had her book bag swung over her shoulder, too wrecked with nerves to go back to her apartment post classes.

She was going to meet Eff!

She. Was. Going. To. Meet. Her. Pen-Pal.

It still wouldn’t quite sink in.

She sat on a bench across the road from the café, with the table they were supposed to meet at well within view. She wasn’t willing to be seen as – well, desperate, and reach first, and she wanted to have a chance to assess after she was blindsided by information.

Lily liked to be in control of things.

It was why she found herself so extremely annoyed when James Potter of all people sat in at the table, moments after she’d taken her own seat. Why did he have to pick now to come to Godric’s? And that particular seat?

Eff would come soon and ask him to move away, she thought hopefully. She kept a keen eye out for anyone approaching that particular table, but no one did.

Bitterness welled deep in her twenty minutes into the wait. She couldn’t believe Eff had stood her up like this. It was ridiculous. He’d seemed so excited in his letter. Even Albus had chuckled to her about it. Had something gone wrong on his side? Was he perhaps waiting, not wanting to eject someone from their seat?

Nah. He was too arrogant for that.

Impulsively, she stood and made her way to that table. Maybe there was a note? Another letter?

“Evans!” Potter – squeaked, flailing about undignifiedly. He was always so odd around her. She despised him, but he seemed to waver between awkward and sleazy around her. Which was a pity. He wasn’t bad looking and Mary kept insisting he’d grown up since high school.

Lily didn’t really see how bullies grew up.

“Potter.” she said shortly.

“Did you, uh, want the table?” Potter stood up quickly, hands in his pockets. She could understand that. Lily hated sitting when someone was looming over her. She opened her mouth to tell him to keep the table when: “I was just waiting for someone—”

Dread encapsulated her. Dots which she really didn’t need at that moment connected. “Who?” She asked urgently.

He blinked at her. “Who?” She asked again, impatient and nervous and scared and excited and disgusted and anxious and apprehensive all at once.

“Just a, er, friend— we’ve never met before so this was the meeting place we decided – but she’s late—”

“A pen-pal?” She asked quietly. “Eff?”

Wonder took over his face. He smiled blindingly, hand lifting as though to touch her face before he put it down. “Flower?” He said quietly.

They stared at one another for a moment.

“I can’t believe it’s you—” He laughed lightly.

James Potter. James Potter. The one who’d tugged on her pigtails and dumped paint all over her and teased her about her drawing and told her she was beautiful and amazing and relentlessly persecuted Sev and partnered with her for a Science Project and won the lacrosse championship for their school.

James Potter.

Was Eff. Effermont. Who was always cheerful, had ready jokes, was arrogantly charming, a shoulder for her to cry on, and was the one person she trusted and relied on most.

Whom she was in love with.

Feeling suffocated and trapped all of a sudden, she turned. “I can’t either,” she snapped curtly, walking briskly outside.

“Hey, Evans? What – where are you – Flower!”

Ignoring the urge to stop at the final call, she jogged back home, burying the need to cry deep inside.

“I. . . Don’t get it, Lils.” Mary said, frowning. “So the pen-pal you were head-over-heels for turns out to be a guy with a great bod and an even better brain? What’s to whine about?”

Lily stared at her best friend disbelievingly. “You don’t get it? Mare! It’s James Potter! I’m in love with James Potter!”

“Yeah. So?”

“It’s. . .” Lily couldn’t help it; she got up and began to pace. “It’s so. . . Confusing, I guess. I mean. I didn’t like Potter. I still don’t like him, frankly.”

“Oh, not this again,” Mary groaned. “Come on, Lily. Haven’t you been dragging this high school feud long enough?”

“He was an asshole!” Lily raged. “He bullied Sev!”

“Who gave back every bit he got,” she pointed out. “Look, I’m not saying Potter was right to do it, ganging up on Snape and doing all those awful things to him. It was terrible. It was wrong. But. . . It was years ago. You got to know Potter in a completely new, objective way. And you fell in love with him. Doesn’t that say something?”

Lily scowled, turning away from her friend. It did. It said several things.

It wasn’t as though she’d only hated Potter, even back then in high school. He’d asked her out repetitively during that one phase. He’d managed to cheer her up with his dumb jokes more than one time. He’d been an excellent partner for that one project they’d been paired up for. He’d been the only one who could keep up with her in the Debate Team – they’d used to argue until they were breathless, chests heaving.

Knowing Potter had been exhilarating even then. He was a constantly tempestuous ride, and she’d never known which side she was about to get – awkward Potter who couldn’t string together a sentence around her, the coolly confident one who teased and argued with her, the passionate jock she’d cheer on in the field, the bullying toerag who got off on the misery of others.

He was a dichotomy. Always.

But she’d never once gotten that vibe from Eff. Could he be arrogant, condescending, disregarding of others’ feelings occasionally and accidentally? Sure. But he was a good man at heart. Lily wouldn’t have set up a meeting if she didn’t believe that.

But Eff being James Potter. . .

And she was The Unattainable Angel. She, Lily Evans! She couldn’t believe it. And she couldn’t deny that thought made her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in years.

Her mind made the decision quickly. “Okay. Yes. You’re right.” Her heart was pounding.

“I cannot believe you said that!” Mary cheered. “The Best To-Be Lawyer and Judge in the world said I’m right! Woohoo! Where’s my phone, I need to record this.”

“Shut up.” Lily rolled her eyes, ducking her head at the compliments. “But. . . I don’t have his number. What do I do? What if he hates me? What if—”

“Lil. Chill. That guy isn’t capable of hating you,” Mary said reassuringly. “And you have his best mate’s number. Call Lupin. Ask him to . . . I don’t know, connect you with Potter.”

“Okay,” Lily breathed, rubbing at her chest. “Okay. Thanks, Mare. You’re the best.”

“I know.” Her friend smiled smugly. “Go get him, girl!”

Hey, she texted Remus.

Hey, came a text back, only five minutes later. What’s up?

Can you send me Potter’s number? She asked without preamble.

There were the three dots, indicating he was typing. Then they disappeared. And reappeared.

You really hurt him, Lily, was the final message.

She stared at it. Tapped on the screen while she figured out her reply.

I know. I want to make up for it.

There. She thought that conveyed the sentiment, even though the phrasing was awkward and not her best. She just. . . Really couldn’t think about anything. Love had that effect.

There was no reply in words – just a number. Heart pounding, she sent him a thank you before saving Potter’s number in her mobile and starting to message him.

She went through several drafts in her head before she decided he would appreciate casualness the best.

Hi, Eff, she sent. I’m so sorry about today. Do over?

As Her Floweriness commands, was the reply, setting her at ease the way only he could do. The main fountain on the school campus okay with you, Evans? Tomorrow evening, 7:00?

Absolutely. See you then, Potter.

No running away this time?

Definitely not.

And it was done. Lily rolled over in her bed, grabbing her pen and journal, an idea striking her.

There was no better way.

She sat on the fountain, watching the water spring from the funnel, tired and excited and scared. Snow fell around her, landing softly. It was only fair, Lily supposed, that she be the one to wait this time. Still. It wasn’t easy.

“Evans,” someone breathed, and Lily spun around hastily, nearly tripping into the water. He caught her, one hand around her waist and the other grabbing hers. “Easy there.”

She froze, tingling sensations spreading from the place his hands touched. She wanted to stay there forever. She wanted to rip herself away. She turned to him slowly. “Potter.”

He let go of her, stuffing his hands in his pockets, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She felt oddly bereft.

“I, um—”

“Maybe we should—”

They paused, having started speaking at the same time. Lily cleared her throat. “I. Wrote this for you.” She thrust her letter at him.

He blinked at it. “Wow.” Why didn’t he take it? Did he hate her? Did he not want it? Did he have some other idea of how this was going to go? Was he— “That’s weird. I wrote a letter for you too.” He took something out of his pocket: an envelope.

They stared at one another. She couldn’t believe they’d had the same idea. It was ridiculous. Connecting. Soulmating, if she believed in those crap romance novels Eliza liked to read. Hand trembling, she reached out to take his. They exchanged envelopes.

Lily tore her eyes from his face to the letter in her hands.

Lily-Flower,

Thanks for running away, Evans. I really needed that. Real nice of you—

Sorry about that. Just. . . Got a bit angry.

Hey, Flower. I can’t believe you’re Lily Evans. The girl I’ve been pining over like an idiot since high school. Yes, you can gasp in shock and recoil in disgust. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a massive crush on you.

No. That doesn’t sum it up.

I am absolutely, utterly, horrendously in love with you.

I don’t have the way with words you do. So. . . I’m not sure how. . . I guess I was halfway there even with my friend and pen-pal Flower. Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail always used to get these looks on their faces whenever I told them about the letters. But I was too hung up on you, Evans. You were. Well. You were The Unattainable Angel after all.

First and foremost, you’re my friend. And you don’t have to be. If you never want to see me again, call quits on the letters, that’s fine. I just hope you read this. One last letter from Effermont to Flower, eh?

I guess I can tell you why I picked that name now. My mum’s name is Euphemia. And you know my dad’s name is Fleamont. It was a kind of combination of their names. Plus, it sounds a bit like effeminate – which, I know is sometimes used as a slur, but you thought I was a girl when we first began writing. It was a joke.

A mean one. I know. I thought a lot about why you ran away like that. I was angry. Hurt. Still am, honestly. But I guess I can understand. I know you, Flower. I know you pretty well. So I can understand you running away to deal with your emotions.

I just hope you don’t mind this contact.

I haven’t. . . Always been the best person. I know that. And I don’t think I would have liked the person I would have turned out to be if I had continued like that. It’s. Hard. I was always arrogant, entitled, and jealous and bullying. . . And. It’s hard to describe.

And I know you hated me back then in high school, especially when I asked you out – which was all serious, by the way. I know you thought that me making a production of it was because it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Your hating me’s your prerogative, obviously.

I suppose I understand reconciling your friend with someone you loathe is hard.

Anyway. I’m just writing this to say. . . It’s okay. Whatever you want to do.

And I am still as in love with you as ever, Lily Evans. I didn’t need you to sing in the assembly like Peeta did (I hope you appreciate me making an Everlark reference). I just am. Have been for ages. Seems, at this point, like I always will be.

Yours,

Eff James Potter

Lily swallowed. She lowered the letter, looking at Potter. His face was intent, hopeful, wary. He was obviously done with her letter, folding it over and over in his hands.

“Since high school?” She whispered. “All those times. . . You were serious?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, Lily. I really, really was.”

He was calling her Lily now, she noticed vaguely. “You said whatever I want to do, you’re okay with it,” she said.

A flash of uncertainty. “Yeah. ‘Course. I meant that. Still do.” he assured her.

“And you don’t understand from my letter what that would be?” She asked, tone slightly teasing.

“Weeeeeell. . .” He dragged out the word, smirking a lopsided grin that made him very attractive. “You could stand to be a bit clearer.”

“Okay,” she said softly, walking closer to him. She could see the way snow fell on his head, the way the droplets clung to his lashes. The way his eyes, the golden flecks in the hazel, softened when they landed on her. “I am ardently, steadfastly, horrendously in love with you, Eff. James Potter.”

And she leaned up and kissed him.

He gasped, still for a moment, before kissing back. The pressure was electric. It was comforting. It was warmth, in the snowy winter around them. His arm came up against her back, lightly pressing, supporting. Her hands trailed up to his shoulders.

They parted, saying nothing for a long moment, staring at one another softly. James cleared his throat. “You’ve – got some snow here,” he patted it off her shoulder gently, letting his hand linger, his thumb brushing her collarbone.

She shivered, not entirely due to the cold. “Ugh. I hate snow.” She complained, still lightheaded from the kissing. “I loathe the winter.”

He smiled, a small quirk of his lips. “Yeah, I know.” He took her hand bringing it up to his lips. “Not only bad things happen in winter, though.”

She felt her own face light up in response, curling her hand with his, interlocking their fingers. “I suppose not.” Lily replied. “You still can’t say anything good about the snow though.”

“She says to the snow artist. . .”

And they bickered, walking hand-in-hand through the snow.

58 notes · View notes

greetingfromthedead · 13 days

Text

Shepherd Story 3 (God!Knives x GN!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who is also eternally bound to you with body and soul. A sense of routine has arrived as you fulfill your duties and wait for his return.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 1 and Story 2 (smut)!

Pairing: God!Knives x GN!Reader

Raiting: Teen and up

Tags: fantasy!AU, god!AU, no use of "y/n", established relationship, gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, angst, death, reincarnation

Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: We had a blizzard here after a day of sunshine and 17 degrees so it made me think of this story again. Wrote this mostly while listening to Rachmaninoff, I highly recommend their dramatic pieces to accompany this little story. This AU is inspired by @triplesilverstar's god!AU.

His sister's presence has retreated again, opening the gates for the northern winds to howl across the lands beyond the god's domain. Tesla had brought summer and filled the hearts of all with joy and love. All but the god of winter and death, for his heart beats for only one person and one person alone. He has waited patiently for another cycle of this world and to be released from the confines of his demon infested home and reunite with his beloved. He makes it out of his shadow realm, passing the first human settlements. He is followed by a dark cloud of despair and winter's chill. His steps freeze the earth beneath, and his presence seizes the sway of grass as the moisture in them turns to ice. The drinking water for the horses forms jagged crystals on its surface as the god passes by a farm. The animals are whining restlessly, his presence unsettling them. The forests are silent, the ancient trees muffled by a blanket of snow, as the heartless man continues on his path, leaving destruction in his wake.

It is so cold. His fingertips have gone beyond pain, and he can barely feel them anymore. His body wants to seize up, but he pushes on. He will never give up; he will never stop moving. The darkness radiates from his chest; it is so heavy and empty, the vacuum left in his center yearns to be filled with your love. It is the only thing that will save him. The only thing that gives him meaning. It is the only thing that gives him hope. The thought of your warm touch lingers in his mind. Oh, to see your smile again. It would make everything else fade away. The color of your eyes would relieve his pain and bring him back to life. In every iteration, you are gorgeous to him. No matter what body you inhabit, he will always be captivated by your beauty. But still, he can look past the external appearance and see the true splendor within you. The breathtaking and captivating presence of your soul has tied him to you for eternity. The strings of faith will never be severed, no matter how many curses are placed upon you. He will always remain by your side, unwavering in his devotion.

He moves south, with blizzards and frost as his faithful followers, spelling death for those unprepared. Nature has gone so very quiet as he walks through the meadows and fields. The air grows colder and darker with every step he takes, and the little lifeforms hold their steaming breath as he passes by in fear that they will be reaped by the god of death himself. But he is not here for them. As he slowly approaches the southern lands, where he knows he will find you, a melody strokes his ear, soothing the despair that has been building up inside him. He stops for a moment, the brilliant light of the moon reflecting on the glimmering snow. He recognizes the siren song, which draws him closer. Two hearts singing as one in the stillness of the night. It is very far, a quiet melody to daunt his soul. But he knows you can feel it too; your soul is drawn to him to close the distance between you.

The souls of the dead sound like little bells to you, beckoning you closer. Their crystal clear chimes ring out, guiding you towards them. Tonight, as you fulfill your duties, you hear one calling out from the village over the pasture. Being met by the souls of the dead is never pleasant; knowing they lived a life and had hopes and dreams beyond what they had achieved fills you with sadness. They were people who leave behind mourners and heartbreak. But to hear a ghost call from so close to home stings you more sharply than any other encounter. Your body is asleep in your little cottage as your spirit crosses the green, grassy field as a fox. Your presence doesn't disturb the grass or the cattle. You drift to the house where an old woman has lived for all your life. You know her well; you gave her your dried herbs when she got ill, and you played catch with her grandson when you were both little. She moves through her yard with a slow shuffle, checking that the door of her chicken coop is closed before going to count the goats in the barn. She looks concerned while she performs her nightly routine. You take your human form to use your voice.

"Mrs. Claire," you say calmly and quietly as you watch her. She looks up, her eyes filled with worry.

"It's you," the old woman blurts with a shaking voice. "I knew the rumors were true!"

She backs away, expecting to be met by the little gate separating her little yard from the rest of the world, but instead just passes through it.

"Oh!" she exclaims with a shrill voice, befitting an old crone. She looks at her surroundings and herself.

"Yes, Mrs. Claire, I am afraid you have passed on." You answer her unspoken question, and she looks at you without responding. You make no attempt to go closer to her as you look at her beautifully maintained garden and the memories it must hold.

"What are you doing here, you witch?" She nearly spits out the last word.

"I am here to send you to the other realm so you can be born again with the flowers of spring," you say almost absentmindedly before turning a sharper gaze onto her. "Or I could leave you to roam the grounds for a while longer as a ghost."

"I do not trust you! You practice witchcraft!" she exclaims, her voice trembling with fear. "You even lured the god of death here to advance your own power! We saw it! You let him bring destruction to our land!"

"What will it be, Mrs. Claire? Will you come with me, or do you need more time to say goodbye?" You reach out your hand to her, ignoring her accusations. "The outcome will be the same."

"I shall not go with a creature of darkness! You are trying to lure me into a trap! You shall not capture me!" She clutches the scarf around her neck and backs away from you.

"Very well. I shall come back later." You give her a little nod with your head as a slight smile dances on your lips before turning and walking away.

"Your wickedness shall be punished!" The old woman calls after you, but you don't dignify her with a response as you follow the chime of a different soul, much further away. The black wings of a raven carry you to a little town further in the north. You perch on top of the church tower and look over the streets to see some spirits wandering the empty sidewalks below. The snow has covered everything in a thick layer of cold, shimmering white. The coughing echoing from the windows tells you your beloved god has been here before you. He must be close; you have felt his call for weeks now, urging you to find him. You look over the souls—some of them going about their business like they haven't realized their mortal coil is over, and others sounding out their prayers to whatever god they have devoted themselves to. The wind howls through the narrow alleyways, carrying with it the whispers of lost souls seeking redemption. Your purpose settles heavily on your shoulders, and you take flight again. You soar between the high building walls, letting the gust rip through your wings and scatter dark feathers into the abyss below.

Some of the dead watch in awe as you pass, their eyes filled with hope and longing for the freedom you possess. They reach out to touch your feathers and grasp the key you have provided. With tears streaming down their faces, they whisper their gratitude and prayers for your safe journey. With a glimmer of stardust, they disappear to return to the circle of reincarnation. You move on, knowing that their souls will now be reborn with a newfound sense of hope and purpose.

You spend the night shepherding the souls of the reaped into the afterlife, knowing that they are in good hands and will be born again soon. You followed the pull of your being as a roe deer through the forest, feeling the ancient magic guiding you towards the man you love most in all of your lives. You walk alongside him, but only the dead can see you, so you just blend in as one of his many shadows. Spirits, both neutral and malicious, follow him everywhere he goes, but you are there only to steal a glimpse. He moves so silently, his eyes trained on the path ahead. His face doesn't let on any emotion; he looks cold and calm. Almost dutiful. You know you will see him soon, but as dawn creeps over the horizon, you hurry back home to your sleeping body as a white rabbit, running across the fields and pastures.

He arrives again with frosted flowers covering your windows and gracing the surface of the puddles outside. The leaves of a creeping vine by your house collect jagged crystals on their edges. The air is still and the world is blanketed in a serene silence, the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth providing the only sound. A wide smile graces your lips as you look at the approach of the god from your open door. Your heart is so full of joy and anticipation that it feels like it might burst. You have your arm outstretched as he gets closer, and he wordlessly takes your fingers into his cold hand. The chill of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. His lips press against the back of your hand, his freezing breath tingling your flesh. He cherishes the warmth of your skin and the way your free hand cups his cheek and lifts his chin. It makes life creep into him again to soothe the pain of frost in his chest. Your gorgeous eyes look at him so tenderly, no words need to be spoken to understand the mutual longing for each other. From the thousands of meetings you have had in the past, all the meaningful words have already been spoken in a hundred different languages, but none have ever felt as powerful as the silent exchange between your eyes in this moment. He lifts his head to step closer, your soft breath exiting as a white cloud from your lips. He moves the hand he still softly holds to his chest, his fingers wrapping around it as he presses it to where his heart used to be. He closes his eyes and whispers, "I miss you more than words can express, sweet Shepherd."

He feels the shadow of his heart start to beat again; it fills him with warmth and chases out the cold longing that births the northern winds. His whole body is enveloped in a sense of love and warmth. The blue marks grace his skin and leave you in awe, like they always do. You straighten up and reach to kiss his jaw line. This makes him open his steely eyes again and turn them on you. You can see the love and adoration in his gaze. The god of winter and death is gorgeous, with or without the marks, and you are overjoyed to call him yours. You can't help but smile as he pulls you into a warm embrace, melting away the coldness that usually surrounds him.

His lips find yours, capturing them in a tender dance, speaking of his longing and spilling the devotion he holds for you. Your hearts sing as one, and your souls are entangled for a single night before he must leave your side. Words don't need to be spoken at this moment. His skin feels warm again, and his embrace could be mistaken for human, just like all those thousands of years ago. He holds you tight, knowing that this fleeting moment is all you have.

You guide your lover inside your formerly warm house, but his presence grows the shadows and brings a chill no fire can warm. Yet you feel no cold . You are consumed by the passion of his touch, lost in the intensity of his gaze, and you realize that you would endure any darkness for just another fleeting moment with him. You would follow him into the depths of despair, knowing that his love is worth any sacrifice.

You stop as you reach the shaft of light that streams through the window, the remnants of daylight creeping into the shadow infested room. You turn towards him, your fingertips grazing the palm of his hand, teasing the promise of being entangled with his digits. You slowly trail them up along the veins of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Your fingers linger on the soft feathers growing from his collarbones, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. You pause as you caress his features, admiring the peaceful expression on his face. You touch his birthmark and nose, your thumb tracing the curve of his lips. He leans into your touch, a hand covering yours as it rests on his cheek. His lips part, and a hum of enjoyment escapes his throat.

You look at his eyes, and they are all you can think about; his face is etched into your soul like it's your mirror. He is there in your heart and mind, forever present in whatever body you are born in. As you speak his name, it is the softest word you know, it leaves a sweet taste on your tongue. It's a name you'll never forget, no matter how cursed you are. Life after life after life, you will speak it again and see these beautiful eyes gazing back at you.

His other hand goes to your lower back to pull you closer until you are pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your own. His lips kiss your eyes and trace along your nose before they meet yours. His love is a force of nature—unyielding and unwavering. It's a love that transcends time and space, binding your souls together in an eternal dance of passion and devotion.

He holds your face tenderly in his hands, his thumb trailing over the curve of your lips before he leans down to kiss you softly. His warm hands are so tender against your skin, and you melt into his touch. Your heart races as you hold on to him, wishing with all your heart that he didn't have to go. The moment feels fleeting, but you know that the memory of his touch will stay with you.

"This unearthly love is yours alone. It is merciless and suffocating. But for you, my sweetling, I would die a thousand times over." His lips brush over your cheek, leaving behind a trail of tingling warmth as he speaks.

He pulls away, revealing a smile on his lips that makes your heart ache with longing. The feelings in your chest swell, and you struggle to find the words to express the depth of your emotions. As he walks away, you are left standing there, feeling both grateful for the time you shared and devastated by his departure.

"Wait!" you call out and follow him along the path leading away from your house. You know the rays of sunshine creep over the roof of your house, starting to paint your frosted yard in a golden shimmer. You catch up to him, and he looks down gently as you grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

"I love you. With everything I have. I love you. I always will. And this isn't fair. What they did to you… to us. It is cruel and unjust. And yet, here we are, standing together. I wish you could stay, but this is already proof that even though we fell, they lost." You look into his icy eyes and see the determination and resilience that will carry you both through the challenges until you see each other again. You caress his cheek and gently pull him closer to place another kiss on his lips. The warmth of his embrace envelops you, and you feel grateful for every moment spent with him.

"There they are! So it is true!" A murmur of different voices skips across the grass, and you look to see some men coming around the corner of your cottage. Your eyes glance over them to see that they carry weapons, mostly hand axes and spears, but a few have their swords drawn.

"So they are a witch! Conspiring with gods and demons!" An outroar ripples through the group of men, and you can assume there are more of them behind the corner.

"You have lured winter to our doors! You brought hunger and death to our land! Prepare to face the consequences of your treachery!" A different voice speaks up; it belongs to a man with crude leather armor and a sword.

You look wide eyed at the people you have known for your entire life. Among them are youngsters you used to play with, men who would greet you on the streets, and neighbors you have brought back from death's door. And now they all stand before you, ready to seek justice for the suffering brought to this land. The god shifts to stand in front of you, hiding you behind his mass of feathers reaching from his back. He doesn't speak a word as he glares at the mob, who has come with a thirst for blood.

This feels familiar. Glimpses of ancient times flash before your eyes. The way you prepared for battle against the gods of war. The way you wielded your gleaming sword with fierce determination and a heart full of rage. Your trusty extension is no longer with you; it has been replaced by a weak and mortal body not fit for fighting. You now stand among other mortals, stripped of your former strength and power.

You reach out your hand to touch your lover's back as a sign to stand down, but as your fingertips touch the feathers of his wings, you feel a surge of pain run through your body. You realize he has lingered by your side for too long; you are out of time. You pull back before he can rip at the threads holding your body and soul together.

"Go. Hide in the forest." His cold voice speaks without turning his head toward you. "I will take care of them."

You look around the broad back to see the mob move closer; it looks like every man from the nearby villages has gathered together to hunt you down. You back away from your lover to head to the dark wall of trees beyond your yard, hoping to find safety and escape the angry mob. It gets colder as you distance yourself from the god. The flimsy shawl doesn't offer you much protection against the biting wind that seems to be raising around you, picking up the light dusting of snow.

You hear more shouts and yells behind you, but the blood rushing in your head drowns out the rest. Where will you go now? Where can you run to and survive? The answers are not clear, but you know one thing for sure: You must keep moving. You need to get away from it all. As you can nearly duck into the shadows of the forest, you barely manage to pull away from the swing of an axe. You fall backwards into the crunching moss covering the forest floor. The frost underneath your fingers feels painful as it creeps beneath your nails. You see a few men coming towards you, including the one with the axe, and you scramble to your feet again.

The usually comforting forest is now filled with a sense of impending danger. It is filled with more than just shadows and your lover's demons. It reeks of hatred and blood lust. You run as fast as you can back towards your little yard and see your beloved look back at you with fear in his eyes. As the people close in on him, their weapons leave no marks on his skin. The god knows you are being cornered, and while he is immortal, you can be snatched away with ease. The candle of your life is flickering due to his presence alone as you run towards him. He needs to act fast. His fingers grab the neck of the man closest to him, and while usually the cold grasp of winter would be enough to snuff out a life like his, this time the puny mortal keeps fighting for his last breath in a desperate attempt to survive.

The god of winter and death realizes the warmth in his chest. It is you. Your presence has ignited spring within him as it should, his heart beating within his chest, robbing his shadowy powers. His presence alone isn't enough to protect you from these savages this time. Your love hinders him from laying waste to what threatens you.

He breaks the neck of the man he is holding and moves on with a speed unmatched by any human. The god tears through the immediate danger surrounding him before charging at the attackers on your heels. His wrath grows with every life he takes. He is determined to protect you at all costs. His feathers brush your cheek as he passes you, and you fall to your knees. You feel the fragile bond between yourself and this form fraying. He loves you to death. The god knows he is killing you. But he cannot stop, for your safety is his top priority. He has to secure you before he can leave your side. He must protect you from the hands of these fiends. He has failed you once before; he cannot allow it to happen again. He has to get away from you. Destiny and fate tease him with the dilemma of death as he rips through the mortal flesh of a man with a raised spear. His chest and feathers are covered in splatters of blood as he moves on to the next one. The symphony of violence plays in his ears, drowning out any thoughts of mercy or remorse. The only thing driving him forward is the primal instinct to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

The world is shut out as you hear a pair of footsteps approach. You raise your eyes to see a young man with his sword drawn. You want to run away; you need to scream or escape, but your strength has been torn from your weak body by the god of death. You kneel in front of him, your eyes begging for mercy, hoping that he will spare your life. In his gaze, you see fear and hatred. The curse you bear has been long forgotten by any mortal being. You cannot blame him for the dread he feels. The god of winter and death came for you; his presence introduces a bone-chilling cold that ruins crops and brings darkness to the southern land. The man before you demands your soul as payment for what he believes you have done to this world. You will find no mercy in his heart. He raises his sword and plunges it down into your chest.

Your hand grabs the blade as pain sears through your body. The man disappears from your sight, replaced by a display of beautiful feathers. You fall backwards, the tip of the weapon digging into the frozen ground below as blood paints the grass in vivid crimson. As your vision blurs, an arm wraps around your back, pulling you into a warm embrace. Your eyes look up towards the heavens, and a fleeting thought of cursing the other gods crosses your mind before the blue sky is replaced by eyes of the same color. Your hand, that's not bleeding around the blade, reaches up to gently touch his face.

The god grabs the hilt of the sword with his free hand as he watches the life quickly drain out of you. Is it the blade or the touch of his skin that does it? He does not know. Your being is unraveled as he leans closer, your vision fading to black. You wish to leave some words to him, but the breath escaping your lungs carries nothing but silence.

You are gone before his lips reach yours, so he hovers above them. He will not steal a last kiss from this body; you aren't there anymore. It is little more than a prison for the soul. He leans his forehead against yours, still clutching the sword and pressing you into his embrace. You are gone, leaving just a shell behind. You took his heart with him, and all the warmth you had filled him with seeps out of him with the tears he sheds, leaving only cold emptiness. The outstretched mess of wings that served to protect you start to grow blades of ice in-between the long feathers. Shadows gather around the god as hatred fills his mind. The down on his collarbones and neck grows into larger feathers, forming more wings as he lifts his enraged gaze up towards the few remaining people brave enough to face down the god of death. The people cower in fear, knowing that their fate now lies in the hands of a vengeful deity. His face turns monstrous, the eyes dark as the night, and feathers start to cover his face. He bares his elongating fangs at them. Shadows start to bubble up from between the wings, forming faces and clawed hands. The creatures of darkness escape the god and slither to the ground. They slink along the frosted ground, leaving a trail of ice in their wake. The sky darkens as the shadows grow longer until they reach the mortals. They freeze in terror as the creatures surround them, reaching out their hands to grab at them. Their souls are ripped from their meek bodies and consumed by the icy demons.

With a roar that shakes the earth, the god unleashes his full power, engulfing the land in darkness and merciless blizzards. The beastly deity bellows a deafening cry of grief that echoes through the meadows and forests. It skips over rivers and lakes. It shakes the mountains and leaves a sense of dread in the hearts of everyone across the lands. A chilling reminder of his immense power and wrath. The storm rages around him, spreading snow and demons in its wake. In the middle of the deathly horror is your latest body, frozen in time forevermore.

The beast stands up from the cold cradle he has created and chooses to move on, leaving destruction and chaos in his path. The grief robbing him of his human form, transforming him into a monster of pure rage and darkness. His empty chest bleeds with the longing of a heart that will never beat without you, consumed by the grasp of vengeance and hatred. Every step leaves frost and shadows behind; anything touched by the feathers gets ripped to shreds by the hidden blades of ice. He is searching again. Waiting for you to be reborn, to hear the siren song of your soul. It is so cold again.

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