#The narrow road between desires spoilers

[incorrect-kkc-theories]

The Ritual that Bast does at the Lightning Tree before answering questions and dolling out favours links him (unbeknownst to himself or any other Fae) to the Cthaeh.

Granting him a touch of knowledge and insight, along with an extra helping of malice, and allowing the Cthaeh to influence him subtely but directly.

Think about it:

Fae at a Tree, Answers Questions, all Fae magic is either illusion or making something more of itself. So since no illusion occurred, and the most powerful Fae that answers Questions by a tree is the Cthaeh, to make the situation a greater version of itself, it must be more Cthaeh like.

[eliza-makepeace]

i think it's something quite remarkable about patrick's writing that when we're reading the kingkiller chronicle, kvothe's voice is so particular, so characteristic, so all-encompassing, even when he's being kote at the waystone inn, precisely because it is lacking just as much as everything else there. and then, reading the narrow road between desires, and follow bast around, despite the fact that you can tell bast values his reshi, his master, and cares to uphold his promises in regards to whatever they have going on... kote, when he makes an appearance, it feels much different from the usual sort of tension there is when kote shows up in an interlude of the kkc.

i don't know if it's just my perception and i miss kvothe's pov, or the narrative flowing around and through him, or actually there's an active difference that patrick tries to make from kvothe's perception about himself (and even the third-person narration of the interlude which is both unaware and all-noticing of kvothe's fluctuations even if the narration doesn't understand the reasons), and bast's particular pov, in regards to kvothe. kvothe or kote, instead is viewed simply as "his master", or "the innkeeper", purely, and only by speaking does bast acknowledge him as "reshi".

i think that, as is always the case with patrick, it's completely purposeful. kvothe's obviously the center of his own story, but he's not that in bast's. bast isn't perpetually thinking about kvothe's silence, or his hands, or his pain, and so, if the air is full of those things, hanging there like a perpetual stained-glass window, bast doesn't see it too often, or tries not to. but kvothe, and the narrator of the prologues, epilogues and interludes, of the frame story, are perpetually aware of it, and so it affects every single word.

[l3st1b0urn3s-707]

I recently read The narrow road between desires and god it was so good!!

If you didn't know this about me, I read The kingkiller chronicle about three years ago and I really like these books. And even if the third book hasn't come out yet, having this novella about Bast (my second favourite character because Auri has a special place in my heart) is a really fun treat.

I've loved Bast since he first appeared in The name of the wind because I really liked his playful personality and how he cared so much about Kvothe. I also really like fae, so that was an extra cool thing about his character.

Now, this book was awesome. I really needed to read something that was still in the fantasy genre but didn't have a lot of action or a really complicated plot. And even if this book had some parts that I didn't understand that well, it was just what I needed. There's something really fun about accompanying Bast in a day in his life. It was also really cool that the specific date when the story happens is the summer solstice, the exact same day when I read it! It's really nice getting to know characters seeing their daily lives, and I think this book helped me understan Bast a little bit better.

And also, there were a lot of fun surprises! I definitely wasn't expecting to see queer characters in this story, specially because there weren't many in the other books (I actually can't think of any right now). As a queer person myself I really liked seeing that the main character plus some other background characters were part of the lgbtq+ community. It's really nice seeing an author's evolution portraying these kinds of topics.

I had a really great time reading this book. I think Bast's interactions with the children were really sweet and interesting, he seems to really care about them, including Rike, even though he was still mad at him. And I also liked his conversations with Kvothe! They also helped understand how their relationship as mentor/ studen goes beyond that, they kinda look like a family. Oh, and the illustrations were some of the most beautifull ones I've ever seen in a book, they also fit so well with the aesthetic of the story.

I'd love to read The Doors of Stone one day, because Rothfuss' narration is trully magical. The kingkiller chronicle is a really good series (even if there are some parts of the story that I don't really like as much), and it would be a shame to never see its ending. I understand that Rothfuss feels overwhelmed because the first books have left very high standards and he's scared the last one won't be as good, but I really think we'll all love it as much as the rest.

In conclusion, Bast is a bisexual icon, books with illustrations are my weaknesses and I still have a massive hyperfixation on tkkc. And more seriously, I really recommend this book to anyone who loves these books as much as I do and hasn't had the opportunity to read it yet!

[cherry-oppa]

oh my god hi canonically bisexual bast!!!!!

i mean i feel like i already knew this but hi fucking hello!!!!!

[cvptainbucky]

patrick rothfuss. patrick rothfuss has me so up his ass. i read "kvothe" in the road between narrow desires and immediately lose my entire fucking mind

[logarithmicpanda]

The Narrow Road Between Desires VS The Lightning Tree

I reread both simultaneously to be able to have a more objective opinion on them.

TL;DR the new version of the story adds, on top of the illustrations, several additional scenes and some very welcome revisions. It is a kinder, queerer, and more magical version of the same story. For me it is definitely worth the read!

Spoilers below:

First let's crunch the raw numbers. Based on the audiobook version TLT has an estimated 27,807 words and TNRBD is at 71,760 words, so almost three times at long. The sections in TLT are arranged a bit differently than in TNRBD but I will use them to do a more detailed breakdown below:

TLT:

Morning: The Narrow Road (29p)

TNRBD:

Dawn: Artistry (6p) Morning: Embril (18p) Mid morning: The Narrow Road (40p) Mid-day: Birds (8p)

Total: 72 pages

The same events are covered, but TNRBD expends on Bast and Kote's characterization. I think the story takes place before NOTW btw, because Bast looks intrigued when Kostrel jokingly tells him to write a book if he knows so much. I think that was was made Bast try to have Kote write his memoirs himself, a while before Chronicler ever sets foot in the Waystone Inn.

The order in which Bast does his turns around the tree changes, the breaking way first, then the making way. I'm not sure yet how I interpret that lol.

One of the boys is changed to a girl, and the first secret she gives about a man sleeping with someone who is not his wife implies that it might be an open relationship in this version (everyone knows, including the wife).

A girl named Gretta in TLT is now Grett, and explicitly referred to using they/them.

New divination system introduced, with things called Embrils that Bast uses kinda like runes, to do tosses

Instead of a shepherdess, Bast charms a shepherd (Bi!Bast for the win) who very cutely embroiders stuff on Bast's pants while mending them

The bargain with Kostrel is more complex, touches on Fae magic and debts, and Bast gets tricked into accepting the gift of a penance coin...

When Kostrel asks Bast to describe Emberlee's breast to him, Bast says he will only do it if she gives her permission

When Bast takes his bath, both men and women are watching (in both versions, he very well knows they are there)

---

TLT:

Afternoon: Birds and Bees (32p)

TNRBD:

Mid-day: Birds (continued, 16p) Noon: Obligation (17p) Afternoon: Still (33p) Moonrise: Sweetness (11p) Evening: riddles (7p)

Total: 84 pages

I had forgotten, but TLT already had bits of queerness, namely the little girl who saw "mama kiss the maid", and when Bast goes watch Emberlee bathe, it is strongly implied she was among the women watching him earlier. In TNRBD, that is expended upon.

When the little girl wants to know if her kitten is a boy or a girl, there's this quote that I really liked: Bast would rather tell the bigger truth than the smaller one anyway. "Bows and dresses don't matter much," he said. "She decided she's a girl, so she's a girl."

The girl is also smarter in this version

Rike has a hold on Bast because of the penance coin, so there's a bit of additional plot around that

Rike's sister is named earlier instead of being an afterthought

Bast does some magic on Rike to get rid of his obligation

The description of the still is longer, and the alcohol has a different flavor (no opinion on that but some people might theorize about it lol)

There's a second Embril throw, and Kostrel admits Emberlee told him where she bathed expressly so Bast could find her

Bast, Emberlee, Kholi and Dax (the shepherd) seem to be a polycule and everyone knows haha

Grett is mentioned again, along with "harthan tea" which I assume is fantasy HRT xD

---

TLT:

Evening: Lessons (17p)

TNRBD:

Sunset: lies (17p) Twilight: carrots (1p) Night: demons (15p) Midnight: lessons (11p)

Total: 44 pages

The conclusion to the story has a long additional scene and a few more changes

Instead of Martin punching a tinker because he was assaulting a young girl, he punches the tinker because he had pushed down Old Cob

A scene where Rike washes his face and Bast notices the bruises he has from his father beating him have been moved later in TNRBD

There's a prediction from the Embrils that gets realized here, and the way the narration speaks of Bast and his desires impacting the world feel very reminiscent of TSROST, I wonder if Auri is using Grammarie? Is it just another name for Shaping?

Longer description that empathizes that Bast beat the shit out of Rike's father

There's an entirely new scene of Bast talking to Rike and helping him heal from his terror of becoming an abuser like his dad

I particularly liked that last bit, the story was always a commentary on the cycle of abuse, but this version makes it clear it can be broken. Overall, as I said in the intro, TNRBD is a lot kinder as a story. And meaner towards abusive fathers which is always a plus for me lmao. Bast is made very explicitly queer, as are some of the side characters, and the women are better treated as a whole, with more emphasis on consent. I have to say, in both versions Bast offers to take Kote to where Emberlee bathes, and there's no mention of her agreeing to that, so eh.

But I really appreciate the changes that have been made, and the extra magic. Plus the illustrations are lovely as the moon. I'm even more excited about Doors of Stone now (who knew it was possible lol) because I feel like Pat has grown a lot as a writer since WMF :D

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Crazy date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Translation under the cut!

(T/N: Very recommended to follow along the date because hnghh, I have never heard him this happy and alive before 😭. Sadly, I don't have this card, so I can't subtitle it myself. But you can check the date recording here in this link.)

The sea breeze passed through the moonlight, bringing the warmth of winter to the south.

I was leaning in Lucien's arms, watching the gripping movie plot on the projector with great interest.

Keeping the same position will inevitably make my back ache, but I don't want to leave his arms.

Just as I adjusted my posture for the third time without making any noise, a soft pillow was placed under my waist.

MC: ...?

Raising my head in a daze, I met Lucien's smiling eyes.

MC: How can you still catch my little move?

Lucien: If it hadn't been for the fact that you made me feel a little tickled, maybe it won't be so quickly discovered.

I laughed and rubbed against the crook of his arm before looking back at the screen.

A few days ago, Lucien was invited to a New Year's Eve party hosted by his research colleagues. The party isn't formal. It's mainly for relaxation and communication.

So at his suggestion, I was happy to accompany him. We arrived early and rented a small manor to start our vacation time.

During the day, we walked around with the camera, and at night we nestled on the sofa, drinking wine and watching movies.

No work and no worries, just a happy and relaxed us.

??: Mary, I've figured out that even if my life were to stop tomorrow, I would still be on the end of the road

Mary: Then I'll go crazy with you and accompany you until the end.

The main character, who has been sentenced with the "death penalty" is dressed in a hospital gown. But his pale face is radiant as he and Mary dragged the IV and ran toward the hospital gates.

The sunset dragged their long shadows, and they took a long way away with each step. It was only when the gorgeous images jumped out of the black end credits that I realized the film was over.

After exhaling a deep breath, I noticed elderly people with gray hair appearing on the left side of the credits one by one.

??: Love is the most important thing in the world.

??: Life is always crazy. You want it? Just get it!

I was deeply touched by their sincere advice to young people, and I felt as if there was a hot fire burning in my heart.

Perhaps in the long road, I also need to have this impulse to run for the heart's desire more often.

MC: Lucien...

While thinking, I sat up and looked earnestly into those long, narrow eyes.

Lucien: What to do? I seem to have guessed MC is about to stir up troubles.

(T/N: 蠢蠢欲动 is an idiom meaning to begin to stir (idiom) / to get restless / to become threatening)

He raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. His magnetic voice fell on my ears.

Lucien: (whisper) You seem to want to do something you've never done before.

Lucien: Just like the protagonist of this movie, he leaves some out-of-the-ordinary, crazy traces in this world.

MC: ...

He said it almost perfectly and even poetically summed it up for me. I pouted and lightly jabbed him on the arm.

MC: No fun. I just ignited three minutes of enthusiasm, and then 80% of it was doused by a clever man!

He intentionally frowned in distress, took me into his arms, and nuzzled against the tip of my nose.

Lucien: (in that grieving tone) So what should I do? I don't know if I have a chance to atone for it...

Lucien: Let's get your three-minute enthusiasm going again.

His eyes rested between my lips almost imperceptibly. Without waiting for me to react, a soft sensation gently sealed my breath.

He slowly teased and nibbled on my lips as if trying to increase the heat little by little.

Lucien: (whisper very, VERY hoarsely) MC, tell me... what were you trying to do just now?

I subconsciously intended to speak but caught an inch of his smile in my dazed vision.

....He was leading me by nose again.

I drew back to my senses and pulled my neck away, escaping from the air that was getting thinner.

Lucien: Looks like my atonement wasn't enough.

Lucien smiled, and another kiss fell on the corner of my eye. His fingertips restlessly touched and lingered on my waist, making me tremble lightly.

And he had no intention of letting me go. His other hand was covering my eyes as if to block all possibility of me ever coming to my senses.

The string called reason shook and swayed as the kiss slowly moved downward, and I buried my face in his coat.

MC: Lucien, be serious.

MC: If this continues even further, I really won't be able to think anymore!

His chest trembled gently under my cheeks as if it was enduring something unbearable.

Lucien: [chuckle] In fact, you don't need to spend time thinking about it.

I pulled my head out of his embrace. I watched in a daze as he took a sip from a glass of wine on the table and casually swayed my fingers with his other hand.

Lucien: Crazy thoughts are inherently irrational.

Lucien: So when these thoughts come up, it's better to follow your heart than to think about it more deeply.

(thinking of his sp date-)

Looking at his serious look, I raised my cheeks and looked up and down.

MC: It always feels strange to hear such words from Professor Lucien's mouth, who usually speaks sensibly.

Lucien: Is that so?

Lucien: Reason and madness may sound like opposites, but sometimes they can exist at the same time.

MC: But isn't it usually when you lose your mind that you get called "crazy"?

Seeing that I objected, Lucien smiled and raised his hand to rub my nose.

Lucien: MC, we tend to think that reason is about what we shouldn't or should do.

Lucien: But in many cases, "unreasonable" is not the same as "wrong".

Lucien: It's just not predictable.

I couldn't help but think of the movie I just saw, where the main character's life changed in amazing ways when he did things he would never have done before.

My heart felt moved, so I sat up and kissed the person in front of me.

MC: Hey, is it like this?

Lucien was stunned by my sudden movement and slightly bent his eyes.

Lucien: This seems to be only a start.

Lucien: After all, this happens to me every day, doesn't it?

MC: It seems this kind of "crazy" to do whatever I want is not enough to satisfy our Professor Lucien.

I said as I intentionally rested my eyes between his lips. My hands slid down to his chest little by little and slowly pressed close to his body.

Lucien seems to have guessed my mind and letting me go close, but the palm of his hand is covering my waist like declaring the initiative.

Seeing that he would pull me close to his arms, I quickly used my hands to resist against his chest.

MC: I admit defeat. I really can't "fight" you and win!

He raised the corners of his lips in triumph, leaned over, and picked up the glass to hand it to me.

Lucien: Anything else you want to do tonight?

Lucien: For example, finishing the landscape you painted yesterday or taking the scones out of the fridge for a midnight snack?

I pondered and took a sip of wine. The choking warmth slid into my stomach.

MC: ...I haven't thought about it. Why don't we do what you said, think of something, and then do it?

MC: Anyway, it's a holiday, so relax your tense nerves and don't worry about anything.

Lucien: Okay. Then I won't worry about it. The painting can be done at another time.

Lucien: If you don't feel like eating a late-night snack, you can also wait until tomorrow to eat the scones that have missed their optimal taste.

MC: Pfft...

What he said made me burst into laughter. I got up, took my wine, and slowly looked around the room.

When I glanced over the spiral staircase, my eyes lit up, and I happily pointed to the slanted moonlight on the steps.

MC: Lucien, look. I can't believe that just by watching a movie, the clouds have dispersed and the stars have come out.

I looked up at the transparent dome and gazed at the stunning view of the galaxy.

MC: Is it just me, or is the air quality really good these few days. Why does it seem like the stars are getting brighter each day?

As I joked around, Lucien also sat down beside me, holding a wine glass.

Lucien: Then I guess we'll be seeing even more dazzling stars over the next few days.

I laughed and pretended to look at him in a serious way.

MC: Lucien, you can't use the fact that you are a professor to speak nonsense.

Lucien: Can't I make a joke?

I reached out and poked his cheek.

MC: You can, but your face is so deceiving that I can easily take anything you say seriously.

Seeing that Lucien was amused by me and laughed, I nuzzled against his shoulder in a good mood.

MC: Say, if we just sit here and watch the stars all night until sunrise…

MC: Would that be a crazy thing to do?

Lucien: Hmmm... I don't think it's necessary to measure the scale of craziness.

Lucien: As long as that is something you want to do, whether you sit here all night or sit for five minutes and then return to bed….

Lucien: It's all good.

Everything is tranquil and time seems to slow down, making my senses increasingly clear.

I can hear the wind blowing through the curtain at the window and the sound of Lucien's hair rustling in my ears.

I couldn't resist closing my eyes to listen to more subtleties that I hadn't noticed before.

Whoosh-

Suddenly there was a soft crashing sound from afar. It was like the sound of an hourglass ticking away in the night.

MC: Lucien, did you hear that?

I opened my eyes, and my hand pointed out the window to the sound. Lucien slightly held his breath as if he was carefully distinguishing.

Lucien: The place we live is not far from the beach. I think it should be the waves.

MC: …The waves?

The rustling sounds kept coming to my ears, and perhaps because of the influence of alcohol or because of the "grand words" just now –

A thought struck my mind, and I stood up.

MC: Lucien.

Lucien: MC, would you like to see the sea right now?

Looking at each other tacitly, a small warmth flowed through my heart, but when I couldn't refrain from nodding my head-

I saw the clock behind Lucien, pointing to one in the morning.

MC: ...

MC: I'm tempted, but it's almost one o'clock now.

MC: We still have to attend the party tomorrow. It won't be good if it affects your condition…

Lucien: It doesn't matter if I sleep less, but it might make MC a little sleepy.

Lucien: So…You can totally reject me.

Lucien smiled lightly, the moonlight cast a hazy color on him, and his collarbone was also faintly visible under the open skirt.

His usual soft and smooth hair was also a little messy because he was lying on the couch with me all night, giving him a little "unkempt" sense of laziness.*

(T/N: 不修边幅 is an idiom meaning not care about one's appearance/ slovenly in dress and manner)

Even though he said that, there was a dark tidal current that swept me deeply into those dark eyes.

It made me sink into them.

I winked and beamed with a big smile.

MC: No, let's go to see the sea.

MC: I don't care if I will be a bit sleepy tomorrow. I want to see the sea with you now.

The interest in Lucien's eyes grew even stronger, his hand absent-mindedly resting on the back of his neck while the other hand holding the wine glass clinked lightly with mine.

It sounded clear and beautiful.

Lucien: Then, we seem to hit it off.

(T/N: 一拍即合 is an idiom lit. to be together from the first beat (idiom) /to hit it off/to click together / to chime in easily)

At night, it turns out that nothing can be seen on the sea except the ivory moonlight falling on the tide.

At the far end of the horizon, a long, thin line of lights from thousands of homes spreads horizontally, so far away that it seems like another untouchable world.

MC: Lucien, there are only two of us here.

MC: It seems that the idea of going to the beach at one o'clock in the morning is really unreasonable~

Lucien: But by occasionally doing the opposite, the sea belongs to us for a brief time.

Lucien: Even though the sea is not blue at all, there are no seagulls to be seen, and you might even step on a small crab moving in the night.

Seeing Lucien joking around, I'm happily took off my shoes and quickly run to the waves to feel the tide soaking through my ankles.

MC: I can't see the sea, but I'm in the sea right now.

MC: I can still feel the sand slipping past my ankles along with the tide and then quietly slipping away from the soles of my feet.

Lucien: The Great Producer seems to be extraordinarily attentive today.

Lucien: I don't know if it's because of the wine or the movie...

MC: Of course, it's because of you.

I was quick to take over his words, winking playfully. Seeing me like this, Lucien burst out laughing.

Lucien: (laughs) What to do? I feel a bit helpless with this slightly drunk lady.

Hearing his little teasing, I purposely flicked my foot and brought the seawater onto the edge of his shoe.

MC: Then Professor Lucien, don't let me stay alone in the sea~ why don't you take off your shoes too? It's comfortable here,

He didn't answer, and just when I thought he would smile and politely decline, Lucien bent down to take off his shoes and walked beside me.

Lucien: Indeed, It's very comfortable, just a little cooler than I thought.

Although taking off the shoes is not a big deal, I feel that his natural response is a bit unexpected

MC: Lucien, how many drinks did you have tonight?

Lucien: Do you think I'm drunk?

His long, narrow eyes were clear under the moonlight, and they clearly captured me in them. I smiled, shook my head, and continued using my foot to send the cold water over his ankles.

MC: It doesn't matter if you are drunk or not. There is no one else here anyway.

MC: So, it's okay for you to be a little more "let loose".

Lucien: Can teacher MC teach me some examples?

My eyes seemed to linger on him. Then I leaned down to cup a small amount of water and splashed it on him.

MC: Just like this?

He nodded thoughtfully, took two steps forward, and when I thought he was going to counterattack, I was about to turn and run-

Before Lucien tenderly shackled me in his arms.

Lucien: (whisper) Teacher, can I draw another example from what you just taught me?

MC: O-of course.

He gazed deeply at me. His fingertips brushed my eyebrows, my eyes… And finally, he held my face and kissed it.

The waves hit the rocks again, but this time, we were in the middle of the waves, surrounded by dense foam and entwined by the sweet taste of wine between our lips and teeth.

I was immersed in this sweet taste. Lucien only pulled away from me a while later. The cold sea breeze lingered at the tip of my nose and tickled me a little….

MC: Ah-choo-!

I quickly covered my mouth, and a chill ran through my body.

MC: … Although it is in the south, the sea is still a bit cold at night.

Lucien: This seems to be an oversight on my part.

He turned and bent down, grabbed my thighs with both hands, and put me directly on his back.

A moment of weightlessness made me cling tightly to his neck.

MC: Eh? Are we going back? But I'm just a little cold and not tired.

Lucien: This lady seems to have misunderstood me.

He said as he walked forward, moving away from the direction of the manor.

Lucien: Since we came to the beach late at night, we should have some fun before returning.

Lucien: It's just that if you stay in the sea all the time, it's easy to catch a cold.

Lucien: So, by carrying you on my back in the sea, we should be able to achieve almost the same effect.

Our shadows are close and seamless under the moonlight.

I contentedly put my face on Lucien's back and talked to him about one thing after another.

The faint sound of laughter rolled away with the waves until I saw the smoke coming from the distance, and I couldn't help but exclaim in a small voice.

MC: Lucien, it's a roadside stall! It looks like a stall for some kind of warm and hot soup.

Lucien: Want to go over and take a look?

MC: Um!

As we got closer, I faintly saw the stall owner turn off the small lights and put the ingredients into the box one by one…

MC: Shoot, looks like it's about to close!

Before I finished speaking, Lucien tightened his arms, and I felt a gentle jolt. I was stunned when I realized he was running with me on his back!

MC: Lucien...?

Lucien: (panting while shouting happily) MC, I'm curious, so without any hesitation...

Lucien: (still continuing shouting happily) I ain't gonna let you miss it.

(T/N: I DIDN'T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO SOUND THIS HAPPY AND ALIVE-)

A relaxed laugh passed through my ears. Although I can't see his expression at this moment, I can imagine that calm but warm face.

I couldn't help but laugh and approached his ear-

MC: Professor Lucien, we seem to be a bit "crazy" now.

When I woke up the next day, Lucien was already fully dressed, sitting on the sofa and quietly reading a book.

His white shirt was clean, and his smooth hair was well-groomed.

I can't see that this is the same man from last night, who was so energetic that he chased the stall owner with me on his back so I could successfully drink hot soup, and only went to sleep at dawn…

I secretly laughed, then sat up and stretched.

MC: Lucien, what time is it? Why didn't you wake me when you got up?

Lucien: You were so tired from last night, so I wanted to let you rest a little longer.

Lucien: Plus, there's still plenty of time, so you can take it slow.

MC: So… Since it's early, can I ask for a good morning hug?

I grinned at him and opened my arms. Lucien put down his book, sat on the edge of the bed, and softly pecked me on the lips.

MC: Even Professor Lucien can misinterpret a question. I clearly ask for a hug.

Lucien: Then, just think of it as an additional question that I answered.

I stayed in his arms for a while before going to the closet. I took out a purple dress and a set of a white casual suit with trousers.

MC: Which one do you think I should wear today?

His eyes wandered between the two sets of clothes for quite a while.

Lucien: The party is relatively long, so it is reasonable that wearing a comfortable dress would be better.

Lucien: However, a certain lady was so excited about the party that she went back and forth to pick out her clothes several times while packing.

After a moment of pause, his eyes finally fell on the purple dress.

Lucien: So just wear it, and if you get tired by then, we'll come back early.

MC: Hehe, Professor Lucien understands my mind the most~

Lucien smiled and walked to the mirror. His fingertips lightly crossed the table's edge and took out a pair of butterfly earrings from the jewelry box.

Lucien: I also have a suggestion about the jewelry.

Lucien: You used to say it didn't have the right opportunity to shine, but I think today is that opportunity.

I took the earrings with a smile and hugged him around the neck.

MC: Then I would like to ask Professor Lucien to continue to help me with advice. Is that okay?

MC: I'll need you to help me choose the perfume I'm going to use when I go out. I'll go change first!

Without giving him a chance to react, I kissed him on the cheek and walked into the bathroom with my clothes and jewelry.

After changing clothes, I saw Lucien sitting lazily by the window, shaking the balm in his hand.

MC: Have you picked it out so quickly?

Lucien: To be precise, as soon as I smelled this scent, I knew it was the only way to go today.

MC: Oh? It looks like you're pretty confident in your choice~ Let me see which one you've chosen.

I picked up the balm to smell it, and my eyes widened

It has the scent of waves. The elegant fragrance carries a little bit of salty moisture, letting the memories of last night sweep into my mind.

The dark sea, the rolling waves, the moonlight sways in front of my eyes as he runs…

When I thought about it, I couldn't resist leaning into him, pressing closer to the scent in front of me.

(Cue 5th birthday bgm 🥺)

MC: You just said that you picked it right away. Can I take it that you enjoyed our experience at the beach last night?

Lucien: Mmm, I don't deny it.

Lucien: Although the scenery was pitch black last night, I can seem to remember it for a long time.

Looking at the balm in my hand, I suddenly thought of something and smiled.

MC: I've heard that scent can strengthen people's memories…

MC: So just remember with me a little longer.

As I said that, I leaned back a little. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one by one, with one hand.

I stopped when the sunlight cast a white light in front of his collarbone and rubbed my fingers on the balm.

As we looked at each other, my index finger slowly climbed up and down and slid down his chest with a little more force.

Lucien's palm covered my lower back as if in response to me. His fingertips were caressing. The lace tulle skirt made a rustling sound, just like the waves last night.

I couldn't help but press myself against his neck and breathe the scent of the ocean.

MC: Lucien...

Lucien: Hmm?

MC: In fact, looking back now, what we did last night didn't seem crazy.

MC: It's just strolling along the dark beach and then running after the stall that is about to close.

MC: But for some reason, I just enjoyed last night.

Lucien: Is this kind of "crazy" enough for you?

I stared deeply into his eyes without hesitation.

MC: Of course it's enough. Because you are the one who went to the beach with me, you are the one who held me, and you are the one who ran forward with me on your back.

I paused and pressed my forehead against his.

MC: For me, "crazy" is not about doing something out of the ordinary.

MC: My heart will still beat faster when I do ordinary things with you.

MC: Even when our hair is all gray, it'll still do the same.

MC: Isn't that just the craziest thing ever?

Lucien tightened his arms and pressed himself against me, without leaving any gaps.

Lucien: It really doesn't get any crazier than that.

Lucien: Your very existence has caused me to lose control from time to time.

I reached out to nudge the tip of his nose and smiled playfully.

MC: Then you must continue to be unreserved with me so that I can "occupy" you a little more.

He was stunned, and pretended to let out a sigh of chagrin.

Lucien: [sigh] Am I not unreserved enough in front of you? I can't believe that you have this "illusion".

MC: Because like you, I'm also very greedy.

MC: Although I also like the usual you, I want to see more of Professor Lucien from last night.

MC: And you will satisfy me, won't you?

Lucien answered softly. His quiet eyes seemed to set off layers of sea waves.

Suddenly, I thought of something else, curiously lying on top of him, twirling my fingertips around his hair.

MC: Speaking of which, what would you say is the craziest thing you've ever done before our hair turned gray?

Lucien bent his smiling eyes, lightly pursed his lips, and said nothing.

He just moved even closer to me while carrying the scent of the waves and lowered his head to kiss me.

-And once again, my heart bloomed like a flowering sea wave.

[T/N: 'Loving you is the craziest thing I've ever done in our lifetime' :”]

[ikeromantic]

Base Villains

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 1800 words. This scene occurs in Ch. 13 of the romantic route. Spoilers!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Following Orders

It was a few hours before dawn when Mitsuhide, Motonari, and Kennyo finally approached the daimyo’s fortress. Mouri and his pirates led the attack. A sensible choice, given the cannon and the fact that no sane person would want any of them behind him. The only sound on that narrow road was the low groan of wooden wheels and the steady beat of marching men.

Mitsuhide was lost in thought, his mind spinning the thousand paths this battle could take. Which led him to rescue his love, and which ended in death, separated by only the slightest action. The most banal of random events. Yet he was the kitsune warlord and he had to know - to plan - and to win.

His thoughts were interrupted by an explosion up ahead. The thundering roar of a ship’s cannon, unleashed at the daimyo’s gate. The reinforced wood didn’t stand a chance. The air around it filled with dust, smoke, and splinters.

Kennyo’s eyes went wide as he surveyed the damage. Mitsuhide didn’t like the shrewd look in his eyes. But whatever Kennyo thought, he kept it to himself. His Ikko Ikki began moving in to fight the daimyo’s forces as they rallied to defend the opening.

Motonari was already moving to the thick of things, plowing through the smoke with his sword drawn. His mad laughter was drowned out by the sound of shouting and the screams of dying men.

“Mouri is a natural at this.” Mitsuhide tracked the opening attack with cautious optimism.

“And you aren’t comfortable with this destruction?” Kennyo’s lips twitched into a brief, mocking smile.

“I never said that.” Mitsuhide drew his sword. “In my blood, in my bones - I want to be here. More than anyone else.” It was a true statement, one that encompassed his nature and his heart’s desire. The battle excited his blood - the contest of man against man, the challenge to survive no matter what stood against you. But beneath that was something even stronger pulling him forward.

A ferocious love for his little one - a need to protect her above all others. The intensity of these feelings surprised him even now. He knew without doubt that he would kill every person inside these walls if it meant she lived. And that he would not stop there, were she still in danger.

Kennyo studied his face for a moment and then shook his head. “You are a frightening man.”

“This from a man that says he willing took up the mantle of demon?” Mitsuhide smiled. “We are all devils here.”

After a beat of silence, the abbot nodded. There wasn’t anything more to say. The two men charged forward into battle.

***

Kyubei was having a very hard time. He’d disguised himself as a servant after stashing the chatelaine earlier. It wasn’t a very good disguise, just a hat and some worn clothing. His sword was replaced with a hidden dagger and a wooden baton. He hadn’t slept - just worked his way through the keep trying to find a way to smuggle the girl out before Ashikaga called for her again.

There were several routes out of the fortress, but all of them were guarded. He could probably get out easily enough - just claim to be another of the messengers sent to gather reinforcements. But the chatelaine . . . with a shaved head, her chest tied down, and some baggy clothes she might pass for a boy. He just needed to find some shears and-

“Put me down!”

He turned to see the shogun’s ‘messenger’ carrying the chatelain like a sack of rice. She was flailing, but he didn’t seem to notice her small fists or kicking feet. Kyubei felt his heart freeze in his chest. This was bad. He had to do something quickly. He drew the small wooden baton and crept forward.

The ‘messenger’ turned and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, she is making so much noise. I thought . . . “ he gestured with the baton as if he meant to hit her.

“Unnecessary. She needs to be awake. To feel every moment of this.” He ran his hand over her rear and squeezed.

The chatelaine shrieked and hit him again, her anger and fear wordless.

Kyubei wasn’t sure how to proceed, but he needed to do something. “I - I can tie her? For you?”

The fortress shuddered from some kind of attack. It sounded like a cannon. Both men turned toward the sound for a brief moment, then the messenger hurried on. Kyubei followed. Whatever his lord’s plan of attack, it had begun. The time to escape was past, and now all he could do was try to protect the chatelaine until Mitsuhide arrived.

Kyubei leapt forward, swinging with all his might at the back of the man’s head.

The messenger sensed the attack and shifted, raising his captive up to catch the blow.

For a moment, Kyubei feared the chatelaine would take the force of it, but he managed to change course mid-swing, his baton whistling through the empty air.

She shrieked and squirmed, trying to get loose. This time, it worked.

The messenger knew he couldn’t fight and hold onto her at the same time. He tossed her aside and drew a dagger. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you are doing, but today you will die.”

“I think not.” Kyubei went on the attack. He had to take the man down fast, before anyone else entered the hall. The wood sang through the air, then collided with one of the daggers. This was only a distraction, the real blow was aimed at the messenger’s knee. Kyubei’s foot connected solidly.

With a grunt of effort, the messenger stayed on his feet. He stabbed toward Kyubei, his intent clear. He wanted to end this fight quickly too. But he lacked the dancer’s grace of his opponent. Despite his rapid thrusts, he could not catch his blade in Kyubei’s flesh.

The chatelaine slowly gathered herself to her feet. Wide eyes tracked the near-silent fight.

Kyubei couldn’t afford to worry about what she would or wouldn’t do while he was occupied. He just hoped she wouldn’t run. That would summon more guards, a complication he couldn’t afford.

The messenger slashed at Kyubei’s throat. He missed, slicing the fabric on Kyubei’s shoulder. A thin welt of blood stained the cloth.

Kyubei struck the man’s hand and heard the satisfying crunch of breaking bones. The knife fell to the floor. This didn’t slow the messenger. Just forced him to attack with the remaining blade. It was all Kyubei could do to hold him off. Pain seemed to enrage the man, making him faster and more savage.

“You will pay for that. A week of torture for every finger,” the man snarled. “You will beg me to die!”

“I never beg.” Kyubei gave the messenger a toothy grin. Despite his brave words, he was beginning to worry. This was dragging on too long. Every second they fought brought him closer to being caught. And to make matters worse, he could see the chatelaine moving. If she ran, he would have to run too.

The messenger rushed Kyubei, using his whole body as a weapon. He slammed him into the wall.

The world narrowed to two points for Kyubei. His left hand, as he fought on that side to keep the dagger from his flesh - and his chest, where the messenger kept pushing forward, crushing him slowly.

Then, with a suddenness that bordered on the miraculous, the pressure eased. The messenger stumbled to his right, dropping his knife. He turned, and Kyubei saw the gaping wound on his back.

Behind the messenger stood the chatelaine. She was gripping the knife with white-knuckled intensity. Blood dripped down the blade and stained her fingers.

Kyubei didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the chatelaine and ran.

She went along with him until they’d left that hallway far behind. After several turns and two staircases up, she pulled away from him. “Y-you get away from me!”

“My lady . . . it’s me.” Kyubei framed his face with his hands, covering the bald spot on top and the beard at the bottom. “I am Kyubei.”

The chatelaine’s eyes narrowed, studying his features. Then she dropped the knife and flung herself at him. “It is you! Did Mitsuhide send you? Where is he?” The questions came between breathy gasps as she gave in to her panic.

Kyubei carefully stroked her back, waiting for her to calm herself. “I will answer all your questions soon. Right now, we must find a way out.”

She nodded, dabbing at her bruised and swollen cheeks to wipe away her tears. “I . . . ok. Where do we go?”

He didn’t know which route to take, but there was a secret exit from the shogun’s rooms. A narrow, hidden passage in the wall that led to the servant quarters. With the fortress under attack, that seemed like the best option. Kyubei grabbed her hand and led her on - up toward the tenshu.

They passed several guard stations, but the tense men only waved them on. A servant and a beaten girl were no threat. They were waiting for the marauders - the enemy. And if the sounds of fighting were any indication, they didn’t have long to wait.

Kyubei and the chatelaine were allowed into the shogun’s tenshu. It was lined with the daimyo’s guards. Ashikaga paced the room.

“How dare they! I am the shogun! They should grovel before me. Beg!” He glanced up as Kyubei entered the room.

Kyubei tried to scuttle to the side with her, bowing low as he sidestepped. They only needed to get close enough to the hidden door to get out. Ashikaga should be too preoccupied with the battle to focus on them - at least, that was his hope. But all those plans went up in smoke as the shogun lunged toward them and grabbed the chatelaine’s arm.

“You! Girl! You are my secret weapon.” Ashikaga jerked her to his side. “The kitsune would never risk you. He is weak. Yes . . .” He studied her bruised face.

“Mitsuhide is ten times the man you will ever be. And he would risk anything for his ideals.” She straightened her back and glared up at him.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak!” Ashikaga lifted a hand to strike her.

That was when the door exploded inward. It made a sound like cannon shot as the wood gave way. In the opening stood two men.

Motonari’s face was lit with a feral snarl. His eyes glowed like coals and his sword dripped redly.

Mitsuhide was equally frightening. His clothes were spattered with ruby droplets, his lips curved in a cruel smile. When his gaze found the chatelaine’s face, his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

Kyubei swallowed. This was going to be messy.

Next: Trust

[butterflies-dragons]

Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it.  The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

[kireii-writes]

hey! if your requests are still open, may I please request a Yandere Eren Jaeger where like when he escapes his cell after Marley he has the yeagerists kidnap his s/o?

Stay with me

-

warning(s): kidnapping, yandere tendencies, minor spoilers (for those who haven’t read the manga), a little ooc

-

the surroundings gave nothing away, except for the sound of horses trotting and the rumble and occasional bump of a carriage- the carriage you were in. confusion hit you like a truck at first, and you opened your eyes only to see nothing. you were blindfolded by your captors, and you could feel something like a gag being placed between your mouth, and the thick rope rubbed against your wrists with every move. 

you had no idea how you ended up in this predicament. you were with some of the newer survey corps members, and the next thing you knew you were knocked out cold and woke up on a moving carriage, gagged and blindfolded. with every passing second, your throat felt dryer and dryer, and the thumping of your heart became louder and louder. deciding not to alert your captors, you continued laying down on the hard wood as you desperately tried to come up with a plan. who were these people? what is their main agenda? and most importantly- why were you kidnapped, of all people? there was no knowing what these people might do, and when they might decide to kill you. if they do, you had to think fast to avoid that dreaded outcome. straining your ears, hoping to pick up any noise that could serve as a clue, but to no avail. 

if there’s two people, you could probably take them out before they brought you to the desired location. but to be sure, you had to assess the situation properly. right now, all you could think of was escape. but even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to go far before they caught up to you. deciding to wait before taking the next course of action, the loud thumping of your heart was doing nothing but reminding you that with every passing second that you’re not doing anything, you’re closer and closer to death’s door. 

when the survey corp members that were fighting down below on land boarded the airship, you’d waited eagerly until you saw eren being forcefully hurled into the airship by a rather angry Levi. before you could even ask what was going on, the older man already had aggressively placed eren under arrest as the survey corps members filled in hurriedly. seeing the grim look on Mikasa and Armin’s face, you knew that eren had done something without Levi’s permission. as your eyes met Mikasa’s your doubts had been confirmed. making your way towards her, you tried to ask her what had happened down below when Levi stepped in front of you, the look on his face warning you not to ask about what had happened. 

“you’re not allowed to see eren while he is imprisoned.” Levi ordered you curtly. 

“but why?” you asked, unable to accept Levi’s treatment towards eren. first he places him under arrest, and now he wouldn’t allow you to visit him? 

“because i say so, you damn brat.” Levi answered your question brusquely. “that stupid boy thinks he can do whatever he wants, and since he thinks he’s smart enough to take things into his hands and defy orders, he deserves to be locked up after all the commotion and damaged he created. you better not defy my orders too, y/n.” giving you one last look, Levi walked away along with the rest of the survey corps members, leaving you, Mikasa, and Armin together. 

“i’m going to talk to eren.” you informed the other two. without waiting for their replies, you hastily walked off into the direction eren was being dragged away while Levi and the rest were too busy to keep their eyes on you. just as you were making your way into the basement of the airship, two survey corps members caught you. thankfully, they didn’t hear of Levi’s orders and did not question you as to why you were in the basement when you informed them that Levi had ordered you to head down and grab some supplies. as you watched their retreating forms, you were too focused on not getting caught that you didn’t sense someone coming up from behind you. by the time you turned around, it was too late. the next thing you knew, you were stuck in this predicament. 

as the carriage came to a slow stop, you heard footsteps approaching you and you stayed as still as possible hoping that your captors wouldn’t be alerted of the fact that you were awake. you were then roughly grabbed by the arm before being slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes before you felt your captor alight from the carriage. 

staying as still as possible, you struggled to pick up any signs of where you could possibly be. ever since you had woken up, you made sure to take note of every turn and twist of the road the carriage was travelling on. but all of a sudden, the carriage stopped in the middle of what feels like a straight path, and you had absolutely no idea where you were at now. as your mind raced to formulate some kind of plan that would allow you to escape, what sounded like a door was being kicked open and your captor continued walking into what is supposedly a room. upon entering the room, you were being roughly thrown onto a chair, forcing you to bite you tongue to stifle a groan.

“could you be gentler?!” a masculine voice spoke up for the first time ever since you were kidnapped. “if he finds out you’re being so rough, he’s going to kill us both.” at the words of the male, your ears perked up as your mind churned with thoughts. who was he talking about?

without warning, your blindfold was removed from your eyes, and the stream of light attacked your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly and squint against the light. 

“you were awake this whole time, weren’t you?” a gruff voice asked you, and although you couldn’t see who it was, it was clear that there were two captors. “what the hell, if i’d known i should’ve made you walk here instead of carrying you all the way.” 

“knock it out already! this isn’t the way to treat our saviour’s love, if he finds out you’re being rude, your head will roll.” the first man scolded. squinting your eyes as you adjusted to the light, you scanned your surroundings, hoping to find some form of exit. unfortunately, the only exit was behind one of the men who had brought you here. you could try the window to your right, but it would be near impossible to make an escape with the little time you have. as your guts churned with dread and a trickle of cold sweat ran down your spine, one of them had approached you and proceeded to undo the ropes that were binding your hands together. 

“please don’t be afraid of us, y/n.” the man sounded out as he undid the ropes on your wrists. “we don’t plan to hurt or harm you in any way, trust me.” the man continued as you thought of another way to escape. “we’re part of the yeagerists, ad we’ve brought you here as part of our orders from our savior, the one who would save us all from this doomed world. the man offered you a small smile as he stepped in front of you and removed the gag from your mouth.

by now, you weren’t able to think straight. your hands instantly started becoming cold and clammy as you felt the energy drained from you. who are these people, and what are they talking about? ‘our saviour’? who the hell was that? were they planning to use use as a sacrificial or something? you were so caught up in your own thoughts, the pounding of your head getting louder and louder, so much so that you didn’t notice the door opening until you heard a familiar voice. 

“y/n.” at the sound of the third person, you looked up in the direction of the voice that brought you a sense of comfort and warmth all the time. there was no doubt about it- there in the doorway stood eren, your beloved, a smile on his face. 

your first instinct was to run towards and into the arms of the man that would hold you to sleep every night, but the confusion of seeing him here rendered you unable to move from your seat.

“how did you- why are you-” you fumbled over your words as eren made his way towards you and squatted in front of you, a smile on his face as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek. 

“how i escaped isn’t important, y/n. what’s important is that you’re here now, and that it all that matters to me.” eren answered the burning question in your mind, his head buried in your lap. “i’m so glad you managed to make it here safely, y/n.” eren sighed as he nuzzled your thigh. 

“eren, what’s going on? why am i here? why are you here? who are these people?” at your questions, eren couldn’t help but chuckle. “relax my love.” he soothed as he traced circles absentmindedly on your thigh. “these people are part of the yeagerists- people that follow me and like me, believe that this wretched world needs to be changed. and they’ve entrusted me with their hopes and lives to create a new world where everything would be fine. i told them to bring you here, so i could talk to you, my love.”

‘what did you want to talk about?” you questioned as you narrowed your eyes at your lover. you had this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that it was something that could change your entire life. 

“i want you to stay with me.” eren looked up, his eyes never looking away from yours. 

“what do you mean? we could stay together, we already are, aren’t we? we’re still together in the survey cor-”

“no.” eren’s cold and harsh tone cut you off. a look of shock took over your confused one as you looked into the eyes of eren. he had never once raised his voice at you or talked to you in this tone before, why was he so worked up?

“i meant, away from the survey corps, away from anyone who thinks that this world doesn’t need to change.” eren continued in a gentler tone. “the survey corps clearly don’t see the need for me to change this world we live in, but i know you do, don’t you?” 

“eren, are you crazy?!” the words flew out from your mouth before you could even know it. whatever, there was no taking it back, you might as well just say whatever’s on your mind and hope that eren doesn’t kill you. “eren, you can’t defy the survey corps and go about doing as you please, you have a responsibility to uphold! think this through!” you pleaded with eren, but the man clearly had no intention on changing his goals. you knew that once eren was set on something, he wouldn’t waver and change his mind that easily no matter what others told him.

in one last attempt to dissuade him, you brought up the last two people that he wanted to hear about. “what about Mikasa and Armin? have you thought about how they would feel?” you asked gently as you cupped eren’s face in your hands. the slight widening of his eyes at the mention of the two people he was closest to brought a tiny silver of hope into you heart. maybe, maybe he would rethink this after all.

“as long as i have you by my side, nobody else matters.” eren turned and face you, his big hands overlapping your smaller ones. “so will you stay with me, my beloved y/n?”

you were torn. torn between your loyalty towards the survey corps and eren. should you decide to follow the survey corps, you knew that eren would not hesitate to kill you in order to stop you from leaking any information. but if you agreed to follow eren to the ends of the earth and his plans do not succeed and is captured by the survey corps, you knew that Levi and the rest would not spare your life too. 

letting your hands fall to your sides, you tore your eyes away from your lover as you looked down at your feet. swallowing hard, you gave him your final answer. 

“no. i cannot support you this time.” 

at your answer, eren removed his hands from yours, and a deathly silence hung over the both of you like stale air. embracing your fate, you were prepared to die at the hands of eren. slowly, eren got up, and gently tilted your head to look up at him. 

“then i’m sorry, my love.” eren replied, his thumb rubbing your cheek gently. “i’ll have no choice but to take you away from this lie that they have fabricated. i’ll take you away and together, we’ll create a world that you deserve to live in. i didn’t want to take you away without giving you a choice, but i realized that no matter what, i want- and i need you to be by my side. and if it means having to take away your freedom, i’ll gladly do it.” 

“why?” your voice barely above a whisper. 

“because i love you, and i want you to stay with me, no matter what.” eren smiled softly at you. “i promise you, i’ll make this world a place where you’ll never worry about your life anymore, just for you. all you have to do, is to stay with me.” 

[banshee1013]

Fic - Uninhibited

Written for the @profoundnet Discord Server Valentines Exchange - Reunion round, and specifically for @annethecatdetective :)

Title: Uninhibited Rating: Mature  Tags: Castiel/Dean, Canon compliant, S15 Spoilers, Witch Curses, Literally Sleeping Together, Fluff and Light Angst Word Count: 5787 Summary:  On what appeared to be a routine hunt, Dean gets zapped by a witch's curse - and suddenly he has no qualms expressing his undying love for Castiel. It's everything Castiel has hoped for and never thought he would have. When Sam discovers the counterspell, reversing the curse seems like a no-brainer - but will it cause Castiel to lose the love he never thought he would have?  AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600769

========================================

“Dean!”

Castiel runs and skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of the prone form of his friend. Pressing two fingers to his forehead, he breathes a sigh of relief. Still alive.

His attention turns to the fleeing form of the witch. Raising a hand, he wills his Grace into it and clinches it into a fist. The witch freezes mid-stride, twisting against an invisible force holding him in place. With a jerk of his arm, Castiel propels the witch around and pins him against the nearest wall.

“What have you done to him?” 

The witch laughs. “I’ve given him a great gift. You’ll see.” He flicks his wrist, a bolt of purple flying out and striking Castiel. It doesn’t hurt him but distracts him enough to loosen his grip, and the witch disappears.

Castiel utters a string of Enochian curses that would make Lucifer himself flinch. Nothing for it, and he has more important concerns at the moment, his attention returning to the unconscious hunter.

Even unconscious, he’s beautiful, Cas thinks with a pang in his chest, maybe even more so, the usual lines of care and strife stripped from his face. Castiel places a palm on his forehead and exerts a sliver of Grace, but it bounces back against his hand, as though hitting an impenetrable barrier. 

But it must have done something, as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter open, his breath gasping as he regains consciousness. Seconds later, Castiel is hit by the full force of those green eyes as they meet his own, hazy and dull at first but sharpening quickly with recognition. 

“Cas?” Dean rises and reaches for him, Castiel grasping his shoulder to help steady him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” 

Castiel blinks. Of all the names Dean has called him over the years they’ve known each other, this one had never been directed toward him. He dismisses it as an aftereffect of just having regained consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Dean heaves a visible sigh of relief — then suddenly there’s a hand behind his neck and Dean’s lips are pressed against his. The shock of the contact is quickly overcome by a growing heat beneath his skin, an involuntary moan escaping around their fused lips.

After a measure of time that Castiel cannot name, Dean pulls back and presses his forehead against his own. “Feeling much better now,” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Castiel’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine. 

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted and knew he would never have, and he desperately wants to relish the sudden reality of his desires coming to life before him, but the relevance of the witch’s last words rings in his ears. Castiel takes a deep breath and pulls back to catch Dean’s eyes. “Dean, tell me… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean frowns, his brows pinching together. “Uh… well, we followed the witch to this house. We’d split up to clear the rooms and…” He stops, eyes narrowing angrily as realization dawns. “Did that sonuvabitch get the drop on me?” 

Castiel nods somberly. “Yes. I heard a shout but by the time I found you, you were already unconscious. I was able to pin the witch briefly but they escaped.” He sighs and looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes in light of his failure. “Unfortunately, I do not know what spell or curse was laid upon you. I attempted to heal you, but somehow I am being blocked from doing so.” 

He is once again shocked when Dean places light fingers under his chin and lifts to look into his eyes. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go home and talk to Sam. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel’s breath stutters to a halt as Dean’s hand slides to his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him again. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dean says after he pulls back again, barely audible over the buzz in Castiel’s ears, then rises and offers a hand down to Castiel, pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta here,” he says, smiling and squeezing Castiel’s hand, then guiding them to the door and out to the waiting Impala. Castiel glances down at their joined hands and wonders what he’s going to do now. 

~~~ *** ~~~

“Sam! We’re back!” Dean announces loudly as he enters the bunker. “Who’s gonna bring me a beer?”

“Get it yourself!” Sam’s voice echoes from behind the stacks in the Library. Castiel wonders if he’s examining the books there, looking for an answer to the nature of the curse the witch placed upon Dean; Castiel having texted him about it as soon as they were on the road again.

Dean grumbles but there’s no real heat in it. He pauses in the Library and turns to Castiel, his hand raising to grasp his upper arm. “Want anything while I’m in there, sweetheart?” 

Castiel, his throat dry and voice gone, shakes his head. Dean nods and smiles, his hand trailing down Castiel’s arm to his hand to give it a squeeze before pivoting on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. 

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Sam’s head pops from behind one of the stacks, his eyes wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” 

Castiel could only nod in agreement.

“So, what happened? Tell me everything,” Sam asks as he moves to sit at one of the tables in the Library, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. Castiel takes the seat across from him and recounts the events from earlier in hushed tones to prevent Dean from overhearing.

Not that it was an issue; Dean shouts from the kitchen that he’s starving and going to make burgers and did they want any. Sam looks to Castiel, questioning; he nods and Sam yells back in affirmation before turning back, gaze unfocused over Castiel’s shoulder and forehead furrowed in thought.

“Purple light,” Sam muses. “Last time I saw that was Rowena using magic from Book of the Damned.” The unfocused gaze sharpens and focuses back on Castiel. “But you said the witch was male, right?” Castiel nods, and Sam’s lips purse. “I have no idea what happened to the Book — it wasn’t among her magic journals and items we took from her apartment.” He sighs. “I hope it hasn’t been recovered and used by whoever this was,” he continues, “but I’ll do some digging on that assumption anyway.” Castiel nods again, but his inner turmoil must be written on his face as Sam’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Cas… is there... something else?”

Castiel looks down at his clenched hands, noticing he’s been subconsciously wringing them. “I...I’m not sure what to do about his advances.”

Sam’s expression grows serious. “Has he been making you uncomfortable? How bad has he been? He hasn’t… propositioned you or anything, has he?” Sam pauses to swallow uncomfortably. “Or worse?”

“All he’s done so far has been pet names and kisses. And no, he hasn’t been making me uncomfortable.” Castiel takes a deep breath and squirms a little in the chair. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Dean’s brother, and he’s quite unsure how to broach it tactfully. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

Sam’s expression is puzzled at first, eyebrows pinched in confusion — then Cas witnesses the metaphorical light bulb illuminating as his eyes grow wide. “Oh… OH!” His mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Well then, I guess this is your lucky day!” 

Castiel feels the heat of a blush flashing across the back of his neck and across his face, his embarrassment warring with a sense of outrage. “Sam, no!” he hisses. “Dean is not expressing affection of his own volition. He’s been compelled!” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them clenching again. “It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his condition, regardless of my feelings for him.” 

A snort from the other side of the table has Castiel glancing up from his hands to see a smirk on Sam’s face. “Believe me, Cas — those feelings are real.” The smirk dissolves as his jaw drops. “I wonder…” 

His musings are interrupted by Dean breezing into the library, a plate in each hand. He sets the plate with a single burger in front of Sam, then swings around the table to sit next to Castiel, sliding the second plate with two burgers in front of himself. He leans over to drop a kiss against Castiel’s cheek as he grabs a burger off the plate. “Dig in, babe,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear causing an involuntary shiver to rattle down Castiel’s spine. 

Dean leans back and winks at him, grinning as he takes a big bite of his burger; and Castiel’s blush burns across his skin again. He grabs the remaining burger and takes a big bite in a vain attempt to distract himself from Dean’s uncharacteristically forward behavior. 

God help him, he’s enjoying this new flirty, attentive Dean.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Dean asks between bites, and Castiel almost chokes on his mouthful. Sam covers wonderfully, though. 

“Just discussing the case,” he says. “Cas told me you took a hit. How’re you feeling?”

Dean’s grin widens. “Feelin’ pretty great, actually,” he says as he drops another wink at Castiel. “Cas says I was unconscious when he found me but I really feel fine now.”

Sam leans back in his chair and puts on an air of nonchalance. “So you don’t… feel any different? Anything strike you as being different at all?” He glances up at the ceiling. “Like, oh, I dunno, how you feel about Cas?” 

Castiel’s head whips from where he’d been staring at Dean to gauge his reactions to Sam’s questions to Sam himself, panic at his directness crawling up his throat and causing his heart to play hopscotch in his chest. Sam has the audacity to wink at him, but then he startles and whips back around when he feels Dean’s hand take his own, his eyes widening as Dean raises it to his lips and looks directly into his eyes.

“Nope, I’m still totally hung up on this guy,” he says softly, lowering his hand and giving it a squeeze, then raising his free hand to stifle a yawn. “But I am pretty worn out.” He stands, pulling Castiel to his feet and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close; Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to beat its way right out of his chest wall. “Think I’ll turn in. Can you handle the dishes, Sammy?” he asks, nuzzling Castiel’s hair and humming in contentment.

Sam, the terrible person he’s suddenly become, nods gleefully. “You bet! You lovebirds should hit the sack.” He stands, gathers the dishes, and heads to the kitchen, throwing yet another wink over his shoulder as he turns the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Dean finally pulls away from him and turns, leading Castiel towards the living areas — and presumably, Dean’s room. Castiel feels panic creeping up as they walk down the steps into the war room. He knows he should stop this — tell Dean the truth, that the witch’s spell is compelling these feelings from him. But he finds he is unable — or rather, increasingly unwilling — to say anything, and the guilt gnaws at him.

But — this is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. And Dean is the happiest Castiel has ever seen him. Should he really deny Dean — or himself — this happiness? 

Haven’t they both suffered enough? Sacrificed enough?

The witch did say he had given Dean a great gift. Who was he to look this gift horse in the mouth?

But as they reach Dean’s door, the guilt forces him to at least say something.

“Dean.” Castiel pulls him to a halt and he turns to face him; Dean’s eyes, drooping with weariness, suddenly soften as he reaches a hand behind Castiel’s neck to pull their foreheads together, and closes his eyes.

“So, I know we haven’t really… y’know, slept together yet,” Dean says, his voice hesitant, uncertain, “and I know you don’t really sleep, but…” Then those green eyes open and meet Castiel’s, thumb stroking his cheekbone and taking his breath away again. “Could you… just stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”

Just being with him, laying beside him, even if just to watch him sleep. It’s more than he’s ever had and ever thought he could. That wouldn’t be a violation, Castiel reasons, and nods.

“Of course, Dean.” 

~~~ *** ~~~

A thin stream of daylight streaks through the skylight over Dean’s bed and strikes his head, the red and gold highlights in his hair sparkling in the light. Castiel can’t help himself, reaching toward the pillow next to him to gently run his fingers through it — not enough to wake him but just to watch the light dance — and wonders if sleep had broken the spell. 

While Dean had only asked for Castiel to stay until he fell asleep, as soon as he’d laid nervously beside him — having stripped down to his boxers after Dean expressed confusion when he lay down on the bed fully clothed — Dean had turned into some form of human octopus, legs and arms curling around him and pulling him close, head on Castiel’s shoulder and nose buried in the crook of his neck. Dean was asleep moments later, Castiel reasoning that he must have been very tired indeed to have managed to do so over the jackhammer of Castiel’s heart. 

So all through the night, he lay there, Dean’s warmth pressed against his body, his soft snores against his neck, and he argued with himself. 

The spell is causing him to act like this — Dean would never want this, one voice in his head reasoned, while another argued, but Sam did not seem concerned — why? That was indeed a good question, and one he would need to address as soon as he could extricate himself without waking Dean. 

But when Dean finally rolled over, releasing him… Castiel found it impossible to leave him. The thought of Dean waking up without him there — would he be sad? Disappointed? The spell might exacerbate his fear of abandonment… perhaps even give him nightmares. No, he couldn’t do that to him, not in his current condition.  

Or so the voice in his head reasoned, the other voice moving down and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t get up and seek out Sam — instead, he rolled over and curled against Dean’s back, pulling him close, and Dean sighed contentedly in his sleep and snuggled back against him. 

If this is so wrong… why does it feel so RIGHT?

But of course, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him alone. Would Dean wake up and wonder what Castiel was doing in his bed? Would he be angry? Or worse, disgusted? 

Castiel freezes as Dean’s eyes flicker open, the sunlight striking them and turning them verdant. His lips stretch into a soft, sleepy smile. 

“Hey, good morning sunshine.” 

Castiel releases the breath he’d been holding as Dean rises up on an elbow and leans to press that smile against his lips. The kiss was chaste but oh so sweet, and Dean sighs contentedly as he lays back down and stretches, the sunlight playing across his bare skin turning Castiel’s mouth dry. 

He swallows and manages to croak out, “Good morning, Dean.” The lingering guilt bubbles up and he asks, “How are you feeling?” 

“Like a million bucks.” Dean glances back over, his eyes wide. “Did you stay all night?” Castiel nods, timidly, worried over Dean’s reaction to the admission, but Dean’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry, that must have been boring as hell.” 

“No, it was very enjoyable,” Castiel blurts out and only an act of extreme control prevents him from slapping a hand to his mouth, but it is rewarded by a bright smile from Dean. 

“Was it, now?” he teases, eyebrows waggling. “Do I have to worry about my chastity?” 

Castiel feels the hot flush darken his skin and Dean must see it as well, bursting into laughter and pulling Castiel against him. “Just teasing, sweetheart,” he says, but with a wicked grin, he whispers into Castiel’s ear, “but for future reference, I’m down with somnophilia if you are.”  

Castiel wonders if blood remains in any other part of his body, as it feels as though every drop has rushed to his face, and Dean laughs once more before kissing him again — not quite so chaste this time and leaving Castiel breathless when he pulls back, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

“C’mon, sunshine, time to get up. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee.” 

Castiel nods dumbly, and with a final peck on Castiel’s lips, Dean rolls out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After a moment to collect himself, Castiel follows suit, redressing in his suit and tie before pulling the trench coat back on, a feeling of resolve settling over him as he does so. He must talk to Sam as soon as he’s up today. 

He turns to find Dean looking him over and sighing. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to wear something else — even if it’s just here in the bunker.” The wicked grin returns as he comes closer, his fingers settling around Castiel’s tie and using it to pull him near. “Although the tie does have its uses,” he says softly before pressing another kiss to his lips, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam.

Castiel’s resolve slips and with a soft sigh, his lips part for Dean’s tongue. Dean groans against his lips, his hand sliding from the tie to Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him harder; then Castiel is being pushed backward and up against the wall, Dean’s hand moving behind his head to protect it while the other grasps his waist to pull him in tighter. The unmistakable hard line of his erection presses against Castiel and he gasps against Dean’s mouth. Dean hums and breaks the kiss, lipping down to Castiel’s neck and rolling his hips, eliciting another gasp. 

Castiel pulls the final vestiges of his resolve together, managing to get his hands to Dean’s chest and weakly pushing him back. “Dean,” he pants, “we have to stop.” 

The hurt look on Dean’s face is almost enough for his resolve to slip again, but Castiel holds on to it desperately, like a drowning man grasping a floating bit of wreckage. “Please… I have to talk to Sam.” 

Dean’s face darkens. “Sam? It’s not like you have to ask his permission, Cas.” He steps back, arms crossed. “We’re both adults and it’s a free country. We can do what we want.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that, Dean.” He casts his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Dean’s face. “It’s about the case yesterday.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel cuts him off. “Please, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam first.” 

“Fine.” Castiel glances back up as Dean pivots on a heel and heads for the door. “Do what you gotta do. I need coffee.” He storms out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he heads for the kitchen.

Castiel leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to collect himself. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and goes in search of Sam. 

~~~ *** ~~~

He doesn’t have to go far as Sam almost runs him over in the hallway, walking briskly from the direction of the Library. “Cas! What happened?” He grasps Castiel’s arm, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Dean just came stomping through the library on the way to the kitchen.” 

“He, um…” Castiel searches for the words to explain that would invoke the least amount of embarrassment for them both. “He was very… amorous and I asked him to stop so I could talk to you before… well, anything untoward could happen.” 

Sam at least has the decency to look startled before bursting into a gale of laughter, and Castiel bitterly wonders if Sam’s soul really was returned intact. “Oh! Well, that’s better than what I thought had happened!” His laughter dies down to a chuckle but his eyes are still dancing merrily as he clasps a giant palm onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought maybe the spell had worn off and he lost his shit when he woke up to find you in bed with him!” 

Castiel’s ire diminishes and he nods. “That was my concern as well, but the exact opposite occurred.” His statement sends Sam into another round of chuckles, his hand dropping from Castiel’s shoulder as he bends over in his mirth, and Castiel sighs. “Sam, please. Can we focus on the issue now?”

Sobering, Sam straightens and nods, laughter still in his eyes but mercifully not on his lips. Clasping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, Sam guides him back down the hallway to the Library. 

“I’ve actually been up for a while doing some research and I think I’ve discovered what the witch did to Dean,” Sam says as they cross the War Room and into the library. The table where they had been sitting the night before was now strewn with books. He releases Castiel’s shoulder and picks up a nearby notepad, covered with Sam’s neat script. “I think it’s an uninhibiting spell.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Uninhibiting spell?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and gestures to the one across from him. Castiel sits, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “So, last night when I asked Dean how he was feeling and he said how great he felt — remember what else he said?” 

Castiel nods. “He said he was…” He pauses, feeling the blood rushing to his face again and amazed how the rest of his body continues to function with the continued lack of blood flow. “He said he was ‘still totally hung up’ on me.” His hands writhe together on the table in his embarrassment… but oddly, he feels a sense of lightness, a fluttering in his stomach as if a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence there.

Sam snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly!” 

Castiel sits back in his chair and glowers. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Sam.” 

“C’mon, Cas… think about it. When does Dean ever say he’s fine? Or admit his feelings for anyone, even me?” 

Castiel begins to see where Sam is coming from, but still… “I see your point. But Sam…” He stops, eyes dropping and the fluttering in his stomach souring. “Dean does not care for me in that way.” The words are like ash in his mouth, the memories from last night and this morning like white-hot blades to his heart. 

Sam snorts. “That is one hundred percent not true.”

Castiel’s head jerks up to shoot a glare in Sam’s direction, puzzled at his recent behavior. Sam is fully aware of his affections for Dean, and it is not like him to be callous or cruel, making light of other’s feelings, and yet… The look on Sam’s face gives him pause; his face is open and honest, and even… exasperated?

Could it be true? Is it possible Dean actually returns my feelings?

Just then, the stormcloud that is Dean rounds the corner of the hallway coming from the kitchen. “What’s not true?” he demands, setting his coffee cup roughly on the table before yanking out a chair and falling irritably onto it.

“That you’re not crazy in love with Cas.” 

An involuntary squeak leaps from Castiel’s mouth as his head snaps towards Sam, eyes wide in panic at his bluntness. He cringes when Dean loudly scoffs.

“Well, that’s absolutely not true.” He turns toward Castiel and then visibly deflates, all earlier ire dissolving like salt in water. “Although I can see why you think I don’t love you after how I’ve been acting.” He turns in his chair and reaches over to take Castiel’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, raising Castiel’s hands to press a kiss into each one, then glances up through his lashes, that wicked grin returning and Castiel braces. “But please, the next time you don’t wanna have sex, don’t use my brother as an excuse.” 

Sam, who had tipped back in his chair to watch the exchange, flails as he loses his balance and almost falls over backwards before recovering with a gasp, followed by a bellow of laughter — but Castiel barely notices, having completely forgotten the necessity of breathing. 

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam wheezes in between guffaws, “We absolutely have to get this curse off you.” 

Dean’s eyes snap away from Castiel to Sam. “Curse? What curse?”

“The curse the witch placed on you, of course.” Sam sobers, shoving the notepad across the table, Dean snatching it up and reading as Sam continues. “You were zapped by a curse that removes your inhibitions…” He smirks. “Especially, it seems, the ones related to that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.” 

Castiel turns a puzzled glance at Sam. “What does the Nile River have to do with this situation?” He sighs in exasperation as both brothers burst into laughter. “I don’t understand that reference.” 

“I’ll explain it to you later, Cas,” Dean says, then sobering, turns his attention back to Sam. “So you’re saying this… curse… is making me love Cas?” 

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… finally… getting you to openly admit it and act on it.” 

“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, his expression thoughtful, then turning resolute. “Then I say we leave it be.” He turns to Castiel, taking his hands again. “I don’t want to go back to being afraid…” He swallows, and continues, “Or being in denial of loving you, Cas.” 

That metaphorical light bulb goes off in Castiel’s head. “De… Nile.” 

Sam snorts and Dean rolls his eyes.

Then the lightbulb grows brighter. “You mean…” He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, the fear of being rejected — mistaken — too much for him to bear.

But Dean must know what he was about to ask, sliding from his chair to kneel before him, his eyes earnest and filled with honesty. “Yes, Cas. I love you. One hundred percent. One thousand percent.” Dean turns to glare at Sam over the top of the table. “And I don’t want to lose this. Ever.”

“You don’t have to, Dean.” Sam leans forward across the table. “You can choose to be honest with your feelings even after we remove the curse.” 

Dean rises, pulling Castiel up with him and into a spine-popping hug. “I don’t want to lose this,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. Then suddenly, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean pushes him back, hands clasping his shoulders. “Waitaminute.” His green eyes go wide, hope and disbelief at war in them. “D-do you… do you love me too?”

“Yes, of course. Hasn’t it been obvious?” Castiel’s eyes narrow in confusion. Is it possible Dean hasn’t been aware of his feelings? How absurd. 

Dean sighs, pulling Castiel back into a hug, to his delight. “I guess I was blind as well as stupid.” 

Castiel returns Dean’s hug, relishing the ability to finally do so without reservation. “Not stupid, Dean. Just stubborn.” 

Dean pulls away enough to press a light kiss to Castiel’s lips, breaking it to press his forehead to Castiel’s. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” 

Loud throat-clearing echoes in the room, and they snap out of their reverie, turning to Sam. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Castiel turns back to Dean. “It’s up to you, of course,” he says, staring into those amazing green eyes so full of love, but becomes aware of a gnawing fear growing in his stomach. 

If they reverse the spell, it’s entirely possible Dean will snap right back into his usual modus operandi — stubborn denial of his right to happiness, to love and to be loved in return. 

But on the other hand, while Castiel wants Dean’s love more than anything else in this world, he wants it honestly — not coerced or forced. 

“It’s up to you,” he repeats, “but I hope you choose to reverse the spell.” 

Dean nods, eyes downcast. “I don’t wanna be a puppet. I want…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, the eyes meeting Castiel’s full of determination. “I will do this — feel this — honestly.” Another quick kiss and he turns back to Sam. 

“Let’s do this.”

~~~ *** ~~~

Castiel paces the hallway outside the infirmary. 

He walks to one end, pauses, walks back. As he passes the door, he pauses briefly and listens; but only for a second, the fear taking hold and pushing him to move again, to the other end of the hallway. Turn, repeat.

Each time he pauses at the door, the fear that he’ll lose Dean forever grows, burning in him like hot ash. 

He had helped Sam gather the ingredients for the spell but could not bring himself to participate — asking Sam to question Dean after the spell was over and come to him personally to break the news to him gently rather than be there to witness it for himself.

It was cowardice, pure and simple. He admonishes himself for it — he should be there for Dean, come what may. But there are just some things he cannot bear, and having Dean reject him outright without a buffer is the greatest of them. 

He almost has a heart attack when he hears the door to the infirmary open behind him. He pauses in his march, the fear choking him, rooting his feet to the floor.

“Cas?” 

Dean’s voice, soft and almost timid, is the thing that finally loosens his feet; slowly, hesitantly he turns, his eyes rising slowly to see Dean at the doorway. 

He swallows past the lump of fear in his throat. “Hello, Dean.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable. “How are you feeling?”

Dean walks toward him, steps echoing in the hallway. Castiel freezes as Dean stops in front of him; waits and tries to push down the anxiety as Dean stands silent before him.

“I feel…” Dean starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, starts again. “I feel… good.” He smiles, shy but with a hint of the determination from before. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean reaches to take his hands.

“Please, Cas… have patience with me,” Dean sighs softly, staring down at their joined hands. “I remember everything… everything I felt from, y’know, before…” He pauses again, the struggle to overcome his barriers evident and Castiel has never been more proud of him. “It’s still there, but… I have work to do.” Dean looks up to stare into his eyes and it’s all Castiel can do to keep from collapsing from relief and joy — Dean may be struggling to express his feelings, but his eyes are full of all the love he’s currently unable to say.

But Castiel has no problems with expressing himself. 

“I love you, Dean. I will wait for eternity for you to be ready, if that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighs in relief and leans forward to touch his forehead to Castiel’s. “It won’t take that long, I promise.” 

EPILOGUE:

Rowena’s eyes flutter, the cloudy grey dispersing and returning to their usual hazel green. She breathes a satisfied sigh.

“Was the spell successful, my Queen? Did I do well?” She glances down at the slight young man kneeling before the throne, the black eyes somehow conveying hope of receiving her praise… or perhaps it’s fear of being the recipient of her displeasure. Eh, either is good.

“We’ll see,” she says, her voice lilting in exaggerated nonchalance, but she takes pity on the young demon. “But it looks promising.” She waves her hand in dismissal and the demon scurries away happily — or as happily as a soul condemned to Hell can be, she supposes.

She steeples her fingers, tapping the tips to each other in contentment. Promising, indeed.

The stools in the throne room catch her eye and she can almost see them sitting there, tense and rigid in each other’s presence. “FIX IT!” she had admonished them then, and it seemed like maybe they might have on their own — but she has always been impatient, and knows all too well the price one pays when they’ve waited until it’s too late. 

She had been watching, and waiting, and growing more impatient with them but unable to act — even the Queen of Hell has her limits — until she encountered the young demon, a former witch fresh from the rack, and an idea blossomed. 

Taking the young demon as her personal servant, she had instructed him in the spell that would loosen Dean’s inhibitions, cultivating him until she was sure of success, then laying a trail for the boys to follow. The spell went off without a hitch — well, except for the little idiot almost being caught by a surprisingly powerful Castiel. Who knew seeing the love of his life unconscious on the floor would elicit such a powerful response? She smiles slyly to herself, thinking of other fun ways she might prod that response from the angel in the future. Could come in handy.

A surge of pride overcomes her — she had been counting on Samuel, her all-too-short protégé, to pick up on the nature of the spell and find a counterspell for it, and she was so very proud of him — followed by a momentary stab of sadness. Oh, the things she could have taught him if it wasn’t for that pesky little tyrant Chuck! 

A wicked, leering grin curls her lips. Of course, there was more to her plan than simply helping a hunter and an angel — both of whom at one time actively pursued her demise — find love and happiness. Fostering that love and devotion was the ultimate weapon for her revenge against Chuck. For she knew at some point in the near future, there would be a confrontation between him and the Winchesters — one didn’t need prescience to see it, it was clear as a bell to anyone with eyes — and an angel with an attachment to the elder Winchester even more profound than the original bond between them on their side would certainly seal Chuck’s doom.

Ahhh, but it is GOOD to be the Queen!

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 16 of 26

Title: Tales From Earthsea (Earthsea Cycle #5) (2001)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Short Story Collection, Novella, Third-Person, Female Protagonist 

Rating: 8/10 (note: this is an average)

Date Began: 7/2/2021

Date Finished: 7/6/2021

Tales From Earthsea is a collection of five short stories and novellas which take place in the Earthsea universe. In addition, there’s a supplementary timeline of Earthsea’s history, tradition, and cultural details of note. The last story in the collection, Dragonfly, serves as a bridge between Tehanu (#4) and The Other Wind (#6), the final book in the series. 

Of the five stories, my favorites (both 10/10s) were The Finder and On The High Marsh.

The way one does research into nonexistent history is to tell the story and find out what happened. I believe this isn’t very different from what historians of the so-called real world do. Even if we are present at some historic event, do we comprehend it— can we even remember it— until we can tell it in a story? 

Content warnings, individual ratings/commentary, and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Death and violence, child abuse (including implied sexual abuse), police brutality, slavery, reference to torture and execution, brief reference to inc*st, misogyny, animal cruelty, mild body horror, very brief implied mind control via a "love charm" (it doesn't work).

#1 - The Finder (10/10)

In The Dark Time, magic is widely mistrusted. Petty tyrants use the once noble art in pursuit of power and glory. Medra, the son of a shipwright in Havnor, has magical talents honed in secret. One day, he curses a ship built for a warlord’s fleet. Unfortunately, he gets caught and sent to a prison camp. There he is forced to use finding magic to locate veins of cinnabar.

The prison exists to refine quicksilver, a substance the most powerful mage on the island believes will turn him into a god. While in the refinery, Medra feels a spiritual connection to a dying slave, a young woman named Anieb. The two of them devise a plan to kill the mage and escape. Medra’s journey eventually takes him to the island of Roke and the founding of its prestigious wizard school. 

‘The dead are dead. The great and mighty go their way unchecked. All the hope left in the world is in the people of no account.’ 

I really enjoyed this novella. The Dark Time is largely unexplored in the stories of Earthsea, so it was interesting to read about it here. I get the feeling that we’re approaching or in the middle of one such time in the real world, so seeing a version of it on the page is depressing yet hopeful. The story is dark; mass feudal warfare, a literal concentration camp in the opening half, widespread enslavement, and abuse of power. But it also offers hope and the promise of change. The story also explores the integral role of women in not only the preservation of magic in a bleak age of humanity, but the very foundation of Roke. 

Medra’s story spoke to me; how he resists the despotic powers-that-be, his connection with Anieb even after her tragic death, and how despite his disillusionment with humanity, he ultimately fights to create a better world. I also thought Gelluk was a horrifying villain. He’s characterized as a soft-spoken, almost kindly man who loves children and animals— yet his narrative thoughts involve burning hundreds of slaves alive in order to better fuel the quicksilver refinery. “Nice doesn’t mean good” taken to an extreme, and a mirror of many villains in the real world. 

Le Guin was anti-capitalist, but that way of thinking seems peripheral in the Earthsea series. The Finder, however, definitely has a Marxist reading in it. A recurring theme is the disenfranchised rising up against the powerful. Indeed both antagonists, who are despotic wizards of great power, are soundly defeated by groups of people they consider powerless. Magic is only considered relevant for the value and power it produces, an idea antithetical to the rest of the series. The quicksilver refinery also embraces anti-capitalist rhetoric; this section focuses on how mass enslavement and death is used to manufacture a meaningless commodity only one person “benefits” from. That’s not even getting into the prison-industrial complex. 

I dunno. This story slaps. It’s not at all what I expected from a Roke origin story.

#2 - Diamond and Darkrose (5/10)

Diamond, the son of a prosperous lumber merchant, struggles to find his true calling in life. His father disapproves of almost everything he does, including his close friendship with the local witch’s daughter Rose. While he loves music, his father derides his talents and forces him to abandon the pursuit. When Diamond shows some  promise in magic, he travels to a neighboring town to serve as the local wizard’s apprentice. But when this path estranges him from Rose, he grows disillusioned.

Rose had looked after herself from an early age; and this was one of the reasons Diamond loved her. With her, he knew what freedom was. Without her, he could attain it only when he was hearing and singing and playing music.

I did not like this story very much. I gave Diamond and Darkrose a 5/10 because it’s competently written (duh), and the protagonist has a character arc not entirely dependent on the central romance. But that’s about all I can say for it.

None of the characters are especially appealing. Diamond’s mentor figures are all extremely narrow-minded. Rose, supposedly his true love since childhood, drops him the moment things become difficult. And Diamond himself is a pushover who only grows a spine and pursues his dreams at the end of the story. I understand that’s his character flaw and his arc is about overcoming that. But due to all these factors, I was annoyed by every major character. The only person I didn’t dislike was Diamond’s mother, who only shows up for a couple of scenes.

Someone please tell me there are love stories out there where the romantic tension is NOT based on a fucking MISUNDERSTANDING. That shit drives me up a wall! It’s so overdone and painful to read.

#3 - The Bones of the Earth (8/10)

Dulse is an aging wizard on the island of Gont, reflecting on his life and relationship with his former apprentice, a young man he calls Silence. But he senses something amiss on the island; a massive earthquake poised to destroy a nearby port town and its inhabitants. To avert disaster, Dulse realizes he must turn to an ancient form of magic taught to him long ago— and he needs Silence’s help to save the town.

In there he knew he should hurry, that the bones of the earth ached to move, and that he must become them to guide them, but he could not hurry. There was on him the bewilderment of any transformation. He had in his day been fox, and bull, and dragonfly, and knew what it was to change being. But this was different, this slow enlargement. I am vastening, he thought.

So I’ve always liked Ogion in the main series; I love the idea of an immensely powerful wizard who lives an unassuming life of silence, contemplation, and appreciation of the natural world. In The Bones of the Earth, we get a glimpse of Ogion through his mentor’s eyes. Ogion’s heroism and how he stopped the earthquake is mentioned several times in the main series, but this is our first look at what actually happened.

Dulse is an unexpected and fascinating perspective character. It would be so easy to tell this story wholly from Ogion’s perspective, but I think making Dulse the protagonist was the right call. In particular, Dulse’s mind is starting to go. Le Guin presents this by utilizing flashbacks and connecting them to the present. This technique conveys Dulse’s disorientation and confusion so the reader experiences it alongside him... it’s hard to describe without actually reading the story. I also loved the little twist at the end regarding where Dulse learned the ancient magic that saves the island. There’s also a strong thematic connection to The Farthest Shore; death and becoming one with the rest of the world.

#4 - On The High Marsh (10/10)

A half-mad wanderer named Irioth comes upon a small settlement on the volcanic, marshy island of Semel. A murrain has been devastating the local cattle population, and Irioth offers his powers as a curer to heal the animals. He settles into a calm rural life with Gift, a widow working a small dairy. Though Gift likes Irioth, and the animals instinctively trust him, she senses something amiss with the man. Soon, Irioth’s dark past threatens to return and disturb the peace.

“Oh, yes,” Irioth said. “It was my fault.” But she forgave, and the grey cat was pressed up against his thigh, dreaming. The cat’s dreams came into his mind, in the low fields where he spoke with the animals, the dusky places. The cat leapt there, and then there was milk, and the deep soft thrilling. There was no fault, only the great innocence. No need for words. They would not find him here. He was not here to find. There was no need to speak any name. There was nobody but her, and the cat dreaming, and the fire flickering. He had come over the dead mountain on black roads, but here the streams ran slow among the pastures.

This story is a banger. It has a Western vibe— a stranger coming into a cattle town haunted by a mysterious past. Also cowboys. It’s an atmospheric story, and I think hits on the “small rural town” vibe better than Tehanu did. But there were several writing choices I especially liked.

We don’t learn Irioth’s name until a little while into the story; his physical description, temperament, and ability to immediately identify Gift’s true name just by looking at her makes one assume he’s Ged. He’s also got an interesting redemption arc, because it’s presented in a reverse order. We see Irioth’s genuine desire to do good, and his gentle and patient manner with animals and other people. He doesn’t even consider asking for payment for curing the murrain until Gift tells him he should. But there’s a sense that something is off; he’s paranoid, clearly running from something. The use-name he picks is Otak, a fictional ferret-like creature— which Gift asserts looks nice, but has sharp teeth.

Near the end, Ged actually does show up and explain what happened to Irioth. They have pretty similar backstories; both were powerful, arrogant young mages who messed with forces  they shouldn’t have, then went through great personal sacrifice to right the wrong (oh god the initial deception was intentional they’re narrative foils oh god). Ged embraced the darkest aspects of himself to avert calamity. Irioth came to Semel to escape Roke and atone by helping others. One detail I especially liked was that Irioth once considered healing beneath him, but now he takes a deep joy in using it to help. 

#5 - Dragonfly (8/10)

Irian lives a solitary life-- her father is a drunkard living in the ruins of their family’s once prosperous estate. Her closest relationship is with the local village witch, who named her in secret in the dead of night.  When a disgraced young wizard named Ivory comes to town, he sees Irian as a potential conquest. To gain power over her, he hatches a scheme; disguise Irian as a man, travel to Roke, and sneak her into the male-only wizard school— humiliating the great Masters.

But Irian is restless. She knows she has power, but her true nature is a mystery even to her. Irian sees Ivory’s plan as an opportunity to find answers from the most powerful wizards in the world. When the Doorkeeper actually lets her into the school, she finds herself in a magical and political conflict over the future of Roke— and discovers what exactly she is.

“Dark is bad,” said the Patterner. “Eh?”

Irian drew a deep breath and looked at him eye to eye as they sat there. “Only in dark the light,” she said.

This is one of those stories that has a rocky start, but a great second half. The first part of the novella felt dry to me; I’ve read plenty of tales about social outcasts with weird, unexplainable powers. On top of this, a chunk of the early narration is from Ivory’s POV, and he’s a complete tool. That can be a fun perspective to take, and I like the fact that he thinks he’s manipulating Irian when she’s the one pulling the strings. But since he’s an irrelevant character who disappears from the story halfway through, it feels like a waste to devote a huge chunk of the story to him.

However, once Irian arrives at Roke, the story gets much more interesting. Her presence at Roke causes a huge scandal that divides the Masters. Women being forbidden from Roke is a Series Thing at this point, but Earthsea is in an era of change (although I DO question that she’s the first woman to try it). The Finder demonstrated that women were pivotal in the foundation of Roke, something largely erased from history. Barring women stems from a power hungry bigot codifying it into tradition.

Irian finds some unexpected allies--minor characters in the previous books. The Doorkeeper continues to be the coolest motherfucker there. The Patterner is a major character in this story; he was in just one scene in The Farthest Shore, so I liked learning more about him. The Namer is the kind of guy you’d expect to be a stodgy traditionalist, so him siding with Irian is surprising. The Summoner, a heroic figure in previous books and stories, is a sinister villain here. As for the ending, well… if you didn’t see it coming, I’d wonder if you even read Tehanu. The same hints are there.

There were little particulars I liked, such as Irian moving into a decrepit hut that’s definitely Medra’s old home. My favorite detail is that this story has a parallel scene with The Finder. In The Finder, there’s a scene where an antagonist, Early, invades Roke in the form of a dragon. He lands on Roke Knoll, a site of power that reveals one’s true form. It turns him back into a human, leaving him defenseless when the residents of Roke attack him and repel his invasion. The reversal happens in Dragonfly. Irian gets attacked by one of the Masters while at Roke Knoll — and its magic turns her into her true form, a dragon. Props to whoever picked the cover design, since it references both scenes.

#6 - A Description of Earthsea

I’m not rating this since it’s basically a lore dump. It’s a deep dive into Earthsea’s history, languages, cultures, and other relevant world details. It’s the kind of bonus info a lot of fantasy series tack on as reference material.  According to Le Guin, she wrote this to get some idea of the timeline on each of these stories.

As a series, Earthsea has relatively little worldbuilding exposition. Sometimes characters reference legends or historical events, but usually the reader lacks the context to fully understand them. The focus is more on the lives of the characters and their personal experience of the world. I think something like A Description of Earthsea has benefits and drawbacks for the reader. On one hand it's nice to have some definitive information to tie things together. On the other, this does represent a loss of some of the mystery in the story.

I think this is the first thing in the series that even mentions homosexuality, so props for that I guess?

Closing Thoughts

A short story collection is always going to have high and low points. I tend to look at each story individually and score that way, but an average is always misleading. Diamond and Darkrose dragged the score down since there were only five stories total. But I enjoyed the majority of them. I am interested to see where the human/dragon subplot goes in the final installment; I assume Irian will show up at some point? We’ll see.

[eliza-makepeace]

if i had a nickel for every time in the last month i've read about my poor little meow meow having his best friend that accompanies him in his self-imposed exile after killing a king casually mention he might need sex not to solve all his problems since his problems are A Lot, but maybe as like a little thing to make him feel less like shit and the poor little meow meow in question rejects the idea, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice.

[nicka-nell]

I'm Kiyoomi Sakusa and I'm a germaphobe - Chapter 16 - Drink when...

Words: 1.805 Warning: Manga spoiler, alcohol consumption

Chapter 15 - A Yoomiaster     | Masterlist

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

“So we play drink when?” asks Bokuto into the round. Questioningly, Kiyoomi looks at him. He doesn’t know any drinking games. “How does the game work?" (y/n) curiously flips her legs over each other and waits for an answer from Bokuto. “It is very simple. Everyone makes a claim one by one. For example, drink when you’ve been once before in a relationship. Then you’ll have to finish your liquor if the statement is correct. Get it?” That sounds like a fun game. Full of anticipation, Bokuto fills a few shot glasses, which Hinata places on the table. Everyone takes one except Kiyoomi. (y/n) looks at him questioningly and then takes the glass in her hand, which is still on the table and was intended for Kiyoomi. With a warm smile she pushes it into his hand. “Come on. That'll be fun. Plus, it’s high-proof alcohol. He also disinfects." She laughs and straightens up to Kiyoomi again. He hesitates for a long time, but cannot resist her friendly smile and accepts the glass somewhat suspiciously. The alcohol smells strong and is clear as water. The smell burns in his nose. How can anyone drink that stuff voluntarily? Well, he doesn’t have to drink on every question that really is right. “How about you, (y/n). Do you want to start?" asks Atsumu, who grins at her mischievously. “All right. Eh... Drink when you’re thinking of something indecent." Her voice is deep and seductive as she leans forward to the blond man. She knows he’s gonna empty his liquor. With an amused groan he leans back on his chair and drinks his liquor while he looks into her eyes. Triumphantly she raises an eyebrow and now also leans back on the chair. To her amazement, Atsumu is not the only one who drinks. Daichi, Hinata and Bokuto also drink their liquor. A dark-haired young man who introduced himself to (y/n) as Kageyama now fills up the glasses again. Until now, he just sat quietly next to Hinata and hardly participated in conversations. “Well, I’ll go on. Drink if you’ve ever faked a signature." sounds the sweet voice of Sugawara. “Oh man... How boring is this question Sugawara..." sighs Bokuto, who quickly drinks his liquor. Hinata, Kageyama, Atsumu and (y/n) also drink. She had faked her brother’s signature many times. After all, no one can distinguish a doctor’s signature from another. For a long time Kageyama ponders, as he does not know what to ask. “Drink when you play volleyball." All men begin to sigh. “Kageyama... That’s stupid, now we all have to drink..." moans Hinata and all the men in this room drink a liquor. Even Kiyoomi can’t talk his way out and drinks his cold drink. Even though it’s cold, his neck is burning. He shortly deforms his face, but then looks normal again. However, after the liquor has arrived in his stomach, he has to admit that the taste is quite pleasant. Finally, it’s Atsumus turn. He’s been thinking about what he’s gonna say for a long time. Grinning, he just looks at (y/n) again. “Drink if you’ve ever had a threesome." , "Atsumu! You can’t ask that." Horrified, Sugawara looks at him. But all the men have already their eyes on (y/n) and Atsumu, who are on the same wavelength in a odd way. Kiyoomi doesn’t like that at all. What is it between (y/n) and Atsumu? And why can’t his eyes look away from (y/n) and the shot glass. He doesn’t know why, but inside he hopes she won’t lift her glass. Shrugging, (y/n) raises her glass and holds it to her lips. But then she grins and looks at Atsumu with narrow eyes. “Unfortunately, I have to put a stop to your imagination here, my dear." Without a sip, she sinks her glass. The tension, which until just now Kiyoomis body had under control, loosens and the relief is only very quiet to hear. They play this game for a long time, until all are clearly drunk and now just drink the liquor empty, until there is no more drop. (y/n) has to admit that she may have had a bit too much to drink. And Kiyoomi also feels completely different at the moment. Except for Kiyoomi and (y/n), everyone got up just to dance and have fun with the loud music. (y/n) now also wants to dance with Kiyoomi. But shortly before she asks him to dance, she remembers that he doesn’t like touches, and she falls silent. Now it is Kiyoomi who looks at her questioningly, but she cannot really interpret his look. “So tell me... Do you want to dance?" whispers a voice behind her. She flinches briefly as she looks aside into Atsumus eyes. Even before she can answer him, he pulls her up from the chair and pulls her close to him. “Such a pretty thing like you doesn’t have to spend time with Omi-Omi if he can’t give you what I could give you. I mean... He doesn’t even dare to touch you." With a grin he reaches for her chin and forces her to look at him. She cannot avoid him, because with his other hand he holds her at the waist. “That’s enough!” The deep and furious voice of Kiyoomi pierce into (y/n)’s ears. He hits Atsumus hand off her face and also the hand on her waist is no longer there. Instead, she is now in a new embrace. In the one of Kiyoomi. "Take your hands off of her, Miya..." he says angrily and presses her closer to him. His skin is warm and he smells so good. (y/n)’s heart begins to beat faster and her cheeks, which have turned pink by the alcohol, now glow in a bright red as she looks up to Kiyoomi. Although he looks angry, he also looks incredibly sexy at the same time. “Let’s go, (y/n)." His voice is still deep, but no longer angry. When he talks to her, his voice is gentle. “But...” she still tries to persuade him to stay here. “No, we’re leaving, come now." He hisses and pulls her by her arm into the hallway to take the jackets and shoes and walk out of Hinata’s apartment. “Omi-san! Wait!” Hinata shouts after them. “I... here... Take my face mask with you. Now that yours is broken, I thought... that you might need a new one. This one  is from me, but I haven’t worn it yet." embarrassed Hinata looks to the ground. “Thank you..." Kiyoomi answers and takes the face mask out of his hand to put it on. - The rain patters on the cars and the road. Large puddles have formed and it has become cool outside. The two run silently through the rain, as there is no longer a train. “Kiyoomi?” she tries to break the silence. “What was that about Atsumu? Do you think he’s awesome? Do you have feelings for him?" he asks slightly annoyed. “Atsumu? Oh God no! I’m friends with his brother, and he already told me that Atsumu is a daredevil. I don’t like guys like him." She laughs and swings slightly back and forth. “Good.” Kiyoomi answers shortly and grabs her wrist harder, as he has noticed her unsteady walk. “Let’s go to your place. It takes less than an hour to get to me and until then we are completely soaked and sick." he continues. “Of course." She answers him in a calm tone and follows him. When they arrived at her home, she took off her coat and her shoes. But her coat didn’t save her from the moisture. Because her wet dress sticks to her body. The white fabric is now transparent and shows her womanly body. Kiyoomi was still cold in the rain but now he is quite warm. His eyes can’t let go of her. He notices that she is not wearing a bra and now he is happy to wear a face mask. Because he is sure that his cheeks have taken on the color of her coat. But... There’s another feeling in him. One that he has felt before in her presence. A desire that his body wants to pursue, but his head wants to prevent. But when she looks at him with her sparkling eyes, her blood-red lips open to speak... his head has no chance against his body and his desire. “Kiyoomi?” (y/n) asks anxiously, as he looks at her wordlessly. Is he mad that she drank a little too much? But she has to admit that she finds him really attractive with this tense look on his face. Too gladly she would like to know what his look would be like if the mask was no longer on his nose and lips. She’d really like to rip his face mask off. She definitely had too much to drink... Playfully she bites her lip and does not notice that Kiyoomi constantly looks at her. Without really thinking, Kiyoomi pulls his face mask from his mouth and walks towards (y/n) with slow steps. She dodges his movement until her soaked body leans against the front door. Kiyoomi is only a few centimeters in front of her and his breath lands cool on her skin. Hesitantly, he raises his hand to let her hair slip behind her shoulders. His eyes wander from hers to her mouth, to her neck and to her collarbone. A quiet, barely audible moan escapes him. “Kiyoomi? Is everything-" before she can finish her question, he grabs her with his warm hand by her neck and presses his lips stormily on hers. They are warm and surprisingly soft. With his kiss, her heart starts to beat loudly, and she hopes that he cannot hear it. For a moment he interrupts the kiss and gloomily looks at (y/n) with his dark eyes. The hand that was at her neck wanders upwards and with his thumb he strokes her lips. As if he was ordering her to open her mouth, she opens it and looks at him with red cheeks. With a whisper he bends down to her again and starts to kiss her again stormy and passionate. Although his kisses are coarse, aggressive and dominant, they are still loving and intense. Her body is burning. He hurts. She doesn’t just want to feel those kisses of him on her skin. She wants more... and she’s not alone with it.

    Chapter 17 - Don’t play with fire

Taglist: @kara-grayson04​ @suna-allie​ @pleasemelafook-outta-ere​

[creativelyderangedme]

Breaking Point Chapter 4

Adrien learns what’s been going on behind his back between Marinette and Lila - spoiler alert, he’s pissed.

Want to read the rest of the story? AO3 is updated up to Chapter 7

Chapter 4: The Reason

Now it was Adrien’s turn to blink at the girl in shock.

No. There was no way he’d heard that correctly.

But the trepidation reflected in those usually clear blue eyes quickly confirmed that he had in fact heard every word exactly as she’d said them.

So that shock was very quickly being replaced by the same burning fury he’d felt when confronting Lila at their first shoot together. It was festering low in his gut, like a pulsing smoldering ember. Reluctant to flare into an inferno because he was still hesitant to believe he’d heard what he thought he had.

“What do you mean ‘threatened’ ?” He asked, momentarily regretting the dark turn of his tone after watching Marinette flinch slightly. But he couldn’t stop it.  

Marinette fidgeted under what he could only assume had morphed into an intense gaze.

Because he was watching her.

All of her.  

Studying the little ticks and movements her body made that advertised her discomfort. The way her lips parted and she’d begun to breathe unsteadily through her mouth - fuck, he could practically hear the pounding of her heart in those breaths. The way her eyes darted away from him, like she couldn’t keep in contact with him, but not out of shyness.

This was not the timidness that made up Marinette’s usual interactions with him.

As much as he’d been disappointed at the beginning of their friendship that that shyness kept her from being able to talk to him, he’d grown to embrace it. Accept it. Communicate around it. Eventually, they’d fallen into their own sort of language because of that and that eventually developed into the friendship they had now.

But that meant he knew what it looked like.

And this was not it.

“Marinette?” He pushed and he recognized the look in her eye instantly. There was a desire to run. To walk away from the conversation. Hide from it. Pretend it didn’t happen.

He recognized it because he’d had that same look not ten minutes ago.

But she seemed to come to the same conclusions he had.

Silence wasn’t going to fix anything.

Which was even truer since she’d already mentioned something to him. Even if she did run away from him now, it wouldn’t stop him from pursuing the truth later.

Eventually, she groaned loudly, body releasing the tension it had been hoarding in her shoulders over the last couple of minutes so now she looked like she was nearly limbless as she relented to her fate.

“Look, you’re not the only one who’s been doing things on their own.”

He wanted to fire back a snarky ‘I see that’, but knew it would do him no favors. She didn’t deserve that. She’d been so patient with him when the tables were turned. So he kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and continue.

“The day Lila came back after… wherever the hell she went, and the class seating got moved around?” She glanced at him, her mouth forming something else, but looked away, choosing to leave it at that.

His eyes narrowed on her.

Of course, he remembered.

And he knew exactly what she’d omitted.

“You mean the day I told you to leave Lila’s lies alone?” His brow rose, unimpressed, making her scowl at him, “ Yeah, I think I recall something about that.” The sarcasm was an unintended side effect, but they were talking about the thing that had driven him to do all of this in the first place.

So as kind as it was that she was trying to spare his feelings, he needed to hear the truth. All of it.

She pouted again, her mouth pulling to the side in another scowl, unhappy that he’d called attention to it, but continued anyway, clearing her throat, “Yes. That day. Right before the Akuma attack, Lila cornered me in the bathroom and threatened me.”

“Threatened how?”

“Why does it matter?”

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, “Are you serious right now?”

They stared again, but Adrien wasn’t backing down. This was important. And frankly, he couldn’t understand why she was suddenly being so stingy with the details.

They stared a bit longer. Their gazes stuck on the other in a battle of wills.

One the blonde was determined to win.

A frustrated groan erupted from her finally, accompanied by a heavy roll of her eyes that seemed to drag her head along with it, “It’s stupid, alright?” She spat, her tone matching his as they fed off of each other’s shifting moods.

It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but if it got her talking, he’d take it and would deal with the repercussions of her temper later.

“I-I thought she was being petty and trying to psych me out because I wasn’t falling in line like everyone else. She said that she’d make everyone hate me, okay? And yeah, I was definitely upset - but come on! I’ve known some of our classmates since we were in diapers. I had more faith in everyone than to just believe she’d turn them on me. And then after school, she managed to catch me before I left and said I’d made my choice and that we were at war.”

She breathed heavily after finishing, trying but failing to maintain a hard look back at him, quickly losing steam as her face softened once more.

She really couldn’t stay mad at him for long, could she?

Interesting Info for another time.

It was a lot to process. A lot to unpack. But Adrien was starting to understand why she’d seemed so hesitant to share at first.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” She countered without missing a beat, arms crossing defensively over her chest.

He’d inhaled for his next round of comments and that breath caught in his throat like he’d been sucker-punched below the belt. But he wouldn’t concede to that. “It’s not the same.” His head tilted with the pointed look he gave her.

Because there was no way she actually believed-

“Isn’t it?”

She did. She actually thought they were the same thing.

“No! Marinette, she threatened to take away your friends!”

Her eyes were wide, shoulders hunching in an exaggerated shrug - her entire body conveying her indifference, “But it was a stupid threat!”

And they called him the sunshine child.

He nodded at her point because it wasn’t like she was wrong. It was stupid in that, in a perfect world, it would have been impossible. Lila could have threatened something much worse. But that wasn’t the problem, was it? “Fine, but it was a threat she was making good on.”

That had her hesitating, opening her mouth to argue but closing it again. There wasn’t anything to argue. They weren’t talking in theoretics here. This wasn’t a perfect world.  

“Even before she managed to convince the school to expel you - I’ll come back to that in a moment - she was making you out to be a bully. Every time you argued against her, she managed to turn it on you. I wasn’t there for everything, but I heard about some of it from Nino later on.”

He took a breath, watching her take in and consider his words.

But he wasn’t done.

“But let’s go back to what brought us here today in the first place. Marinette, she actually convinced the school administration that you, a.) cheated on a test where you have perfect scores in the subject, b.) pushed her down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage, and c.) stole her personal property. Even some of our class was convinced.”

None of that was conjecture. Every single point he made, which he’d ticked off on his fingers to further enunciate was unexaggerated fact. It hadn’t just been a lie or a story that was turned around to make her look unpleasant. There had been evidence.  

Lila hadn’t just threatened to turn people against Marinette, she’d struck a masterful blow to Marinette’s reputation with little hope of recovery. It could be done, but it would be like clawing her way out of hell.

A frown had made its home on her lips, hands balling into fists in her lap, “As I said, I figured she’d try something. I just didn’t expect the lengths she’d go to.”

Her blue eyes were clear as she met his searching gaze then and he understood. It hadn’t been indifference he’d seen in her before. It was acceptance. She’d already come to these conclusions on her own. She was smart like that.

And that at least granted him a small bit of comfort.

But it still bothered him. Because she didn’t have to do it alone. Just like him, she wasn’t alone in this fight - she didn’t have to suffer all of this by herself.

The high road only went so far.

He swallowed, willing that heat that radiated from his anger to ease from his words, allowing them to get softer, “I get why you didn’t say anything to the class, especially after they’d sided with Lila as much as they had. But why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know? Because I thought I could handle it? Because, you were right?” she shrugged, having retreated within herself a bit more at this inquisition.

“No, I wasn’t! Lying about who you know or where you’ve been, that’s one thing. But she attacked you. If - if I had known, I wouldn’t have said those things. I wouldn’t have told you-”

“Adrien, stop. Your advice is not the root cause of all my problems, okay? And it’s not like you were wrong! I mean, that entire day just proves it. You said it yourself, trying to out her did nothing but paint me to be the bad guy.”

“Okay, sure, but-”

She put a hand up, effectively silencing him, some of that confidence and resolve he knew so well coming back to her features, “But nothing. At the time, it had been nothing more than a stupid threat. And while, yeah, okay, your advice was a little ill-timed and I took it a little too much to heart, you had the best intentions with the limited information you had.” She allowed for her lips to pull up, “If anything, you confirmed for me what I’d already known at the time. No matter what Lila did, she couldn’t turn everyone on me. I had you on my side and I had faith that I’d have the others as well. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

She’d had faith that even if Lila made good on her threat, that her friends would stand by her. That he would stand by her. And that kind of trust was something he didn’t feel like he deserved. But she’d been right. In the end, he had been there - no matter how little he’d been able to do at the time.

And the way she was looking at him now told him that no matter what he had to argue back at her next, it was a moot point. She didn’t blame him, no matter how much he blamed himself. And she wouldn’t hear anything else on the matter.

This was… a lot. But he’d needed to hear it. All of it. Which, despite how determined she was to end the conversation at that, he pushed with one last question.

“Is that everything?”

It was clear she hadn’t expected him to ask the follow-up. And while it was also clear she wanted very much to say that it was, to put this all the bed, Marinette hesitated, biting her lip after a moment of prolonged silence.

Oh no. “What?” he asked and was surprised at the pleading in his voice.

“I’m… pretty sure that the Akuma that infected Lila that afternoon is the one that had been meant for me.”

And wasn’t that the icing on the goddamned cake?

Twice.

Lila had nearly caused Marinette to be Akumatized twice. And the second time, she’d nearly succeeded.

All that fury and rage he'd been denying himself came back full force, mounting and building on itself. It was an anger that surprised even himself. What surprised him the most in all of the tumultuous emotions ringing through his head was the growing desire to-  

“I’m going to kill her,” he muttered decisively.

Wide bluebell eyes met him and she nearly squeaked, “W-what?! Y-You can’t do that!”

Oh, he begged to differ. The overly possessive need to protect his friend was telling him otherwise.

“Can’t or shouldn’t? Because I think I’m more than capable of committing murder.” And he knew Plagg was more than happy to comply at this point. Hadn’t he offered his help just a bit ago? Why had he turned him down again?

“No! I’m not going to condone the murder of another person - no matter how much I might hate them.”

“No one said you had to condone it.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, gaze darting over his features, “You can’t be serious, right now.”

“On the contrary, I'm quite serious. In fact, I’d be doing you and everyone else in Paris a service." He'd be doing himself a service. Both sides of himself. "You know who’d back me up? Ladybug and Chat Noir. Lila’s as bad if not worse than Chloe when it comes to being an Akuma or causing them. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know they have one less psycho they have to worry about.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest during his rant, taking a breath to watch her before something sprang to mind, making his eyes narrow on Marinette conspiratorially as a devious grin took form, “Aren’t you friends with Chat Noir? You should ask him to help and see what he says. I’m paw-sitive he’d agree with me.”

The pun was a little much, but it had the desired effect as the Baker’s daughter sputtered with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not asking Chat Noir to murder someone for me! He’s a hero! Murder is a crime!”

“What is it they say in the US? No body, no crime? Cataclysm is such an uncontrollably destructive power. What if he 'accidentally' called for it while giving her a handshake or high five?” God, now he was sounding just like Plagg. The little Kwami was rubbing off on him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Not with the way Marinette seemed to struggle with keeping that growing amused grin off her face. “Stop it. You’re being terrible.” she tried admonishing him, but her words held no actual heat. She was enjoying this as much as he was it seemed. And that helped soothe him a bit from his murderous intentions.

Not that he wasn’t completely serious. No one messed with his friends. Especially someone as kind and caring as Marinette.

But for now, he could leave the premeditation for later. “I’m just saying, Marinette. Wasted opportunity.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

She chuckled then with a shake of her head, eyes finding him. The sound was humored and her gaze danced with mirth despite the darker turn their jokes had taken. “I didn’t take you for the vindictive type, Agreste.” her stare swept over him as if taking him in for the first time. Reevaluating long drawn conclusions of his character, but the sly upturn of her lips told him she was not disappointed to find a bit of darkness to the so-called sunshine child.

“It’s pretty hot, actually.”

No, apparently not disappointed in the least.

Adrien's brows shot up to his hairline, green eyes wide before he had to suck his lips in and clench them shut with his teeth in shock and utter amusement.

So shocked in fact, that he couldn't actually process the fact that she'd been talking about him. Because that was a whole other can of worms he was definitely not prepared to address at the moment. Because HOLY SHIT Marinette had just essentially checked him out and called him hot. Not like he hadn't been called that before, but this was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And if anyone was as innocent as him, it was her.

And poor, sweet, (maybe not-so) innocent Marinette looked like she might die of heat stroke the way her face flushed the loveliest shade of crimson as her own words finally dawned on her.

Scientifically speaking, it really shouldn't be possible to turn that color naturally. But she did.

“Forget I said that.” he was surprised when she managed to speak clearly, normally when she got even a fraction as flustered as she looked right then, her words turned to riddles. “Oh my god, please, please forget I said that. I-I didn’t-”

He could have consoled her. He should have consoled her. Told her she was fine and it was okay, he wasn't offended. In fact, the part of him quickly coming to terms with the fact that he too had misjudged the girl sitting front of him and, fuck, she'd called him hot, was more than a little flattered. But all this rebellious talk and spite had his Chat Noir showing and he couldn't help but scrutinize her as that signature teasing grin took over his face.

“So you do have a type. Good to know. I never would have guessed you preferred the bad boy genre.” his grin deepened dangerously as she sputtered uselessly in response, egging him on further. It was just too much fun messing with her like this. “Though I am starting to understand the friendship with Chat Noir.” his finger came to tap his chin before turning the Chat Charm up to 11. “It’s the leather, isn’t it?”

"A-Adrien!"

Huh, interestingly enough, it was possible to get even more flushed as Marinette seemed to go at least another three shades darker. If he wasn't so busy laughing at her expense, he might have been worried about her health. Or, at the very least, morbidly fascinated at such a scientific discovery.

There was a rustle of movement as Marinette snatched the pillow he'd maintained his grasp on and began pummeling him with it, but all that served to do was make him laugh harder as his arms came up to help block the onslaught.

“You’re. The. Worst!” She yelled with every hit.

“You’re not denying it!” He laughed out in response, finally managing to catch the makeshift weapon and throw in a soft hit of his own for good measure, keeping the pillow out of her reach when she dove for it again.

The look of complete and utter embarrassment mixed with the determined fire in her eyes made it so much more enjoyable. Any other time, he would have apologized, but this back and forth was everything he’d ever wanted out of a friendship with Marinette. And it was like breathing fresh air. Both of them goofing off and just being themselves.

It made him appreciate her in a whole new way. Made him give her a quick (maybe not-so-quick) once-over as well as he memorized the look she was giving him. Memorize the constellation of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Memorize the specks of dark blue in her otherwise sky blue gaze.

But all good things had to come to an end eventually.

The end of their little pillow fight came with multiple chimes from both of their cell phones that had gone largely forgotten in their time talking together.

It broke them out of their stare-off, scrambling away from each other to find their devices.

A peek at the screen was enough to ground Adrien back to reality as he saw nearly a dozen missed texts from Nino, Alya and a couple from Lila all asking where he’d disappeared to.

He peered up to find a frown on Marinette’s face as she too examined her phone, “Looks like our absences have been noticed.”

He nodded, pulling up the messages from Nino:

Nino 7:55 am

Hey man, where’d ya go? Lila said you ran to the bathroom but that was like 10 min ago.

Nino 7:58 am

You feeling alright? Need me to cover for you? Get some meds from the infirmary?

Nino 8:00 am

Dude, I’m gettin a lil worried. Give me a sign or somethin?

Nino 8:02 am

The bell rang like 2 mins ago and you still haven’t even read these. Where the hell are you? Mari isn’t here either.  

Nino 8:09 am

Alya can’t reach Mari and we’re both pretty worried, so please once you see this, give us a sign you’re ok?

Nino 8:30 am

Okay seriously. Imma call the cops cause this isn’t like you, Bro. You haven’t been like kidnapped right? I don’t even know what to do in this kind of situation!

Nino 8:32 am

PLEASE BRO. I’M LOSING MY SHIT RIGHT NOW. PLEASE. Just tell me you’re bein’ rebellious and not like kidnapped. Or dead. Please don’t be dead.

Nino 8:45 am

Dude. I… don’t think I’d be able to handle finding out you were dead all this time.

Nino 8:48 am

Like I don’t knw that my heart could take it

Nino 8:50 am

I’d have to write a eulogy and talk at your funeral.

Nino 8:55 am

FRIENDS DON’T MAKE FRIENDS TALK AT THEIR UNTIMELY FUNERALS, BRO. DON’T DO ME LIKE THIS.

Nino 9:00 am

Okay… like all jokes aside, I’m really freaked out. No one can get in contact with you or Mari and if I don’t hear anything in the next 10 minutes I will call the cops.

Nino 9:08 am

Don’t think I won’t! I’m dead serious, Agreste. If you are pranking me right now I’mma kick your ass.

Adrien chuckled all the way through his messages from Nino. The guy was usually so chill. It was funny - if not totally heartwarming - to see him freak out over his sudden absence.

As he re-read over the last messages another came through:

Nino 9:09 am

Last chance.

With a loving roll of his eyes, Adrien set out to relieve his friend of his overactive imagination.

Adrien 9:09 am

Don’t call the cops Nino! I’m fine! I just didn’t see the messages until just now. Sorry Bro, didn’t mean to freak you out.

The response was immediate.

Nino 9:09 am

FUCK DUDE. I WAS SO CLOSE TO CALLING IN THE ARMY. WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN???

Adrien 9:10 am

I did go to the bathroom. On my way back to class, I ran into Mari who looked really sick. I was worried, so I helped get her back home.

He frowned as he hit send on his last message to his best friend, but tried to not let it get to him. He hated lying to Nino like this, but it had to be done. At least for now.

He peaked back up to find that Marinette had swapped out her phone for one of the nearly forgotten snacks she’d brought up for them as she sat patiently waiting for him to finish, nibbling slowly at the end of a croissant.

“Is Alya freaking out as much as Nino?”

She chuckled with a nod, “Yeah. Threatened to post about me being missing on the Ladyblog.”

Another chime caught his attention, bringing his eyes back down to the device in his hands.

Nino 9:11 am

Oh geez - I hope Mari’s okay. Looks like she just messaged Alya and said she almost fainted? Scary. So did you just decide to be her nurse for the day or something?

Adrien had been in the process of reaching for a snack as well when he nearly choked.

Adrien 9:12 am

WHAT?! NO! Her parents asked me to sit with her until the doctor got here. You can ask them!

Nino 9:12 am

XD Dude, I’m just messin. Seriously, tho - way to be a hero man! I’m sure she super appreciates it.

Nino 9:13 am

But, you do plan on coming back to school right? Like if she’s really that sick, it’s prob not best to hang around too long.

He had a point. Even if the illness was fake, hanging around more than necessary would be just as suspicious. No matter how much Adrien wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in this newfound safe haven.

“It’s probably about time you headed back to class, huh?” Marinette brought his attention back to her while also somehow reading his mind.

She’d slipped back into that soft smile she seemed to have for him today, all jokes and embarrassment forgotten.

He nodded, standing up slowly and stretching to bring his body back to alertness, “I suppose so. Thanks again for all of this. I - I really needed it. The escape and the talk.” His arm snaked back to rub nervously at the back of his neck as she too stood and stretched.

“You and me both needed this, so please don’t worry about it. We should do it again sometime.”

There was a moment of hesitation and thickness in the air between them. Something unresolved. Something neither of them wanted to leave hanging there, but neither knowing what to do with the beast of burden.

Well, he didn’t know what to do. But leave it to Marinette Dupain-Cheng to know exactly what to say as she reached out and squeezed his arm, “We’ll figure all of this out, Adrien. Not right now, but soon. I promise.”

He nodded, because how did someone follow-up after such encouraging words? He couldn’t. She said it all and so much more and it helped him quell any lingering dread having to go back to class without her.

But that still meant he’d have to say goodbye and leave. Which he was finding hard to convince himself to do. But he knew he had to. He just didn't want them slipping back into those old tense habits. He wanted the fun fiery Marinette all the time. He wanted to be able to keep talking with her. He wanted to have contact with her.

He wanted to hug her. Like she'd hugged him earlier. But pouncing on her was probably a bad idea. They'd made so much ground in such a short time. He didn't want to scare her away.

“Can-can I hug you again?” He asked instead, opened his arms in invitation, a shy bubbling hope filling his chest and making him anxious as he watched her eyes go wide and her cheeks flush again.

But she didn’t leave him hanging.

Marinette smiled softly before stepping into the space, wrapping her arms around him and almost burying herself in his frame like he was one of the pillows on her bed.

Who was he to deny her the same?

Adrien wrapped her snuggly in his own embrace, resting his chin happily on top of her head and closing his eyes. Resisting the urge to purr in delight.

Oh yeah. He was quickly developing a need for hugs like this from now on.

“Hey,” her voice came out muffled from his shirt. Quiet and timid once more.

He hummed in response, feeling all that boiling rage from their earlier confessions cooled and tamed while she was wrapped safely in his arms. Not just their conversation. He felt the tension of the last month had been soothed from his body and he felt stronger, calmer, in control of himself.

Imagine that. Talking about your problems actually helps.

“Are you mad?”

He found that while all those emotions had been tamed, yes, he was still angry. But not at her. Never at her. They’d both done something stupid, but that was the essence of what it meant to be teenagers, right? Being stupid and making stupid mistakes. But this could be fixed. He knew it could. He just wasn’t sure how yet. But that was a problem for future him.

For now, he was content to chuckle softly through his nose at her question, “No.” The corner of his mouth pulled up slightly, “I am disappointed though.”

Her arms tightened around his middle and he could almost feel her cringing against his chest before she peaked up at him with her nose scrunched up and a small grin of her own, “You’re right. That is worse.”

[sunsetsover]

Happy Birthday!! I always enjoy your eastenders content! If you want a prompt, I am p interested in how you view Ben trying to become less crime involved and what that means for his character, and how you think Phil will react to Ben's behavior??

thank you!!! and thank you for enjoying my ‘content’ (calling what i do content seems disrespectful to the people who do create actual quality content lmao), i’m glad!! i’m not exactly sure what you mean by prompt, but i can certainly talk abt my opinions on it all a little bit!!

from the spoilers, i believe we’ll actually get the answer to these questions in the coming weeks! i won’t go into detail in case you don’t want spoilers, but all i will say is that we’re going to see phil’s reaction to ben’s choice sooner rather than later.

as for my take on it, i think ben’s relationship with crime is kind of a complicated thing tbh. as much as i love dark ben, i don’t think those cruel, manipulative parts of him were ever just like... a part of his nature. they’re like.... adaptations, because of the things that have happened to him during his life and because of who his family are and who his dad is. i don’t think a life of crime - no matter how serious or petty the crimes in question were - would have ever been on the cards for ben had his dad not been phil mitchell. like he was a quiet, shy kid who liked musicals. not exactly criminal material, is it?

but then he moves back in with his dad when kathy ‘dies’ and sees how much of a ‘man’s man’ phil is and is not too young to realize that phil doesn’t really know what to make of him and then you combine that with stella’s abuse and manipulation (telling ben - a 10 year old child - that he was weak and pathetic and that his dad thought he was weak and pathetic too because ben wasn’t like him and that phil is the Epitome of what a Man Should Be, and that he has to be like his dad or else he will be weak and pathetic forever) and him realizing he’s gay (i don’t need to explain why this was a fucking nightmare for phil mitchell’s son, do i?), and him changing and becoming bitter and cruel and acting out makes sense. not only was he essentially manipulated into it, but it was a survival tactic on so many levels. plus he was a little boy, and he wanted his dad’s love and approval and attention! that’s normal! that’s understandable! but the sad reality is ben’s dad is phil mitchell, and basically the only way he could get any of those things was by acting out and doing bad things which undoubtedly reinforced the idea in his head that if he does bad things and hurts people then his dad would love and respect him more, and then the older and more confident and more desperate for his dad’s love and attention he got (not to mention the fact that he probably felt the need to ‘make up’ for the fact he was gay), the worse the things he was doing would get. and eventually this way of thinking changed from ‘if i act this way, my dad will love me’ to ‘if i act this way, people will respect me’, and then eventually it became less of an act and more an uncontrollable part of his character. but really, he really stood no chance at all in that house. he was bound to get fucked up to a certain degree, just growing up and seeing what his dad was like.

and now he’s an adult, and he really was not lying when he said he doesn’t know anything else. what the audience need to understand is that the way ben views things - himself, his relationships with others, how to create and maintain healthy relationships with others, how to treat other people etc - is fucked up! it’s warped! and it’s warped mostly because of his dad!! and i think ben is at a point in his life now where he can recognize these things (to a degree - although that’s much better than not bein able to recognize it at all - and imo ever since he first come back this has improved a lot) and can recognize that most roads lead back to phil, but he’s also not necessarily able to change those things. he’s trying, that much is obvious, but this is years and years of ingrained abuse and trauma and learned behaviour!! he can’t just get over that, especially not alone!! he needs help! and were it up to me, he’d be getting professional help!!! which is why i think callum has been so naive about this whole ‘just stop doing illegal things!’ thing he has going on - not only in the sense that you can’t just go ‘oh i’m on the straight and narrow now’ and have there not be any repercussions, but because this is years and years of ben’s life that he’s having to basically give up (ok you could argue that it’s not much to give up, but that’s not the point, and that doesn’t make it any easier), and also because imo ben’s relationship with crime is directly linked to his trauma and directly linked to his relationship with his dad. the only time his dad wants anything to so with him or shows him any kind of respect is still when ben’s doing jobs for him, p much. to a certain degree, ben’s ability to do dodgy shit determines his self worth because it has always determined how his dad sees him, and how his dad has seen him has determined how ben sees himself imo (again, not entirely, but to a certain degree). plus it’s a respect thing. he’s talked about his reputation before, and if he has a reputation then he has respect and ben wants respect, that much is clear. and i think that’s to make up for the fact he rarely got that respect when he was growing up, you know?

(plus, just my personal opinion, but i still think there’s a part of him that feels the need to ‘make up’ for the fact that he’s gay in his dad’s eyes. i think he’s come a long way (esp when you look at harry’s ben vs max’s ben) and i don’t necessarily think he’s ashamed of or sorry for who he is anymore, but judging by his actions i do think there’s still a part of him that’s like ‘well i couldn’t be the son he wanted in that respect, but i can be the son he wanted in this respect’, does that make sense? like a ‘i know he doesn’t like me being gay, so the least i can give him is this’ kind of thing, mixed in with the ‘this is the only way i can get my dad’s respect, this is the only way i can make him love me’ thing.)

basically: imo ben’s desire to do these illegal, criminal things is not as much to do with him liking doing them or wanting the money or anything like that, but it’s more bc in his head that kind of behaviour is linked to his relationship with his dad and his trauma and how he views himself. and despite his best efforts, ben was never gonna be able to just walk away from it all and have that be that, you know? because it’s not that simple.

as for phil’s reaction, it’s gonna go exactly how you expect it to go: badly. there’ll probably be some manipulation (i see something along the lines of ‘what, you’re gonna fuck over your own dad for someone you’ve been seeing for five minutes?’ being said) to get ben back on side. probably some dramatic shit about ‘ruining the family legacy’ or smth. he’ll probably make fun of ben similarly to how jay did but in a much less jovial, ‘i’m only teasing’ way. probably say some shit about callum. i see ben putting up a fight and defending himself (and callum) at first, but phil can wear ben down like no one else and will having him doubting himself in record time. phil will probably say some shit like ‘you gonna let callum tell you what to do, are ya? he says jump and you say how high, is that it?’ and that will absolutely press ben’s buttons and he’ll be desperate to prove that that’s not the case and phil will have manipulated him back onside, just like that. like it’s that easy. which it is really, bc despite what he says ben still wants his dad’s love and approval more than anything.

it’s gonna be horrible, basically. ben’s gonna be caught between a rock and hard place, not knowing what to do or who to listen to. he’s going to be so conflicted between not wanting to fuck up his relationship with callum (bc he clearly cares about callum A Lot) and keeping callum happy and allowing him to do what he wants to do and also trying to keep his dad happy and not fall out with him bc like i said, despite what he says ben still wants his dad’s love and approval more than anything and it would crush him to be cast out by him again after everything that’s happened, esp after they seem to have been getting along so well. so i think he’s going to struggle a lot over the next few weeks, trying to decide what to do. bc u know... despite him adoring callum and wanting their relationship to work and ben taking steps to make that happen, it’s been clear that he hasn’t exactly been over the moon abt going legit. (callum definitely didn’t force him, but after it was clear callum wasn’t changing his mind, ben obviously felt like the only options were him going legit and them breaking up, and after realizing he didn’t want to lose callum, he was only left with one option. so it wasn’t really a choice for him, was it?) and phil has a hold over him like no one else does, so who knows how this is all going to play out. like ben being on the straight and narrow isn’t going to last long - at least right now - but beyond that? callum’s reaction? the long term? who knows!! not me!!

but yh it just sucks bc you know ben has a Struggle coming and it’s gonna be horrible to watch bc no one deserves to be happy more than ben :-(

💖💖💖